|
In the words of Charlie Sheen, "Fame is empowering." Contrary to standard logic, however, one might expect Russia's exponents of 8-bit or chiptune music to cherish and even celebrate their anonymity. After all, the entire output of chiptune artists is happily linked to issues of childhood; it's an escapist style, in several senses. Given that desire or need for a remoteness from adult concerns, one might suppose that physical distance from the mainstream would also work to the benefit of an 8-bit hero. Little melodies sound best coming from minor locations.
With that in mind, we turn to southern Russia and the city of Samara (above), five hundred miles from Moscow and situated on the banks of the Volga. Those initial details may suggest something of a provincial backwater, but history indicates otherwise, even within the lifetime of current residents. During WWII, for example, the Soviets planned to use Samara as the capital, were Moscow ever to be captured by German forces. Rumors still persist that an underground hideaway for Stalin was also established - just in case.
From this safe distance, Samara (then known as Kuybyshev) was able to provide heavy weaponry for the frontline troops. Sleepy streets gave rise to a military and political powerhouse. All the same though, for many Russians, Samara's name still conjures images of a leafy, languid backwater - in the most positive sense. The stereotypes tend to overshadow any reality.
Some of the industrious noises currently emanating from Samara belong not to factories, but to the 8-bit and chipcore music written by Il'ia Kuznetsov, who performs under the stage-name of Dispex64. Holding on tightly to some old-school toys that reflect a marked temporal distance from actuality, such as his Nintendo Game Boy Original, Kuznetsov has been writing upbeat retro-tunes since early 2010. On one Russian dance portal, he currently advertises those same compositions and services as a DJ, asking the very reasonable sum of 1,000 rubles (less than $34) for an hour-long set.
Life is evidently inexpensive in Samara.
Our town is home to hospitable, kind, and talented people (Samara municipal website)
Aiming eventually to move beyond the bleeps, blips, and fizzle of chiptune, he already claims to be working in bolder, louder genres such as dubstep or D&B, though any such adventures remain (thus far) "on a local level." Mr. Kuznetsov, however, does not appear to be suffering. At one online location he documents his greatest loves as that Game Boy and some sequencer software. No people or place earns greater affection: he cherishes an activity over any specific address.
All is well, therefore, for somebody who spends little time staring wistfully out the window. Anonymity has its benefits. Mr. Kuznetsov operates in peace and his chosen genre, as mentioned, undoubtedly suits a certain remove from adult worries. With that relationship (happily!) established between address and outlook, let's move even further from the capital - in fact 2,000 miles into southern Siberia.
Here we find Barnaul, a city founded in the early 18th century: that date alone suggests that Moscow's adventurers once came here in search of mineral wealth. Sure enough, the region still draws upon that same embarrassment of riches to this day - for example, in the processing of silver and diamonds.
Those discoveries, long ago, had a swift and lasting influence upon the development of Barnaul. Nonetheless, a sense of isolation persists for many residents, even now, be it justified or not. One official webpage advertising the nightlife in Barnaul has complained of late that local restaurants are few and far between: the choice of clubs may not be greater. Another municipal resource catalogs just over thirty cafes and clubs in town - but the public comments are often far from polite.
This faraway location, balanced between natural plenitude and a perceived cultural "lack," is home to a very young project known - somewhat confrontationally - as Cutthroat B*tches. (As ever, we remove the offending vowel.) Available information is extremely thin on the ground; it comes, in fact, not from the band's participant(s) - but from a close family member.
"CB" would appear to be a one-man operation, since a good deal of digging around produces no more than the following comment - from Prague. It implies, as with Dispex64, that we may be dealing with another example of bedroom enterprise.
From the Czech Republic, therefore, comes a brief observation in Russian: "My cousin [in Barnaul] decided to produce a record. It's made from various DJ exercises, which he reckons could work well at some electro-party or other - in a small club. In a word, it's a mix of indietronica, electro, and house. I contributed to one of the tracks - which probably saved the recording from inevitable disaster!" That closing quip walks a fine line between simple critique and self–criticism, offered before similar condemnation is heard from other quarters. It's a form of jumping before one's pushed, perhaps.
The Cutthroat B*tches release as a whole is an ironic (or simply amateurish?) reconsideration of '90s house, provincial electro, and other cookie-cutter styles, all at the same time... It's offered us to with a great sense of fun and little expertise. Any self-mockery or irony here, as with Dispex64's playground-style, actually benefits from various forms of "retirement." At arm's length from fashion and elitism, these instrumentals sound as if they should come from a faraway locale. And they do.
Dance, hipster, dance!
Full of enjoyment - and with no time for hipsterism - they play wonderfully upon various stereotypes of "backwater" output. Just as the project's name is a mocking reconsideration of cocky, "big city" swagger, so the album's title is a challenge to po-faced fashion victims: "Dance, Hipster, Dance!"
If we switch then to northern Russia, specifically to the Komi Republic and the town of Syktyvkar, distance has a very strange effect. The reason for this rapid - and ultimately surprising - passage across the map is Archngl (below), a completely anonymous trio of musicians. They came together earlier this year in order to "present their vision of a musical hybrid, made of urban electronica and radio-friendly pop music." These same musicians prefer, if at all possible, to be referred to as "archangels."
That final noun challenges the onerous, obstructive nature of physical space(s). It begs clarification, too.
A hybrid of urban electronica and radio-friendly pop music
In an interview for the Moscow magazine Look at Me, some explanation of sorts was recently forthcoming. The "archangels" see their roots in a melange of the UK bass scene, neo-soul, and "the simplest pop music." It's all designed as the soundtrack to "suffering of the heart and other painful experiences." In their intent to express these intangible states, presumably in all seriousness, the members of Archngl insist upon wearing their masks, both literal and metaphorical.
"We're faceless, like angels themselves..." If there's irony involved here, it remains very well hidden.
What's amazing, despite these linguistic and sartorial games, is that the four tracks of the new Archngl EP - and especially its vocals - sound remarkably "Western." Neither pronunciation nor intonation give much (if any) indication of this ensemble's origins. Despite the liberal use of autotune, too, there's a strong sense that some kind of overseas connection is at work. Female vocals on one of the tracks are openly credited to Moscow-based Liisa Lagoun, but a male singer, predominant on most of the EP, remains entirely hidden and (therefore) "angelic." If he's not here, he's elsewhere - and vice versa.
Syktyvkar is not a big city...
By their own admission, the members of Archngl agree that "Syktyvkar is not a big city." That's a brief, but telling statement. We've come so far from nationally familiar or "major" locations that these games with heavenly, non-material metaphors suggest all thoughts of provincialism have vanished. The loss of center is a gain of freedom. From the least familiar of our three towns comes the most international, if not metaphysical(!) sound. Further from the present day than both childish nostalgia and a yearning for fashion-free '90s dancefloors, we discover a freedom from specificity altogether. Nowhere in particular becomes absolutely nowhere.
Syktyvkar emerged and evolved a few centuries ago when the Russian Czars decided to start exiling people to the Komi Republic. That initial use of distance as a punishment has, in today's digitized present, some very different and happier functions. The nature of physical geography - and other tangible spaces, as we see - inclines the local gaze in a different, loftier direction.
Comments
Login / Register