Raw, fast, and fiercely self-aware, Džinovski (“Giant“) is the kind of debut that grabs you by the collar and doesn’t let go for 30 minutes. Released in 1993 by Zagreb-based punk rock band Hladno Pivo, the album arrived at a tense cultural moment — Croatia in the early 90s, still reeling from war and a fractured Yugoslavia. Out of that, Hladno Pivo delivered a heavy, unfiltered punk record steeped in dark humour, sharp riffs, and catchy hooks.
Hladno Pivo (literally “Cold Beer”) formed in 1987, cutting their teeth on covers of punk, Motörhead-inspired heavy rock, and classic Ex-YU staples. By the time they recorded Džinovski, they had honed a sound that fused Dead Kennedys-style punk with local sarcasm and grit. You can hear it from the very first seconds of opener Pjevajte Nešto Ljubavno (“Sing Something Love”) — an instant punk anthem that sounds like it was born in a smoke-filled kafić, featuring chants from a passionate football terrace. It’s shouty, catchy, and wrapped in a DIY charm, balancing its rawness with surprising melodic hooks. The production is under-cooked, but the energy is infectious.
The cover art itself is really neat too, a comic painting of a town featuring a giant cold beer dropped in the middle, surrounded by drunkards and graffiti of the band’s influences.
That mood continues on tracks like Marija and Princeza (“Princess”), where the band leans into heavier punk rock with spitfire vocals and more chanted refrains. There’s real intensity here, but also moments of restraint — Princeza, in particular, shows a more introspective edge, with a quieter mid-section that offers some welcome contrast. A Što Dalje (“And What More”) stands out too, blurring the line between punk and sludgy garage rock, even nodding to psychedelic heaviness in its second half. You can feel the influence of their Sarajevo-based predecessors Zabranjeno Pušenje here — especially in the vocal tone and off-kilter lyrical style.
Then comes the album’s weirder middle section, featuring several covers from various punk and German groups. Tracks like Marihuana, Buba Švabe (“Cockroach”), and Sarma (cabbage rolls; a traditional food from the Balkans) veer into tongue in cheek punk, sometimes with strange vocal effects and absurdist humour. Für Immer Punk — sung in German and referencing Forever Young — is perhaps the most divisive of the lot, adding to the album’s chaotic charm but also marking its least cohesive stretch in my opinion. These moments are playful, sure, but they risk diluting the momentum.
Luckily, Džinovski regains focus with Dobro Veče (“Good Evening”) and Marginalci (“Marginalised”), two guitar-driven highlights that flirt between hard rock and pop-punk energy, not unlike early Offspring or Rise Against. The riffs are tighter, the hooks are more sharp, and the band sounds fully in their zone again. That confidence carries through to the album’s home stretch — Narcisoidni Psi (“Narcissistic Dogs”) and Heroin maintain the same ferocity, but also carry a darker edge. The lyrics here start to spiral into themes of addiction, violence, and existential dread, underscored by the harsh guitars and grittier textures.
It all culminates in Trening Za Umiranje (“Training for Dying”) — arguably the album’s emotional peak. With its acoustic intro and melodic hardcore vibe, it wouldn’t feel out of place, again, on an early Rise Against record. It’s introspective, personal, and unexpectedly poignant, ending with the brilliant, gut-punch line: “Take a good look at my rotten smile / You’ll see that scum like me doesn’t die.”
It’s punk storytelling at its finest — poetic, honest and gut-wrenching. Odjava Programa (“Program Checkout”) closes the album on a similarly melancholic note, wrapping the whole chaotic ride in a blanket of disillusionment.
Džinovski is your typical punk statement: sharp, satirical, and deeply alive. It may sound a decade behind the times in terms of production and sound, but it doesn’t detract from the end product. It’s not just a great punk record — it’s an unmistakably Ex-YU punk record, full of sarcasm, sadness, noise and heart. From its iconic cover art to its quick-fire 16-track run time, Hladno Pivo’s debut is a spirited and often brilliant opening statement.
