Aleksandr F. Skliar: "Sailors' Songs"

Aleksandr Skliar's career has been anything but normal;  he remains of the great characters of Russian rock music, an enduring presence from the late Soviet generation.  An accurate sketch of his work should start before he even took the stage as a profesional.  For the first half of the 1980s, as national reforms looked necessary in the USSR - yet risky - Skliar was deep in the thick of things as a diplomat in Northern Korea.  He underwent radical political change in another communist nation that had absolutely no intent of changing anything.

Not exactly an easy work environment, and certainly not conducive to touring.

Changes back home in Russia came quickly:  as Gorbachev began to remove many of the barriers that had inhibited youthful, popular culture, Skliar left his suit and tie behind, dedicating himself completely to music.  More fun and less money awaited.

Within a year he had formed one of Russia's most famous and durable ensembles, Va-Bank.  The group's name is part of the Russian expression that means "to bet everything."  The sense of a new, risky endeavor was palpable.

Changing times required experimentation, which led Skliar to try his hand at authoring children's books and hosting the very influential show on Radio Maximum called "Learn to Swim!" (Uchites' plavat').  The broadcasts played a vital role in introducing Russian music fans to the new expanses of Western music, suddenly thrown wide open.

For these efforts on radio, the Russian music press would one day name Skliar one of the fifty most significant figures in post-Soviet culture.

During the 90s, Skliar was heavily involved in projects with the one other Russian rock singer who has a similar, gravelly voice, Garik Sukachev.  Both of these men are sometimes likened to Tom Waits, who - should we be seeking a quick, useful parallel - is indeed a good benchmark for explaining Skliar's delivery or overall style.  Tales of urban decline, savored in a decadent drawl, color the work of all three performers.

Given the social struggles in Russian daily life over the '90s, neither Skliar nor Sukachev had to look far for suitable material.

Having since left Va-Bank behind, Skliar now works fundamentally in solo projects, the newest of which was released this week, "Sailors' Songs" (Pesni moriakov).  Hence, no doubt, the very wet cover.  The album has been receiving good reviews - from the moment the first track kicks in.  "Skliar today is a more powerful songwriter than he was back then, in the good ol' days with Va-Bank.  The first number, "I'm Flying" (Ia lechu), is adequate proof."

Skliar today is a more powerful songwriter than he was back then, in the good ol' days with Va-Bank. The first number, "I'm Flying" (Ia lechu), is adequate proof.

"'I'm Flying' is a mighty howl of freedom, together with the storming bounce of its bass-line, plus someone hammering away on the keyboards.  Skliar's being totally true to himself here:  there's an honest, ironic outlook on life, but it's both brutal and poetic at the same time."  The "brutal," ugly groans of this first track certainly suggest an unwillingness to prettify anything, even in a song that's dedicated to leaving behind all the falsehood of modern society in the name of something purer.

These grunts - though a strange topic of discussion(!) - represent the unattractive, crude forces with which Skliar's heroes struggle throughout the CD.  Russia shoves people around, and - not surprisingly, they sometimes give voice to their bruising experiences.  Rough seas mean a rough ride.

"Sailors, for Skliar, are a symbol of strong, free individuals who are trying to take control of their destiny.  They might've been abandoned by their women, they might be smugglers or traitors, even, but their strength shows through in any of these situations."

In fact, another of the album's songs is dedicated precisely to this metaphor of maritime crime as a testing ground.  The track "Treachery and Contraband" is an equally rough-and-ready work, full of seafaring swagger.  In the tradition of songs, say, from Odessa that so often combined the skills needed to fight both high waters and the High Court, Skliar's ditty also merges this dubious bravado with the naturalism of "I'm Flying."

The characters of his music and film-work may be attractively courageous, but their physical appeal leaves much to be desired.  Salt water and hurricanes do little for your complexion.

The connection between these forces and life in today's Russia is made clear in the chorus:  "Treachery and contraband, what could be simpler?  Treachery and contraband, what could be more Russian!  Treachery and contraband;  they're not things you share.  Treachery and contraband... all on the fly!"  Spontaneity is the order of the day when you're faced by the unexpected.

Treachery and contraband, what could be simpler? Treachery and contraband, what could be more Russian! Treachery and contraband;  they're not things you share. Treachery and contraband... all on the fly!

In video from the album's press-conference, streamed here, Skliar expands this idea.

He opens by saying how much he disagrees with the contention that rock music is dead today.  The example he gives for ongoing hope is Lemmy Kilminster of Motorhead, who recently oversaw the band's twentieth album.  Kilminster remarked, during the PR work for that same CD, that rock music is in a healthy state, since it's not being played on today's radio.  The implication here is that music benefits if distanced from the mainstream.

Thus we can start to see an additional attractiveness in the maritime and pirate metaphors of Skliar's new songs.  They don't just form a musical parallel to the tough times on Civvy Street, they're also an insight into how Skliar's generation of musicians now views itself.

Cast out of the limelight, Skliar romanticizes his position through images of pirates posed to strike at any moment, either in terms of reclaimed prestige, or as driven Romantics, keeping alive a "superior" genre.  "I'm sure that the Russian scene is about to witness the appearance of a new, bright musical talent.  Somebody on the scale of Kurt Cobain or Jimmy Hendrix.  We're all in a state of anticipation.  We're handling the groundwork.  We're not working for nothing:  not only do we continue to write songs, but - perhaps - we're preparing the arrival of somebody new."

Quite whom, we do not know, but maybe that's the prerogative of pirates:  to hope and believe when land is not in sight.