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We continue our context for the first FFM compilation in the city where we finished yesterday's article - Krasnodar. Following on the heels of that initial material, we therefore turn to the extraordinary outfit known as Modul, responsible for some of the finest electronic works of the last few years. Much attention has been paid to these young men on our site, and for good reason. Not only have they established themselves as leading lights of Russia’s idm and minimal scenes, they also now stand behind the important collaborative effort called FUSELab.
Here several netlabels and other digital endeavors have “fused” in order to form a creative node of multiple genres: ambient, chillwave, microhouse, and deep- or dub-techno. There are few better or more fruitful places to begin an investigation of recent Russian electronica.
Since “m” marks the approximate midpoint of the English alphabet, we then move to the letter “n” and St Petersburg’s Nikita Zabelin (below, right). This is a very promising young DJ and musician, whose work increasingly mirrors the severe classicism of his adopted city. His hometown, though, is Ekaterinburg, where he still plays live and has a local radio show. In the past, as we've mentioned, he has often used a self-assured register in order to promote himself as worthy of bigger cities - and of access to grander career options. His acquaintance with nationally renowned singer Ilya Lagutenko (left) is a good start.
Nikita Zabelin and Ilya Lagutenko
He writes of himself in the third person: "Zabelin is an extraordinary Russian musician, operating free from the shackles of hackneyed thought. In the past, as a rock musician and bass player, he would seek the deepest grooves within a rhythm section. Initially inspired by that rock music and industrial electronica, he would then move on to become an experienced DJ. Since the age of 16 he has maintained high standards in the realms of both techno and house."
In all cases, expect restraint and a classical sternness.
The figure of Sanytch (Aleksandr Niavolin) takes us outside of Russia, not only to this artist’s hometown of Minsk– but further still. Educated both in Belarus and Russia, Sanytch now resides in the Czech Republic, where he works simultaneously as a web designer, DJ, photographer, and musician. Niavolin has been employed in the field of graphic arts since 1997 and - on a loftier level – garnered various design accolades since 2002. Now a member of both the Belarusian Designers' Union and the All-Russian Internet Academy, he operates his own company, Creasence, from the picturesque streets of Prague.
I love it when people dance and smile...
Floating, therefore, between two fixed locations, Sanytch is more at home - sonically - with artists such as Moscow's SCSI-9, Berlin's Jan Jelinek, Pole, or Vancouver's Frivolous - whose music makes him feel "happy and inspired." To these causes for joy he later adds "sanity." In other words: "I like people who are compos mentis. I also love it when people dance and smile. I guess that makes me happy, too..."
He ends with an equally simple address to his future readers and listeners: "People, don't worry about the crisis and all that stuff. Just relax... and listen to some good music!"
Perhaps the best exponents of that hedonism in our tracklist are the Moscow duo Push’n’Pull (Dasha Pushkina and Aleksei Blagodatskikh). They work hard together to maximize the razzle and dazzle of their famously showy performances: "In unison, Dasha and Aleksei offer the kind of event that can last for hours - and keep people dancing to the point of total exhaustion."
The pair, before they ever collaborated, used to play unrelated sets in a Moscow club back-to-back; Pushkina started to notice the large similarities between their record collections. Over time, working as a duo began to make much more sense, but what of that odd stage name? When their combined efforts first took shape, it seemed sensible to draw upon a maximally broad series of influences - that would both "push and pull." From contrary or opposing genres, a bright and often gaudy synthesis would result.
Somewhere within Moscow minimalism resides an occasionally rebellious excess. And some big hats.
Moving northwards, away from Moscow, we might head in the general direction of Russia’s chilly coastline, somewhat closer to Scandinavia. The port city of Petrozavodsk, for example, is very close to Finland - and here we find Sergei Suokas, shown below and often celebrated on the pages of FFM.
This is the sound of snow falling slowly...
One recent assessment of a Suokas release began (in Russian) as follows: "You're all alone. Everything around you is milky white... This is the right time for sounds made by the Russian ambient illusionist Sergey Suokas... Through his music you'll sink to the bottom of the deepest ocean - or rise to the loftiest and warmest of clouds. This music will take you to places you've never seen before. You'll also hear things that you've never heard before. This is the sound of snow falling slowly... and melting quickly..."
The sounds, in other words, of a fleeting presence - and a longer, enduring absence. Swiftly we’re returned to the minimalist aesthetic that encompasses most of our album. Monochrome photography underscores the point.
Tim Aminov's online presence is quieter still. Despite our familiarity with - and admiration for - his Moscow output, there are few facts that can be stated with confidence. The occasional promo-snippet will announce that he's a young, talented, and most promising musician. That short and self-evident claim is typically followed by phrasing such as: "His creative efforts as producer and sound designer allow us to say with confidence that Russian electronic music has a great future."
The unobtrusiveness - if not downright silence - from our musician extends onto social networks. The very places designed for interaction remain quiet indeed….
And so, from the heady, happy peak of Push’n’Pull we have moved back into a fittingly minimal register. Peace, quiet, and understatement return. Even as we leave the hushed forests around Petrozavodsk and rejoin Moscow’s clamorous streets in the company of Aminov, restraint and silence hold sway. As they should; there’s a very good reason why Russian and Belarusian artists would yearn for minimalist understatement in their often “excessive” homelands.
Big risks are never far away.
Tim Aminov (and an unpredictable colleague)
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