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Matin: "Last Day EP" (2012)
The figure of Serge Matin is faintly sketched across a handful of Russian web venues. Over and above his residency in Moscow - or the occasional desire to use his surname as a French noun - there is little information. Objective reasons for this silence may be hard to discern, but a recent single from the capital's Electronica label offers one convincing possibility. Electronica, overseen by Sasha Khizhnyakov, has just released a couple of Matin tracks, titled "Last Day" and "Later." The downtempo crunch and crackle of those leisurely works has been likened by various friends and colleagues to UK's Burial. Matin's anonymity, in that case, has a well-known precedent and may even help to foster an appealing sense of mystery.
Very atmospheric, piercingly sad designs
Just as Burial's trademark white or ambient noise helped to refashion a D&B heritage as soundscapes with slower, more ominous contours, so one of Matin's instrumentals begins with nervous footsteps in an empty building. Echoes of Tarkovsky are perhaps foregrounded. Thus begins what one Moscow colleague has called Matin's "very atmospheric, piercingly sad designs."
Early assessments of Burial's catalog made reference to the sonic equivalent of "cobwebs on forgotten instruments," which in turn evoked the "balmy gust of air that precedes an underground train." Flickering shards of background noise came slowly into focus in ways that produced more anxiety than entertainment. The dancefloor was filled with the soundtrack to impending trouble.
Alexei Nikitin, aka Nocow (St. Petersburg)
Were we to suggest a kindred spirit within the Russian context, one of the logical candidates would be Alexei Nikitin, who performs in St. Petersburg under the stage-name of Nocow, although he also plays an important role in northern collaborations like Wax Paper Cup. The last time we examined his catalog, several months ago, it was in order to announce an EP dedicated to some hills just south of the same city, known as Pulkovo Heights. That name conjures a wealth of images and associations in Russia, all of which are tied to twentieth-century battle. They speak of loss and hard-won gain.
The Pulkovo Heights, as their name implies, rise in a thin ridge above the city's dramatically flat profile. Their relatively tall silhouette has always meant that the hills have been important militarily - on more than one occasion. For residents of St. Petersburg, this windswept place is especially associated with conflict during both the Civil War and WWII.
History records that in 1919, Revolutionary soldiers fought back against White troops and claimed the hills after considerable losses; in 1941 Soviet troops showed equal reserve against Fascist forces. On both occasions, those bloody victories were turning points in a conflict - en route to a better future. Or so the story went at the time. Against that dramatic backdrop, Nocow this week announces a new single, which consists of two remixes, tinged with a similar melancholy.
Artwork for Nocow remix of Spies on Bikes (2012)
The tracks are variations on material by Florida's Spies on Bikes, aka Nathan Cochran. His general demeanor is jollier than one would expect from many Russian performers, full of irony and self-deprecation. When, however, Cochran is asked to list his influences, the tone changes. His music, we're told, results from the following issues and concerns: "Humanity, imperfections, sounds around the house, nature, collapse, chaos..."
Humanity, imperfections, sounds around the house, nature, collapse, chaos...
In the face of these snowballing troubles, various responses emerge on a related scale, countering disorder with extreme regimentation. In other words, there's one Russian release on Shufflebrain this week - from newcomer and St. Petersburg neighbor Kuj Skills - that weaves its PR materials almost entirely from a samurai code of dignity, the so-called Bushido. Merging "modern electronica and dope hip-hop," our northern producer offers the soundtrack to "an atmosphere of [fictitious] city streets where a mighty Chinese syndicate decides who's who." Slavic actuality requires a code of better conduct.
And so, amid these imagined threats of comic-book fiction and ancient history, the worldview of Bushido self-discipline and dignified fatalism emerges. It is full of unhurried restraint. Kuj Skills quotes several lines from a Bushido text: "A warrior must live in recognition of the fact he may die at any moment. He must value every second of his existence - since it may be his last." That objective, sobering outlook leads to an unflustered acceptance of the world's workings. Standing on top of a tall building also helps.
This air of timeless valor is transferred to other, more recent circumstances. Japanese self-control is brought to the streets of St. Petersburg: "Every day, as I come into contact with various difficulties, with troubles of the heart, or a storm of burdensome thoughts, I try and remember the films of Akira Kurosawa. I must be like a samurai, struggling fearlessly against my internal foes." This view of life as conflict, eventually and somewhat surprisingly, leads to an overarching and calmly accepted harmony. Within disorder lies a well-defined scheme.
I try and remember the films of Akira Kurosawa
"The most important thing of all is to remember that contradictions [always] create a unified whole, just as light cannot exist without dark and goodness cannot exist without evil. Passing - fully aware - along your path, you will reach complete peace and harmony."
Kuj Skills' label-mate - Htrspltn (aka Ivan Zhurovich) - has just released a simultaneous and philosophically related album from distant Ulan-Ude: "Human Factor." It comes once more from Shufflebrain and with a small poem in Russian, also designed to express an acceptance of life's surprises. Translated into English prose, the first stanza might read: "You ask for my hand and we grow into one another, as [intertwining] flowers. We merge at a single point along eternity's circle." The appeal of destiny's preordained harmony - of lines already drawn - is then extended into a wider context:
"Is mankind truly the highest form of existence, as is often assumed? Might robots [being calmer still!] acquire self-awareness?" The self-generating, predictably unflustered operations of machinery have much appeal in troubled times. They are free of mortality - and other mistakes.
Kuj Skills: "Drop Thru" (2012)
That final mention of robots implies that Htrspltn's view of fated actuality is a little different to Kuj Skills': our "human" vacillations between success and failure, worry and joy, are shown to be rather unimpressive. Perhaps only computerized processes, free of all glitches, are suitable examples of Bushido behavior? If so, then humanity needs to acknowledge some failings twice over, according to the versified notes of Htrspltn. His poem speaks both of our striving for nature's distant, humbling harmony (in which we are ultimately insignificant) and then ponders our bumbling efforts relative to technology's smooth, stoic enterprise.
The questions Htrspltn poses and/or answers with regard to "Human Factor" show much respect for self-deprecation, a view we rarely endorse. They also imply that chutzpah can be a delusional stance in the face of "eternity's circle."
These instrumentals make our grey work days unbelievably black
That double blow to arrogance leads to a comment we find on Vkontakte. One fan of Mr. Zhurovich expresses great admiration for these recordings, because they lead him to quietly accept the slow, humbling movements of inevitability. As a result, one's fate - although far from consoling! - is embraced and a strange, sad peace ensues. That fan writes to Htrspltn: "These instrumentals are melodic, just like a cardiogram. They make our grey work days unbelievably black, without beginning or end. Each track plunges us into its unique darkness... And I like that."
A vague smile is discerned on the face of mortality.
Current backdrop for Htrspltn's Facebook account
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