|
The castle shown above is in Western Ukraine, more specifically in the ancient town of Mukachevo. The local streets and buildings date back to the ninth century. From our point of view - as modern readers of history - that timeline changes dramatically in the sixteenth century, when Mukachevo became part of Transylvania. Suddenly all manner of cultural stereotypes come into play, especially when we consider the imposing appearance of the town's castle, Palanok.
No matter how blue the sky, we cannot but imagine demonic figures in those distant windows.
From the same region, playing upon some of these ominous themes, comes the trio known as Los Kabanos. They've just released an album full of surf guitars - very much in the spirit of vampiric hipsters like Messer Chups. Rather than speak of themselves as unique, creative individuals, though, our three musicians first list their collective weight of 386 kilos! That mass of flesh is then thrown into a whirlwind of instrumentals dedicated to "vampires, ghouls, corpses, werewolves, and other kinds of scum."
Instrumentals dedicated to vampires, ghouls, corpses, werewolves... and other kinds of scum
Below we see the album's artwork, showing some well-known figures in the role of Dracula's neighbors. Handsome devils, one and all.
The album's ten tracks are woven around the imaginary passage of a certain Ivanka, who stumbles into the world of Transylvanian witches, ghosts, and other unsavory figures. Satan himself even joins the fray at one point, yet all these stories of excess and hellish transgression are told with a smile. If Satan has become the object of wry humor, then the genre used to tell these stories - rock music - has surely lost some of its inherent menace.
And indeed, if we look at the sales figures for rock music worldwide, it may well be that a time-honored form of subversive expression is falling swiftly out of fashion. It's interesting, therefore, to see how some inherent qualities of rock - a "progressive" aesthetic, speed, and volume - are treated in a number of new releases from around Russia and Ukraine. All of them give voice to a common search for certain "feral" aspects of musicmaking, which - perhaps - have long been surrendered to other genres. Once again: if the King of the Underworld is causing a few smiles, maybe tales of midnight drama need another outlet.
How, then, to vivify the rock canon? Los Kabanos dismiss the very idea of "progression" or radical innovation and instead return to an earlier time, when surf guitars spoke of a sexy, even foreboding promise that was - as yet - unfulfilled. Few people in the heyday of California surf rock could guess what a revolutionary, seditious spirit would blossom from the same style.
What, then, of breakneck speed? Is that still a guarantor of excitement? Bored, perhaps, by the relationship between tempo and profit margins in popular music, Moscow ensemble Kobyla i Trupoglazye Zhaby move in an opposite direction and slow things down. Radically.
They've just released a "psychedelically" decelerated CD with the name of "Sultan-Girei Klych." That title comes from the name of a famed Circassian military leader of the early twentieth century. A dedicated champion of regional rights - in other words against Soviet power - he would eventually be captured, taken to Russia and executed in Moscow just after the Second World War. That proud and dedicated solider is now celebrated in the quietest, slowest terms.
Martial themes become meditative. In fact, the recording as a whole has been termed "melancholy and wintry" in tone; the working tile was "Snow." The artwork, in a similar vein, has been referred to as "a yearning for some warmth... that has now been lost forever."
We've recently learned that this music was actually designed as a film soundtrack. If that movie is/was connected to the actual life of Klych, then this downhearted, downtempo atmosphere is perfectly understandable. A rebellious spirit is followed into tragic - and perhaps inevitable - decline.
After all, it's hard to imagine that a strident, incessantly uptempo treatment of the same biography would be taken seriously today. Accusations of jingoism would surely be forthcoming. The relationship of speed to narrative impact has long been exhausted in the world of electric guitars.
These suggestions then raise the issue of whether volume might still harbor an ability to inspire - or simply shock. In looking for some kind of musical maelstrom - and the meaning thereof - it makes sense to first throw all structural constraints to the wind and embrace a tumultuous cacophony, pure and simple. What, once all canonical limits are dashed, might the role of countless decibels be?
The artwork of our third musician is promising; vertical illegibility is unlikely to be accompanied by audible restraint.
The man responsible for this disorder is Booby Mason from the Siberian city of Omsk. When we contacted Mr. Mason - aka Anton - we inquired about the status of noise music in Russia. After listing three or four ensembles of worth, he added: "That's pretty much all the outfits that come to mind. There are loads of tiny projects all over Russia, of course, but 90% of them are horribly boring."
Attracted, originally, to the idea of pure noise around 2004, Anton/Booby began to write tracks at home. He would manipulate recordings that had been made using a dictaphone - "I'd mix it all up, cut it, edit things - and then stick it all back together." These exercises in extreme editing were alternated with material that was "recorded live - and in one take. Nothing was corrected in any way."
I'd mix it all up, cut it, edit things - and then stick it all back together
The chaos caught on tape, therefore, was already ongoing outside. Booby's music, surely, is the extreme soundtrack to an equally unfettered existence. No need to employ rock 'n' roll cliches and play "hell for leather." Russian actuality is dramatic enough; all that's required is a microphone stuck through a window and the ability to press "Play."
The music of Los Kabanos and Kobyla is very much a response to generic traditions or limits; the former reacts with irony, the latter with sadness. Booby Mason tries operating outside of established formats altogether. Inspiration comes not from other music, but from ambient intrusions. It comes from that which music usually excludes; the chaos of actuality, known in some noisy quarters as "elephansya."
Booby adds further details: "I find inspiration in all kinds of things: a box full of pencils, even... It's in certain feelings or emotions - the kind of things we experience during the course of the day. Anything, really. The resulting sounds, as a rule, are very harsh. They're made from elements of ambient noise or field recordings, together with lo-fi electronica..."
That clamor and cacophony grows naturally from life in Siberia; there's no need for rockist cliche. "My daily life is pretty simple. A few good friends, some evening walkabouts, wine, vermouth, the forest, nature, and my favorite cats. There's really nothing to do in Omsk. That's why I get wrapped up in these little, unnoticed revolutions with a few other people."
Truly revolutionary and rebellious sounds are slowly growing.
Booby Mason has just released a split EP with Mikhail Lezin; his two tracks are included here. They're one small step towards sonic forms that Mason hopes will be both nationally specific and an escape from tired, canonical limits. He says: "Noise music in Russia is really happening - but it's all on a modest, quiet scale so far. Things should really be the other way around. It should all be so f***ing loud and colorful that people will turn around and say: 'Those guys in Russia are doing a good job!'"
It should all be so f***ing loud and colorful that people will turn around and say: 'Those guys in Russia are doing a good job!'
Mason and Lezin's new "Cement Dust" EP is indeed loud and colorful. If Siberian daily life in Omsk continues to be as dull and dangerous as Mason suggests, we could be looking a national art form in the making. The EP's artwork certainly shows no respect for classic constraint. After all, in order to produce the cement dust needed for reconstruction, everything must be pulverized.
And that's unavoidably noisy.
Comments
Login / Register