There’s something almost otherworldly about the title track that opens Denis & Denis’s Čuvaj Se. A drum machine pulses like a heartbeat, synths shimmer in cyberpunk neon, and Marina Perazić’s voice slinks in — sultry and magnetic. It’s 1984, but it might as well be 2084.

I came to Čuvaj Se! with a vague sense of curiosity — Denis & Denis were one of those names I’d seen floating around. A synthpop duo from Rijeka, often lumped in with cult favourites but never quite at the top of the conversation. Formed in 1982 by keyboardist Davor Tolja and frontwoman Marina Perazić, they released just a few records before quietly fading out by the end of the decade. But their debut LP — a glowing, hidden gem from Jugoton — immediately struck me as something more than a footnote.

The legend goes that Tolja named the band after a fictional law firm from a sci-fi short story: Denis & Denis (and Partners?). It sounds made up, and maybe it is. But that’s the energy here — cinematic, tongue-in-cheek, slightly surreal. Their first gig was in late December ’82, opening for Boa at Rijeka’s Youth Hall. Just two years later, they dropped a synthpop album that could sit comfortably next to Actually or Dare.

The first half of the record is packed with high-energy synthpop that wouldn’t feel out of place in a smoky Yugoslav basement club. Čuvaj Se, the opener, kicks things off with real swagger. Warm keys, a strutting rhythm, and Marina’s vocals — playful, confident, perfectly in step with the pulse of the track. Then comes Ti i Ja, with its Blue Monday-esque drum machine intro and a kind of mischievous sensuality. It’s hot and cold at once — erotic, but emotionally distant.

Next is Program Tvog Kompjutera, arguably the duo’s signature track. The synth hook is absurdly catchy. Tolja’s production is sharp and precise, while Marina’s vocals flirt against deeper male harmonies, creating a charming and charismatic back-and-forth. You can almost see the laser lights cutting through the fog.

Then the shift happens.

Telefon slows things down. The synths soften. The mood turns inward. What’s left is the empty space between two long-distance lovers trying to reach each other through a bad connection. It sets the tone for the album’s final third: Doba Noćnih Kiša, Sačuvaj Nešto, and Dio Refrena — the side of the record that lingered with me long after the LP finished.

Doba has this foggy, half-awake texture to it — like walking alone in the early morning after the club has closed, streetlights reflecting in puddles. A keyboard solo appears toward the end, unassuming and deeply moving. It feels improvised and honest, like the machine itself is feeling something.

Sačuvaj Nešto is a buried treasure — moody and minimal, with male vocals that echo early Katarina II-style tracks like Geto. It leans into something closer to gothic melancholy, and it works. But it’s Dio Refrena that really stopped me. Isolating and atmospheric, it feels like a final cigarette smoked in lonely silence. I couldn’t help reflecting on the transition from playful, sensual synthpop to something quiet, mature, and full of ache. A refrain half-remembered, barely whispered.

I started this record expecting retro pop fun. I finished it wondering why Denis & Denis aren’t talked about more when we talk about the greats. Čuvaj Se! isn’t just a great collection of synthpop club classics — it’s a fully-formed emotional arc. Sexy, sad, strange, and timeless…