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Sasha Ate (Alexander Tretyakov [Samara])
Having passed over a couple of Free Crates' artists earlier this week, we should dig a little deeper and contextualize the output of two more: Sasha Ate (Alexander Tretyakov) and Screw. The former is from the city of Samara - on the banks of the River Volga - and has already garnered some impressive reviews from online admirers. Urban Waves set the critical bar fairly high with the following words of praise: "Free Crates have released another brilliant, experimental, and futuristic hip-hop album from Russia..."
Sasha Ate's most recent release - "Music from the Left Hemisphere" - is then likened to several of the Asian beatmakers currently operating in and around Los Angeles, such as Tokimonsta, Mike Gao, and Nosaj Thing.
...abstract beats and some well-performed, mellow synth melodies
These sounds, in short, evoke places that are far from the homes of Samara, a city built on such stable trading and industrial traditions that the Soviets intended to use it as Moscow's replacement during WWII - should German troops reach the capital. These same streets were, in fact, so closely tied to military enterprise in subsequent decades that Samara was closed off to all foreign visitors. Alexander Tretyakov's music, dedicated to mental enterprise, rather than to heavy labor, imagines a very different address with "abstract beats and some well-performed, mellow synth melodies."
Flow Worthy (Vancouver) also draw parallels with US producers from the Pacific Coast. The sounds on display here are defined as both "outlandish and carefree. This album sucks you in and spits you out... [You'll feel] reinvigorated." Radical or "outlandish" reverie, we're told, leads to a state that's free of worry. Mental dexterity - with concerted effort! - will lead to a rare and promising exit from ostensible existence. So goes the logic of these online assessments.
This same belief in the power of cognition pops up on Tretyakov's pages at Vkontakte, where he quotes the following poem (the original being in Russian). It speaks to the promise of qualitatively superior meditation: "Some say that time heals all,/ Some say it kills,/ But it simply doesn't exist./ There's only an endless, moving thought/ That creates surrounding illusions./ Only those who can stop that [mundane] thought/ Will learn of greater things..."
Sounds both outlandish and carefree
This mental maximalism, so to speak, appears in the work of Tretyakov's colleague from St Petersburg, shown below and who hides behind the stage-name Screw. Once again, the Canadian trumpets sound forth: "I strongly recommend visiting the Free Crates' website. If you're looking to discover some fantastic contemporary hip-hop artists from Motherland Russia, here's a perfect place to start."
Screw (St. Petersburg)
And then, from Cleveland (HeadNodz.FM), the issue of mental effort and/as physical escape reappears: the newest recordings from Screw ("Come Through") are said to hold the promise of "a tranquility we might find on a night-stricken[?] skyline - or in the lonely caverns of our minds."
Pushing hard against everyday, lumpen existence is an activity viewed in positive terms on Screw's own webpages. Currently crowning his personal data on one social network is a quote from Paulo Coelho: "The road to wisdom is to have no fear of making mistakes." As with Sasha Ate, the level of faith here in cognitive enterprise is very high, especially as an alternative to worldly, goal-driven enterprise. In fact, another of Screw's favorite aphorisms, this time in Russian, reads: "There is no path to happiness. Happiness itself is a path..." One that's long and winding, to quote an English songsmith.
The road to wisdom is to have no fear of making mistakes
This increasingly positive attitude is cast in especially rosy hues if we step away from the Free Crates catalog and look at the newest release from Morning Records, where Yura Shade has now published a new mini-album/mixtape called "Airwalk." The title speaks immediately to a swift escape from gravity. These light, lyrical compositions are dedicated to the happy aimlessness of romance. As a result, the opening track declares that although our wistful heroine - vocalist Pa'akai - may not be able to fly in literal terms... "she can still dream"!
It's a matter of holding those dreams in place.
Yura Shade (Moscow [right])
These upbeat, escapist viewpoints underwrite the debut release from Shade, whose name in Russian is spelled Шадэ, creating some theoretical confusion - when spoken out loud - with a well-known English chanteuse. The possibility for (or easy choice of) male swagger within a rap/hip-hop release is swapped for a deliberate synchrony with a UK lounge and/or smooth jazz style. Sentiment and quiet sympathy overshadow any risk of a confrontational, "urban" pose.
Throughout these recordings from Free Crates and Shade's label, contemplation and heartfelt motion are held high above the world. What though, if we look at a slightly older form of dance music within Russia - from the early 90s, say? Is that foot-tapping avoidance of reality still working well, or has it succumbed to the push and pull of the daily grind?
Karate, Cheap Tunes, and Foppishness
The Moscow project known as Canicool has just cast a new and rather gaudy light across the break-dancing traditions of the '90s. What was once cool has now become kitsch. The two male protagonists behind these semi-serious noises are the artists known as Miiisha and Super Sanya. They dedicate their efforts to three realms: "Karate, Cheap Tunes, and Foppishness." The second of those terms in Russian is written as muzon, a less than respectful term for music-making; its suggests low taste and little skill.
The romance of dancefloor or dreamy enterprise is therefore swiftly downgraded. And, in fact the Russian noun last in that short list - shchegol'stvo - dates back to the self-assured, cocky dandies of the nineteenth century. All form and no content.
Canicool (From left to right: two "cousins" - Jemia and Lucy - plus Miiisha and Super Sanya)
These ideas and efforts come from an outfit offering "entertainment and [cultural] concepts. Canicool respond to the basic needs of today: with enough swagger for a folk hero, they'll get the pretty girls on the dancefloor." Those ancient, folkloric figures - known as bogatyri - fill the epic verse of Slavic culture; provincial lads suddenly consider themselves worthy of timeless narratives. With broadswords and broad shoulders.
Mocking their compatriots, more than themselves, the members of Canicool come to embody "a mindlessly good mood." Romance has become wantonly dopey - because no social options suggest themselves other than brainless tomfoolery. Daily experience eventually smothers idealism... if we wait long enough.
The lyrics sound like children's rhymes filtered through Twitter
In other words, the dance music and breakbeat rhythms that embodied Russia's happy rush westwards after 1991 are now portrayed in the silliest terms possible. The most "international" references here are frequently no more than calls (or squawks) of "Yo!" "Yeah!" "Come on!".. and various ruder options. The more claims that Canicool's heroes make to sexual or international prowess, the more provincial they appear. "These lads shout over one another and their two cousins[!]. They pull silly faces and mess around. The lyrics sound like children's rhymes filtered through Twitter. Canicool's pompous refrain of 'Youth Forever' is [Russian] rap's answer to Western punk. Our rappers may not have the gold teeth, but they make up for it... with the chopped-up drum beats of a drunk Pioneer."
Patriotism now has a very different coat of arms.
The most famous children's organization in Russia - the Pioneers - is now best symbolized by the tipsy thump of a young drummer in uniform. That same poor boy is already orchestrating incessantly (if not desperately) escapist ditties... which, with their misplaced passion, only underscore an inability to flee the here and now. Music is insufficient to help a young boy imagine a better, bolder future. He has already turned to the bottle. Such is the presumed social context of Canicool's music.
The bittersweet humor of this ensemble suggests that dancefloor romance in Russia faces a struggle. Short-term escapism will probably fade - and then fail - with the passing of time. Sasha Ate's hip-hop instrumentals place enormous hope in reverie; Canicool suggest that only booze and brute effort with keep that hope alive. It's an outlook well framed by a closing image (below): the two female singers - whose names are rarely used - are simply cut and pasted from an earlier photograph (above). That penny-pinching cut-out is then slapped onto an overexposed, neon backdrop, where we find two sour-faced dreamers. Surrounded by bottles.
Such, hold Miiisha and Super Sanya, is the unfortunate fate of pop fantasy. Fact always wins.
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