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Кatya Tyukova is a Russian-speaking native of Latvia, who currently lives in Berlin. There she writes music that has subsequently been published, among other places, in France. In a word, these are sounds of wide appeal. Given a chance to express the rationale or worldview behind these wandering noises, she states (in the third person and somewhat ingenuously) that "Katya writes vocals about her spiritual experiences, plays guitar, produces techno/house mixes, and performs at various events. Music is an important part of her life, but her manner of self-expression can take numerous forms."
Katya writes vocals about her spiritual experiences, plays guitar, produces techno/house mixes, and performs at various events. Music is an important part of her life, but her manner of self-expression can take numerous forms.
Some of these creative offshoots can be found elsewhere online, and are primarily of a static/photographic nature, although the occasional poem and/or video clip will appear, too.
Much of her original techno tracks are produced in collaboration with a fellow Latvian emigre, living in Germany: Max Brannslokker, shown above at work. (He appears to be blessed with a fantastically fast right hand.) Using the website of Berlin label Spanda Records, he provides an equally pithy self-definition, using the same (rather chilly) third-person pronouns: "Max does not obsess over any particular musical style. His works include elements of progressive, minimal, trance, and other genres, too. At present Max continues to express himself through studio/production work, live club-performances, DJ-ing, and by running his own platform for music publishing, Spanda Records." Thus it transpires that the label is, in fact, a home-based project, something that led to an interesting interview not long ago with the Latvian webzine, Ind-Ex. Under no obligation to be especially nice to either artist, the magazine nonetheless tagged Tyukova and Brannslokker as the nation's "best electronic musicians."
A reason to smile, surely? Apparently not.
Here Brannslokker declares himself a child of Russian electronica of the 90s, when people such as DJ Gruv were making the transition from semi-legal raves to primetime radio, and news of that same underground scene was reaching the urban readers of seminal post-Soviet magazine, Ptiuch. This inspired Brannslokker to have a go at composing himself, so he acquired some old Soviet synthesizers and - with scant respect for tradition - started tearing them apart and radically recomposing their most basic elements. It was all a process of trial and error: "I had no idea why things would sound a certain way!"
A brand-new example of this ongoing tweaking and twiddling comes in the excellent joint release from Brannslokker and Tyukova, cataloged as Spanda Expo 1 and consisting of two 5-minute tracks, "Clone" and "Harmala." It can be downloaded for free and is previewed in the first two audio files embedded in this post.
Despite this wilful amateurism, though, Brannslokker sticks to three guiding principles that bring some order to bear: "The music has to be attractive and 'lofty' in some way or other; it must be something you can dance to; and it must involve an element of experimentation. It has to be innovative. Those are the criteria according to which I both collect and compose music. Or at least I try to follow those rules! When somebody listens to my work, I like it when images begin to form in that person's mind - the kind of associations that wouldn't take place if that same music were absent. When that chain of events starts, things can get really interesting! In other words, I prefer it when there's no [linear] narrative in the music, but the sounds themselves simply conjure images in someone's imagination."
Just stare at a point in space and let your imagination wander...
These rather serious attitudes towards musical production are connected to Brannslokker's current location in Berlin. He feels that the relationship towards music per se in the West is closer to his own: in Germany and neighboring lands, works of music are eagerly sought out, bought, treasured, and generally held in higher regard. In Russia or the Baltic, however, "people do things slightly differently. We just grab and download it all as mp3s." It's hard to argue.
And so he headed off to Germany, a little further from the slapdash, amateurish business standards of his homeland. Those same standards are still as evident today, in other unrelated realms - for example, the rather unexacting science of Soviet ceramics. "Square" as a geometric notion was apparently open to debate in the USSR. Below we see several interpretations.
In collaborating with Tyukova - a colleague who clearly meets his demanding standards - Brannslokker tries to produce what Tyukova herself has called "the kind of music that you might hear on a dancefloor in outer space... The sounds that express the spirit of a UFO or space-ships, even. You know: science-fiction kind of things! But there should also be a good, solid groove going on - and some old-school elements, too." Here, by way of illustration, is a recent 40-minute mix from her, called "She's Good for Business."
The duo clearly benefit from the constant exchange of ideas and inspire one another to maintain a rather daring stance towards sonic experimentation. They both speak of the excitement or "great mood" when a joint release is published, but they also admit that any such optimism or happiness quickly - and regularly! - lapses into nervousness. "On the day when a new release comes out, everything's great, but then... a kind of panic sets in: What next? What now? Is that it?"
On the day when a new release comes out, everything's great, but then... a kind of panic sets in: What next? What now? Is that it?
To this Brannslokker adds that similar questions can only be handled with one particular response: "You simply have to make the next release even better!"
This, once again, is not a linear process, but a wandering, almost rhizomatic activity, reflected in Brannslokker's enthusiasm for 70s' jazz, especially of an electronic bent. His celebration of aimlessness finds voice in his choice of genres, too: "Generally speaking, I like a little bit of everything. Some trance, some techno, progressive, industrial, and even among commercial artists, you'll always find something good!"
The kaleidoscopic image above, tagged simply as "psy," can be found on his MySpace page; it takes the place of a personal portrait, acting simultaneously as a visual manifesto or programmatic statement. There's no logical point of entry "into" the image, nor does one acquire its information in a linear, goal-oriented fashion. The picture is a series of interlocking, interrelated elements that - almost as a jazz standard - perform their function(s) as variations upon a theme.
They are defined by constant change.
This celebration of variety - of "everything," so to speak - morphs into an enthusiasm for nothing in particular. As already noted, Brannslokker claims - convincingly - to be free of any "obsessive" attachment to one style or one particular movement. This has parallels in his attitude towards physical space, too. Tyukova shares his view. In essence, what we see in the realm of geography and any obsessive attachment to place is that although both musicians admit proximity to the West is helpful in terms of commerce and a general respect for music, they - as composers - do not feel a great passion for performing their work "anywhere in particular." The idea that music must be performed (or "re-played") to a physically co-present public seems odd. The address-less connections of online socialization, for example, seem more natural, more fluid, and therefore closer to the spirit of the kaleidoscopic image above. The intellectual or emotional connection to one's fan-base gains little from physically standing in front of those people.
Being constantly, endlessly "lost," therefore, has its philosophical benefits. The stylistic shifts of Brannslokker's most recent promo-mix (from August) show the same idea in audible, generically fickle terms.
"To be honest," says Brannslokker, "performing live [at a fixed locale over a fixed period] is a pretty strange thing to do. You stand up there on stage, or start jumping around, and everybody else is relaxing and socializing!" Tyukova adds: "It's as if you're the designated driver, and everyone else in the car is having a drink!" It's for this reason that, when contemplating the relative sleepiness of Latvian electronica, our two musicians don't consider physical distance from the West to be a real problem.
Being in Berlin is, as mentioned, financially and professionally beneficial, but creatively the atmosphere of the "cosmic dancefloor"is conjured mentally or emotionally, via Brannslokker's "images" in a deeply private, secluded engagement of the music. Earphones become more important than concert halls. "I don't think," says Tyukova, "that just because Max and I make music that the whole Latvian scene will end up being like [the busier Estonian capital of ] Tallinn. People who think they've got something to show may end up striving towards the West, but here [at home] things'll stay peaceful and quiet."
Which is just how she likes it.
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