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Nikita Kuznetsov (High-Speed Kings, Lobnya)
A couple of days ago, news came to us about the demise of RustyPop Records, based in Lobnya on the outskirts of Moscow. "Unfortunately the label's bands all went their separate ways, and we had to close things down. The same groups had started playing complete cr*p, too. Well, you can imagine how the story continues... Nonetheless, we've just opened a new label, learning from our past mistakes!"
In other words, RustyPop has now become Nitrojam and is already proud to announce an eight-track mini-album from High-Speed Kings: "Ludovic." One member of the ensemble is RustyPop owner Nikita Kuznetsov, shown above. He is joined by Maks Kozlov (drums), Roma Boev (vocals), Fedia Belov (bass), and Misha Kogan (guitar). Together they spearhead the renewed efforts of Nitrojam to "support modern independent music across all manner of styles and genres. The outfits at Nitrojam are unified by their inexhaustible energy, freedom of thought, and unmatched creativity."
We've just opened a new label, learning from our past mistakes...
Deep within that workplace credo, however, we can see that endurance is the probably the real sine qua non. In a creative realm where fame and fortune are very rare indeed, if not impossible, the sheer ability to endure means a lot. Some other new releases tell a similar tale this week, coming from a handful of Russian and Ukrainian rock bands. At this point, one is already reminded of some famous words by Churchill: "Success is not final, failure is not final. It is the courage to continue that counts." That spirit of dogged continuation, free from delusions of grandeur - or self-definition, even! - is often what appeals to audiences.
Kimberley (Eleonora Novikova and Maksim Krapiventsev, Sevastopol)
Far to the south, in the Ukrainian port and seaside destination of Sevastopol, we find Maksim Krapiventsev and Eleonora Novikova, the leading lights behind Kimberley. That duo emerged from the ashes of another local ensemble: any problems incurred by a reduced roster were gradually overcome with concerted effort.
When we last looked at the band, we noted some opinions from the local press. Regional journalists asserted that as Krapiventsev and Novikova had passed through the mistakes of earlier collectives, their lyrics became wiser as a result. Endurance produced sage acceptance and a "much more 'transparent,' calmer" aesthetic. "In place of any crazy guitars or wild, disheveled hair, the newer songs were more likely to inspire a kindly smile. They expressed a greater sense of maturity..." That trajectory continues in this week's announcement of a mini-album, "Babyface."
Songs likely to inspire a kindly smile
The most striking of these new tracks, from a thematic point of view, is the instrumental "Bololand." The title comes from a Western study of the Soviet famine in 1921. A large, yet little-known contingent of American aid workers travelled to Russia that year, in order to try and help with food supplies. What they encountered was an awful display of social collapse - and, conversely, the burning desire of citizens to persist in terrible times. It is hard to imagine a more dramatic parallel between old and new evidence of stubbornness; in Slavic cultures, though, the choice of epic benchmarks is wide indeed. Whether one's penchant is for extremes of joy or grief, recent decades will no doubt provide a dramatic backdrop.
Krapiventsev and Novikova have expressed hope that their own composition is "sufficiently cinematic" in its attempt to vivify the perseverance of prior generations.
Human Tetris (Moscow)
Returning to the narrower - and safer - sphere of artistic zeal in the Big City, a new album has appeared from the Moscow band Human Tetris. These four musicians have joked in the past that no level of commitment or cash will ever make their songs appealing to "fans of [MOR folk star] Nadezhda Babkina! Although... if that section of the public did take a shine to us, we'd be deeply grateful! It would mean we'd finally got through to folks!" Even the most committed souls know they're up against some major media obstacles.
Romance fades slowly, however, as does optimism. Frustrated by commercial pressures and the miserable need to make a miserable living, the band admits that universal acceptance would be a fine outcome. Especially as time goes on... "To begin with, our creative plans were really... creative! There was no discussion of anything financial. We did nothing more than play music - and got genuine pleasure from doing so, too." One of the members then adds that nowadays the band only needs to feel that it's "giving something" to an audience, irrespective of any profit: "It's really important that at least somebody appreciate what we're doing."
It's really important that at least somebody appreciate what we're doing
In the absence of cash, gratitude will do nicely.
Once more, the fundamental requirement of a listener or audience is stressed, without whom effort would be pointless - and we'd have nothing more than a hobby. Conducted in front of a mirror. This constant desire for an interactive, spontaneously social process makes the ugly obstacles of a "profession" that much more frustrating. An art form designed by and for groups of people continues to suffer at the hands of filthy lucre; suddenly the state-supported creativity of prior decades sounds rather more appealing. Moments of nostalgia are not uncommon.
Human Tetris: "Happy Way in the Maze of Rebirth" (2012)
These and related PR problems go far beyond the private quibbling of four young men; the professional experiences of Human Tetris are very widespread, if not the national norm - as the musicians realize. Consequently, their topics of conversation are soon expanded to Russia's attitude towards new songwriting as a whole. "There are loads of great bands in Russia today. We'd like people to realize that..." Everybody's trying, yet it sometimes seems as if nobody's listening.
These same hopes, as mentioned, are currently supported with the publication of a brand-new album, bearing the byzantine title of "Happy Way in the Maze of Rebirth." Already parallels are being drawn with the southern indie-rock of Rostov-na-Donu and Motorama, who themselves take much from Mancunian bands of the 1980s. Just as the melancholy air of those UK ensembles was greatly informed by the demise of local industry - and an impending anxiety - so the lyrics of Human Tetris also speak frequently of nervousness regarding the future.
Surround me with your wind and sand...
Previously in the band's catalog, by way of example, the unreachable horizon of a Russian landscape would sometimes become an enduring symbol of loneliness - and the need for stoic endurance. One of Human Tetris' prior songs referred directly to the shore of the Baltic Sea in this manner. In a realm where goals (and skylines) are never reached, individuals need to hunker down. "Surround me with your wind and sand,/ Come closer and sing your songs./ Show me your strength./ I want to see the storm..." A threat directly encountered is better than unending tension. The company of a loved one helps greatly.
If these images of long-term, unavoidably homeless passage continue - across the northern landscape that inspires them - then it is probably not surprising that we find, eventually, recordings romanticizing that same wayward existence. Evident obstacles are turned into ethical benchmarks, matched only by the inspired few.
Jakarta Project (Moscow)
One's "fate" is first admitted (since there's no alternative to endless slog) and then accepted almost as a badge of honor (since only the faithful will endure). Problems become the object of pride! Given that the accrual of profit and/or renown is highly unlikely, perseverance, dignity, and pluck all becomes ends in themselves.
This same praise for staying power underlies recordings from Moscow's Jakarta Project, founded almost three years ago. Playing predominantly instrumental rock in a borderline prog register, the group's members invoke this romance of intrepid travel, which is redolent of the romantic, impassioned gypsies in Silver Age songwriting. In fact Jakarta Project also declare themselves "the very last band to both resurrect and nurture the magical atmosphere of the 1960s." Nobody, we're informed, can match this level of material inconvenience, all in the name of an erstwhile culture - and its loftier values.
Resurrecting and nurturing the magical atmosphere of the 1960s
Physical geography (the subject of penniless touring) is romanticized simultaneously with talk of immaterial, if not mind-altering "trips." Both draw upon the happy dismissal of a home and other bourgeois nonsense, such as comfort or stasis! Creating a suitable soundtrack to these mental adventures, the band's guitarist is deemed - by his colleagues - a "passionate romantic. He not only creates amazing music, but also steers Jakarta Project with wisdom" though troubled waters. Somewhere across the difficult, yet dignified landscape of constant challenge, a musician's true face comes into view. The face of the faithful.
Jakarta Project: "Geographic EP" (2012)
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