Radosti Hnití by Mišmaš Studio: A Punk Rock Punch to the Gut
Alright, buckle up. This isn’t your polished, radio-friendly rock album—it’s Radosti Hnití (translated as "The Joys of Rot") from 2008, a chaotic masterpiece born in the Czech Republic and unleashed under the Lege Artist label. If you’re into raw punk energy mixed with alternative rock vibes that feel like they were recorded in someone's garage during a blackout—this one’s for you.
Let’s cut straight to the chase: this record is wild. It’s messy, unapologetic, and dripping with attitude. Tracks like "Rafinerie 2" hit hard right outta the gate. The guitar riffs are jagged, almost falling apart but somehow holding together just enough to make you wanna smash something—or dance awkwardly if you’re too shy to mosh. There’s no frills here; it’s not trying to be pretty or clever. Just pure aggression wrapped in distorted chords. You can practically smell the sweat-soaked dive bars where this track would’ve blown speakers back in the day.
Then there’s "Hnusné - Jako Zvíře", which slaps harder than your drunk uncle at Christmas dinner. The vocals sound pissed off, tired, maybe even hungover—but man, do they deliver. Lyrically? Dunno what the hell he’s yelling about half the time, but it doesn’t matter. It’s visceral. It digs its claws into you and refuses to let go. By the end, you’ll either hate it or love it—and honestly, I think that’s kinda the point.
Now, don’t get me wrong—this isn’t an easy listen. With over 40 tracks sprawled across two discs, it’s more like a marathon through a minefield than a casual jog through a park. Songs bleed into each other, versions multiply like rabbits ("Víra V Barel" has SEVEN iterations—seriously?), and some tunes feel unfinished. But hey, perfection ain’t the goal here. It’s all about chaos, experimentation, and leaving you disoriented yet oddly satisfied.
What sticks with me most after diving headfirst into this mess is how unfiltered it feels. Like, these guys didn’t care if anyone liked it—they made it because they had to. And yeah, sure, some parts drag, and others feel repetitive, but when it clicks? Holy crap, does it click.
Here’s the kicker though: listening to Radosti Hnití feels less like hearing music and more like witnessing a car crash—you can’t look away. Messy? Absolutely. Brilliant? In its own messed-up way, yes. So grab a beer, crank up the volume, and prepare to have your ears punched repeatedly. Or don’t. Either way, this album won’t lose sleep over whether you approve.
Final thought: If Dadaism had a bastard child with punk rock, Radosti Hnití might just be it. Now go figure out what that means.
