Laibach – Village Underground, London 14/03/2014

Laibach have always thrived on controversy. Since 1980, the musical arm of the Slovenian avant-garde art collective Neue Slowenische Kunst have alarmed commentators and attracted the admiration of society’s least pleasant individuals with their martial, industrial aesthetic, drawing heavily on authoritarian movements left and right, and most prominently, the symbolism of the Third Reich. There’s always been hints that this appropriation of Nazi, or otherwise fascistic regalia/ is done primarily in order to mock it (one only has to witness the high-camp video for “Sympathy For The Devil” to get the distinct impression some high-level trolling is going on), but historically the band have so effectively cultivated their militaristic alter-egos that they can be distinctly discomforting even to those who understand the joke. Indeed, Laibach’s own statement that they’re “fascists in the same way as Hitler was a painter” encapsulates up the uneasy, pitch-black humour they clearly revel in.

But with their current release, Spectre, perhaps reflecting a political climate where Golden Dawn hold significant power in Greece and far-right movements are emerging across the continent with renewed and disturbing vigour, Laibach set aside this carefully crafted ambiguity to strike out in a distinctly left-ish fashion. Not only that, but the neo-classical, militaristic edge that informed much of their early music has partially ceded ground to a more accessible, even poppy sound. The album, which is played in full during the first half of the performance, still relies heavily on Milan Fras’ guttural, subterranean growl but much more prominence is given to Mina Špiler’s classically-trained vocals, which sometimes gives them more an air of The Knife than Rammstein (who credit Laibach as their primary influence.) “The Whistleblowers”, an ode to Anonymous et al complete with jaunty whistled refrain and snare drum is probably the best received of the new songs, although the grinding synths of “No History” and the bleak electronica of “Eurovision” (featuring the cheery refrain “Europe is falling apart”) are the most intense and characteristically Laibach. The visuals are outstanding throughout though quite tame by their standards, with only a light smattering of politically dubious imagery to offend the puritanical.

If this sounds like Laibach going a bit soft in their old age, then the second half went some way to disabusing that notion. The visuals for the first three songs incorporated graphic fellatio, horrifying wartime imagery and space Nazis, which sounds like the content of a Richard Littlejohn wet dream, and was as equally disturbing. A terrifyingly Teutonic “Warm Leatherette” and a brutal, industrial take on Bob Dylan’s “Ballad of a Thin Man” continued the band’s tradition of idiosyncratic cover versions, and old favourite “Tanz Mit Laibach” was as much of a command as a song. After three and a half decades, they still know how to shock, and make people uncomfortable (even if they’re not quite as relentless as their heyday) and yes, there’s still a weird fetishisation of the symbols of tyranny. But at the end of the day, they’re not fascists- they’re showmen in the same way as Hitler was a prick.