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Rough-cut, lo-fi artwork for Moscow outfit Galway
Any ensemble that owes its name to the West coast of Ireland is likely to sport a romantic streak, and - sure enough - the young Moscow collective known as Galway satisfies those expectations. An all-male quartet, they take their musical influences from some well-known corners of the dreampop and shoegaze worlds - with an occasional nod towards laddish wit or sheer volume: Wild Nothing, The Radio Dept., Slowdive, My Bloody Valentine, Foals, and Arctic Monkeys.
Because of those reference points, it also comes as no surprise to learn that Galway have a soft spot for Russian representatives of these same genres, such as Motorama and Human Tetris.
Turning quiet music into mannerisms, Galway have almost nothing to say for themselves. Their songs not only bury vocal performance deep in waves of jangly guitars and tape hiss; the band also prefers visual blogging to anything verbal. A quick run around Galway's web venues will reveal a large number of equally indiscernible and unfocused photographs. Lo-fi, LOMO, and DIY imagery is often cropped in haphazard fashion, such that all pretense towards bold expression is - happily - avoided.
The same could be said, perhaps, for spelling.
Virtually all pictures of the band are under-lit or the result of some twilight enterprise. Similarly, the evocative outdoor shots designed to accompany that lack of clarity usually involve wet and windy locations, devoid of human presence and suggestive of nowhere special. The band's lyrics, penned in faltering English, focus upon a related absence and yearning. They do so considerably more often than they embody anything akin to confident, cocky statement. Atmospheres are more important than declarations.
This is an approach that has proven appealing to distant, melancholy bloggers in the Western world. Infrequent, yet vigorous praise can be found for Galway's "gorgeously spaced-out tunes." That lofty benchmark is quickly matched by "infectious guitar riffs, atmospheric sonar pings, invigorated drums, and lofty vocals..."
Infectious guitar riffs, atmospheric sonar pings, invigorated drums, and lofty vocals...
Given the high degree of romantic enterprise here, it seems inevitable that doe-eyed, probably naive dreamers will occasionally be dealt some harsh blows by the outside (and uncaring) world. As a form of insurance against such likely failure and disillusion, one might point to the kind of worldview we find in Moscow's Magnetic Poetry. Although this duo's small catalog is full of the same childish wonder evident in Galway, earnest desire is now swapped for irony. In other words, what we discover is a form of mild self-mockery. Self-deprecation is begun before society commences a related mode of criticism, albeit without any humor.
It's easier - and more pleasant - to pillory oneself than to have a neighbor do so. Burdens chosen - and suffered - voluntarily give less cause for complaint.
Magnetic Poetry (Moscow)
A few months ago we touched briefly upon this twosome, Oksana and Dima, who prefer some rather odd versions of their Christian names online. Were one looking for these musicians across various social networks, only the spellings of Oxana Anikina and Dm Dmtr(!) would produce anything. It would eventually become clear - through those same digital sources - that these artists are also in a relationship. That happy union sometimes leads to the definition of their output as "musical love-children."
Since the time of our first article, they've been interviewed by the international webzine Satellite Voices, who defined the catalog of Magnetic Poetry as "very sensitive, lo-fi indie-pop music." It's an aesthetic or sonic worldview that is nicely captured by artwork for the band's newest mini-album, where we discover two kittens ready for some inspiring embroidery. Retirement homes tend to be a long way from Rock City.
We do hope that Russian musicians will quit eavesdropping on their neighbors
This deliberate flight from seriousness comes, in part, from the band's conviction that Russian rock/pop music still suffers from an excess of humorless, time-honored baggage. One such burden is the (unending) influence of perestroika bands such as Kino; the other is foreign rock music. An enduring inferiority complex, say Magnetic Poetry, makes innovation rather unlikely: "We do hope that Russian musicians will quit eavesdropping on their neighbors and start looking for their own, distinct sound. We also wish there more [Russian] labels to help promote new artists. It just seems unfair that we always have to try and compete for the attention of foreign labels..."
There's plenty of cause for wide-eyed melancholy.
Magnetic Poetry: "Mini-Album" (2011)
Dima expects little immediate change in the situation: "Indie music will continue to come out of 'bedroom studios.' Majors will go on making small indie labels [for which they care little]. Fashionable brands will keep on collaborating with those music labels. And now we see that sponsorship is becoming a new norm. In the future, brands will own indie labels, or majors will buy those brands." Commerce will dictate everything.
Indie music will continue to come out of 'bedroom studios'
Amid these real-world concerns - and the stargazing escapism they inspire - we find Belarusian singer and poet, Marina Nevgen’. Educated in Minsk, she gained an MA in journalism at the state university, after which she worked for some of the capital’s most respected magazines, such as Open.by. Over the last couple of years, though, she has been resident in Moscow, maintaining a connection with her social and literary roots through a LiveJournal account.
Many of her poems are available online; together those versified and journalistic texts constitute a sizable body of writing. Comments are left on occasion from Belarusian friends and colleagues, wondering when she'll return home. It’s a theme that also arises from time to time in her own literary narratives, albeit with irony. As with Magnetic Poetry, we're dealing with an attitude that emerges from considerations of individual effort relative to various timeless states. One woman's bicycle, after all, is unlikely to conquer the dimensions of Slavic geography.
Marina Nevgen’: "Velosiped [Bicycle]" (2011)
Galway clearly consider self-statement inferior to abstract musings, and Magnetic Poetry wonder whether sung self-statements have any chance of being heard. The last time we visited the work of Marina Nevgen’, late in 2010, she made some related comments on the basis of gender. She proposed certain universal truths.
“Women are better suited to ‘go with the flow’ than men. Men prefer pushing, pulling, fighting things, and managing that flow... A woman knows when it’s time to run – and when it’s time to rest. She knows when to laugh and when to weep; when to hold on and when to let go.” Whatever the validity of these claims, their scope is extended in some of Nevgen’s most recent stanzas, available at the popular site Stihi.Ru. In fact, her most recent poem of all, uploaded a few weeks ago, is dedicated to the theme of eternity. Determinism, as a consequence of such themes, will certainly nurture irony and self-deprecation very quickly indeed...
Eternity, how can I appease you?
The poem draws directly upon the late prose of Joseph Brodsky, dedicated to the city of Venice, which he saw as a beautiful, yet sobering metaphor for timelessness. As the small, baroque facades of Venetian buildings slip into the water forever, Brodsky was tempted to draw all manner of parallels with human experience, similarly minor and yet briefly "spectacular" as it also acquiesces to inevitability. Nevgen' begins her poem: "Eternity, how can I appease you/ If your name is Venice?"
Magnetic Poetry suggest one option.
This unhurried, yet irreversible movement downwards is described in the framework of setting suns or the author's own "reflection in a glass of black wine." Together they lead Nevgen' to ask: "Why should I waste them,/ These small, weak words?/ They'll always be insufficient without/ The music of human touch."
The absence of love and affection leaves one open - and vulnerable - to a heartless, universal process. The need, therefore, for human touch becomes painfully insistent, as the only viable defense against common fate: "Inevitability is lighter than/ A weightless feather/ Or your eyelash/ Upon my forefinger..." That final image suggests - thankfully and unexpectedly - that company has been found.
Words are always insufficient without/ The music of human touch
Within those observations from Moscow and Minsk, the distance from lyricism to fatalism is covered very quickly indeed. The DIY or bedroom aesthetic of indie-pop, when transferred to another nation and some local issues, produces some different results. Dreampop's detachment in the context of these Slavic ensembles leads not to feckless reverie, but a sense of defenselessness. That growing anxiety comes from a perceived inability to have one's voice heard, either because of enormous distances or a because of pitiless business contexts.
As a sense of the inevitable sets in, one small yet impressive alternative emerges. Galway, Marina Nevgen’, and Magnetic Poetry all put significant faith in friendship and romance. Smiles and sympathy can achieve a great deal, even in Venice.
Marina Nevgen’ and supportive colleagues, 2011
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