Razika Program 91
(Smalltown Supersound)
Razika could be described as that oddly shaped, but instantly noticeable gift you always get at a party. Wrapped inside a crumpled gift-wrap, its content demands immediate attention, but also incites a series of mind-bending questions. At first listen, the tangy pop powder the Norwegian foursome spreads unravels like a pleasant surprise, instantly hitting that sweet spot with an inviting impulse. But once that initial high wears off, its usefulness begins to wither before making its inevitable trip towards the kitchen dustbin.
Though comparing Program 91 to a home appliance may be incongruous – not to mention the implausible theory that every unwanted gift is always a pointless kitchen utility – Razika rises out of the shadows with a cool, modish sound that initially steams, but suffers the fate of eventually vaporizing like most revitalized music movements. The twenty-year-old Bergensers are duly tempered with youthful exuberance, so there’s really no offense in how each track secretes thick, happy estrogen. To lay that argument to rest, they did name themselves after a secret word code they’d share with each other to describe when a guy is cute. Fortunately, they’re tougher than your thin-skinned, “shooby doo” twee quartet, but lovable enough to strike a conversation with.
Somehow, that adorable behavior complements their resolute mission of delivering jerky melodic hooks that swing against primal ska arrangements. What they lack in experience they make up for in pure zeal. They’re unafraid to go the whole nine yards with Nytt Pa Nytt, which fuses a steady tempo alongside tribal chanting, echoing choruses, and aggressive cowbell ringing. The faster rhythmic notes in Eg Vetsje may emulate 2 Tone Records through and through, but the sharp-toothed guitars suggest a tamer form of post-punk. And so it goes with Program 91’s continual, checkered homage – besides the Jamaican-tinged Taste my Dream and alluring minor key scales of Vondt I Hjertet, they fully excel at garnishing the rudimentary with springy indie pop.
Having known each other since they were young enough to play doctor, Razika do have the advantage of a more sustainable kinship than your decade long relationship. The chemistry they have is irrefutable; their harmonies are always on par with whichever cross-rhythmic transitions these songs take course. Moreover, it’s irrelevant to blame them for scratching the surface when they maneuver through a tirade of shamble guitars so gracefully. Perhaps the language barrier keeps me from developing a deeper understanding of the subject matter at hand; nevertheless, it doesn’t take an interpreter to translate fun, especially when its essence is so pure.