Šminky padlejch královen (Makeup of Fallen Queens) was released in 2021 on Cecek Records. It’s the eighth studio release from this Prague-based band—counting their split album with kindred spirits Supertesla.

Nežfaleš has been around long enough to develop a distinctive and unmistakable voice. At the same time, their music reflects the experience gained through years of relentless gigging across the Czech Republic.

Stylistically, we’re talking about a uniquely Czech version of punk rock—melodic and rock-influenced, leaning more on tempo changes, occasional guitar solos, and singalong choruses than on aggression, protest, or venting of frustration.

The album features 12 songs, with czech lyrics undoubtedly being its strongest asset. The words give the band a unique identity—clever, witty, self-aware, and at times deeply reflective. They capture that point in life where one day you’re attending a friend’s wedding, and the next you’re out drinking with someone going through a divorce. Nežfaleš excels at this kind of „cheeky rogue“ poetry, blending irony, late-night bar hopping, and the bittersweet joys and duties of middle age.

The opening track, Bezejmenný město, is a quintessential Nežfaleš opener: mid-tempo, standout lead vocals in the chorus, and dynamic tempo shifts. Lyrically, it’s a poetic street tale with a warm touch of humor. It’s followed by the defiant Rezignace , about the ups and downs of life after forty. Then comes my personal favorite, Modlitba za pražský floutky, built around a powerful, infectious chorus.

After the slower Neřekla ne, we get what might be the fastest song on the record—Iggy Pop for President—a lyrical blend of teenage angst and adult disillusionment. Miami Beach stands out for its brilliant lyrics about the fleeting flashes of hope in a forty-something’s daily grind („Chodník je matrace tvrdých hochů a ty jsi byl vždycky dámička trochu. / The sidewalk’s a mattress for hard men, and you’ve always been a bit of a lady“).

Punk není mrtvej (ale ten českej jo) is a killer track—poking fun at the local punk scene while giving a knowing wink to anyone who’s ever been paid for a gig in beer tokens or food vouchers.

The title track, Šminky padlých královen, comes with a richer arrangement, while Alfasamci is perhaps the album’s most biting and critical moment. In a similarly sharp tone follows Záchrannej kruh, which stuck with me the longest after listening.

The album closes with two contrasting tracks: Morálka, the most punk-sounding song here, and Femme Fatale, a slowest song as a finish.

If I had to look for comparisons outside the Czech Republic, this album might appeal to fans of UK band Menace, or anyone who leans toward the Ramones and the more melodic side of the ’77 punk wave.

Nežfaleš stands firmly among the best that the Czech punk scene currently offers. What I value most is the band’s perspective—the way they approach their music with a sense of ease and playfulness, their knack for shifting rhythm and mood, and above all, their outstanding lyrics that are both funny and thoughtful. The inner sleeve includes all the lyrics along with a short thank-you note.

TOP TRACKS: Modlitba za pražský floutky, Punk není mrtvej (ale ten českej jo), Záchrannej kruh