The Art of Suspended Judgement

by MeduzaleM

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MeduzaleM are:
Rok Soczka Mandac - guitar & vocals
Matjaž Karlovčec - bass & vocals
Blaž Kocina – drums

All music and lyrics written and performed by MeduzaleM.

Recorded mostly live in our rehearsal place ''Rifugio per musicisti pezzenti'' in Ankaran throughout 2014.

Mixing, mastering and auto-tuning: Gabriel Ogrin @ Studio JORK B-room, Dekani
Artwork: Nives Marković
Design: Miloš Mihajlović

Thanx: Matjaž: My beloved Neža+MetaVida, Marko Karlovčec for support of all kinds, parents; Rok: Eva and family, Robi ''Rocker'' Lovrečič, Samo Turk, Mihael ''Bine'' Kos; Blaž: Petra for love & support, family Kocina, Lana and family Mezinec, Low peak Charlie; MdzlM: Gabriel ''GaBBo'' Ogrin, Miloš Mihajlović, Nives Marković, Luka Osojnik, Alen "Feko" Fekonja, Marko ''Mikro'' Trstenjak, Marko & Mitja Stropnik, MC Podlaga, Panda Banda, and (p)Ankaran!

»A curious inception of a band, unafraid of breaking the frames of rock songwriting.« Marko Rusjan, 13. Brat webzine

»….while geographically linked to Slovenia, everything else stretches far beyond the Balkan borders.« - Jurica Kosović, 9/10

»A unique record, not the sort to evaluate, but to admire. – Matevž Weinberger Kovačič,

The trio masterfully fills the available soundscape, the performance is tuneful, like they had know each other since ancient times.« – Aleš Podbrežnik,, 4/5

»Their mighty rhythmical structures are ever intercepted by masterfully served (at times like neverending, repetitive mantras) guitar riffs, that become an effective soundscape for lyrical narration.« Miroslav Akrapović,

If i were to label the genre on this album, I would call it progressive metal or metal-next level.« – Boris Bradač,

»Much more energetic/striking are the guys from Meduzalem, a band where beside fat riffs the emphasis goes on an excellent sense of »filling« the song. – Gregor Bauman, Odzven

Contact and booking: [at]


released April 10, 2015



all rights reserved


MeduzaleM Ankaran, Slovenia

Noisedelic soup leaking from broken barrels (on Istro-Carstian landscape).
A raw mixture of repetitive and ostinato grooves charged from many musical dimensions. Unconcerned with trends, but focused on a three-way interplay and unexpected impro sensibility. On a quest for autonomous and manifold creative process. Stubbornly curious. ... more

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Track Name: PopVamp
Sick, you’re sick
Too sick to live
In fact, you're dead but you're still breathing
You're sucking blood from the black continent
While you're faking a saint on TV sets

You’re garbage of mankind
Cross yourself on Africa
Crucify yourself on Africa

Sick, your sickness is blessed
Selling human stocks on the blood-red carpet
Greedy golden hands in a white dress
Yelling songs of hope while you are eating newborn souls

You’re garbage of mankind
Cross yourself on Africa
Crucify yourself on Africa
Track Name: Grindermann
Oh God, roll back my head
on the stronger neck
with the shoulders of a new man
To wake up and run down
To rise above your dirty cocoons
Cause I’m trying to get rid of this face
Tear off this smile
Break up this skull
and burn down your schools
Your cravings are raping the existence of billions
Our meat’s sold for few coins
You’re grabbing me in, grabbing me in, grabbing me in…
Into your butchering machine!

So I want to get down and get high
With chemical wings, definitely illegally
And with a special delivery

You’re grabbing me in…
Into your butchering machine!

I got a little message for you…
Die, you punk!

You’re grabbing me in, grabbing me in, grabbing me in…
Into your butchering machine!
Track Name: Spastic fuck
Melting minds into relativity on steroids
Dynamic movement drowns into tasteless infinity
Spreading seeds into nothingness face
Our suspended frequency is floating in oblivion

So many words to describe a fuck
So miserable, so natural and so essential

Soundless noise of the white count mother
Perverse dinner between ground controls legs
Fooled in the smelly place abandoned in space
Doomed sinner is falling into a spiral spastic fuck

As cycles give birth
To human condition
While arising and fading
Society is decaying
From envy to the bare
At the altar
You’re guilty…
You’re sexually suppressed

Save the sheep
Save the ships
Save the sheep

No Major Tom in the sky
No ground control would listen
No white coconaut in the crowd

Spiral spastic fuck
Track Name: Rebellion ritual
Ideas grow from blood
Reactions bloom in anger

Beware the Yankee’s got a gun
Our asses are hanging above his knife
Rape me, fill me up and burden me with your hate
So fuck yourself, dear Uncle Sam

Rape me up and stab me in the back
Rape me, fill me up and burden me with your hate

Fear is getting weaker
And my skin is becoming thicker
Rebellion is a natural reaction to your behaviour

Make me mad and I will react
Rebellion is an act of love
You bring me down than I beat you up

Rising anger in overcoming this temple
Is unifying us all
Rebellion is an act of love
Track Name: Tea from Mars
I’m sending a letter to my friend
I haven’t seen in 10 billion light years
“…on this pages I’ve collected the memories, feelings, moments…
that I felt since you left me”

Take this letter space post man
Carefully deliver it to my friend

I miss you
I miss you my friend
Too much hard time is ahead… I can’t handle it
I miss you my friend
I must to confess my emotions erupted at last

And after few days have passed
The postman rings at my door bell
I received a box full of hologram stamps
Inside a bag of martian tea
And two lines of mystery
“Enjoy this gift my friend… On the end of the blast I’ll be back”

I feel you
I feel you my friend
Now the taste of reality is blowing up my mind

We shine through
We shine through my friend
Since the stars are all dead
On a black canvas
We shine through
Track Name: The Art of Suspended Judgement
How about
(Projecting) our feelings on shut doors
(Programming) our relation-ships-wrecks
(Constructing) our experiences upon hangover floods
Building walls of climaxes (like a panopticon breed)

Tight around our necks
Climb each other's backs

Cutting the veins of a thousand years of lies
Shutting the eyes of a thousand lullabies
Shooting the smiles of a thousand concubines
Losing your breath for a golden Lord of (f)lies

The art of suspended judgement is a rope around one's neck