Romanian hip-hop lives at the crossroads of tired and pointless; it most often swings between we used to run this town and the 14 words. There is a residual heartbeat in the community, it hasn’t flatlined yet and gives us a Phihotrop, Macanache or even a zmoalăcazan every now and then, but it still lives in the shadow of trap music and its derivatives. With all this heartbreak and pain, there’s still one act that still gets my heart beating irregularly when it drops an album – frateleNORD. FrateleNORD knows how to paste softboy aesthetics over depress-hop layered over the Mitici’s droning Atrium Carcerish mixes. Aiurea is not frateleNORD all grown up – it’s past that, it’s the act entering its unc era, an artist that has gone through life and come out the other end. It’s not angst or depression but a secret, third thing. Aiurea is dread resignation, it’s shrugging and trying to self-medicate after life kicks you in the teeth. It’s not the new hotness, it’s not a return to innocence, it’s an album-length sigh. It’s perfect. (Dragoș C. Costache)

FrateleNORD is the longest reminder of the (Romanian) 90s. Cleg knows that you went to the protests for the Instagram post. He knows you would eat the rich if they’d taste good. He believes you when you tell him you would smack a bitch, but is also aware that you are not allowed to. As usual, his mastery of enjambement and limericks can be felt throughout the songs. Mitici creates a raspy, austere atmosphere. Mitici is good. Beyond meat. I should love this album. But I don’t. For me, it’s hard to top Mister-Univers, Străinătate, real love. Can I reason with emotion? Not really. I think it’s time to say “aiurea”, for “aiurea” is the conclusion of this album. Thus, we shoot besides the point in order not to kill it and other such sentences. (Just listen to it.) (Paul Simula)

Aiurea, the 14th (or 15th, depending on how you count) studio album from frateleNORD certifies the tonal shift that occurred after Străinătate (2019). Their signature blend of eerie-experimental hip-hop beats with complex and playful lyrical constructions appears more subdued. Zone employs a lot of muffled noise, poignant static, and general audio decay. His beats seem overtaken by the moss of time, creating a lingering sense of dread. An all-consuming great nothing just beyond the horizon. This flatline construction is also felt in Cleg’s hypnotising monotone delivery. In a way, it’s the musical equivalent of switching from benzos or barbiturates to SSRIs. Aiurea, with its tracks bleeding one into another, gives the impression of a giant alien lymax, moving sluggishly through the deserted hellscape of a dead museum, in a hopeless search for the very last droplets of zerotonin. Aren’t we all, tho? (Cristian Drăgan)