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Metacode (Novosibirsk/Moscow)
The name "Metacode," appended to a new Moscow outfit, obscures a slightly longer back-story than one might expect. In other words, this band's moniker - or appearance in the capital, even - may be recent, but several of these musicians have been known to us since the launch of FFM. Brothers Vasilii and Viktor Bogdanov were both in a fine Novosibirsk pop-rock group called Yago-e-Aboo (itself an obscure reference to the parrot and monkey from Disney’s Aladdin [1992]). Having produced a string of wonderful net-singles over the last few years, the Bogdanov brothers have now moved to Moscow, gathered a few kindred spirits and renamed themselves "Metacode."
Of that new label, the artists say: "It refers to a cipher, a language within language. It's a special system of signs for interaction on 'a [qualitatively] different level.' Just as 'metacode' indicates a single, universal system, so it can refer to the language of music." The levels of hope and romance remain high.
'Metacode' refers to a cipher, a language within language
The quartet's revamped website contains some impressions from initial forays onto the Moscow marketplace, where "everything's serious, everything's complex, yet nothing is known..." Vasilii and Viktor hoped that prior to those adventures, a new stage-name would prompt a creative surge and, simultaneously, allow the group a chance to enjoy freedom from the "constraints of branding." If nothing is dictated by corporate or legal limitations, then abject poverty certainly brings a few creative advantages. And so the members of Metacode release their first two songs this month, together with the video you'll see in their profile.
Metacode live, 2011
Extending their chosen metaphors, the artists endure in search of some "unique code [or mode of communication], leading from the dead language of machines to the mysticism of a new cipher." One would not normally expect such hyperbole from a pop-rock quartet... at least not beyond the confines of ostensible existence. This vertiginous tone is, nonetheless, repeated in several others releases this week. Together they speak eloquently - if not excessively! - of the meaning that songwriting has for young musicians in an environment unlikely to grace them with riches. The mere ability to write, record, and share songs is precious ideed.
That experience offers a greater sense of meaningful or shared purpose than "regular" employment. As a result of which, this imagery is unlikely to abate. The Bogdanov brothers distill the essence of their spiraling enterprise in the Russian phrase svoboda i nastroenie, which translates literally as "freedom and [the right] mood." It makes even more sense if we reconsider that coupling as "liberty and emotion." The mere ability to voice an emotion is itself liberating.
Liberty and emotion
We needn't look far to discover more indie or post-rock output that's described in same passionate tone. Late last year we came across a Moscow-based instrumental collective known as Mothership: right away, a starry-eyed or "astral" style of language was emphasized. This makes sense, perhaps, when we consider that Russia's endless land- and seascape might only be discussed in terms that draw parallels with some infinity high above the horizon. Mothership's members plays directly upon a synonymy of northern sea and outer space.
Mothership (Moscow): "EP, Unreleased" (2012)
On a more mundane level, the band is/are a threesome: Fedor Komolov, Anatoliy Shakhazizian, and Alexander Uspensky. Founded in the autumn of 2009, Mothership would initially exist in a rather indefinite fashion. A handful of concerts took place, which resulted in some live recordings... but nothing of any consequence transpired. "And then we broke up, without dealing with vocals and stuff [in the recording process]. Only now have we finally decided to [write and] put out these instrumental tracks."
A single line is attached to the tersest of biographies: "Those times [of slapdash enterprise] have come and gone. Now things are different." The smallest of effort kickstarts the grandest of romance (once again): we go from a standing start to (re)considerations of a star-bound mothership. Music-making clearly offers immense hope... once a few tentative steps are actually taken.
And that leads us to the cosmic syntheses evoked by the project known as Aesthesys. The name is problematic enough. It comes from the acronym AESTHE, which stands for "An Exceptionally Simple Theory of Everything." Immediately there are associations with some unifying aspects of modern physics, holding - in principle - that there may exist theories "of everything" to account for all physical phenomena. Those same theories, by extension, would then be able to predict the outcome of experiments before they were even conducted.
A majestic, monolithic harmony lurks somewhere beyond our ken... maybe.
Aesthesys: "Camera Obscura" (2012)
The "exceptionally simple theory" within this field, a bold and very basic version of these same unifying notions, comes from work done by experimental physicists in the last few years. It has struggled to find acceptance within academe, due to that same uncomplicatedness, and has met with resistance from some big names, most notably Steven Hawking. A few years ago, he said: "Some people will be very disappointed if there is not an ultimate theory [in physics] that can be formulated as a finite number of principles. I used to belong to that camp, but I have changed my mind." Key here is the term "disappointment." The appeal of a single, unifying rule for all interaction in the universe would be great, either for mathematical or spiritual reasons.
And indeed the tiny PR materials used by Aesthesys within this context admit that although that name is grounded in some explicit scientific ideas, it at least sounds like the adjective "aesthetic." There is, in short, a deep-set romanticism within this music, born both of scientific and artistic interests: it is built upon the hope for some forms of wide-ranging harmony that, although sought for centuries, may well not exist. This is the essence of quixotic enterprise - and the willingness to entertain failure. That possible absence of success is important, as we'll see.
Band interests: trees, hats, ladder-hunting, bohemian glass... (Facebook)
New recordings are now available from Aesthesys, following both a listeners' vote for some favorite tracks and the rerecording of older material, this time using better equipment. The result is entitled "Camera Obscura" - not in honor of Scottish twee-pop, but in order to recognize the antique optical device that projects an image of surrounding actuality onto a screen.
From small tools come a very big picture.
Aesthesys: Live in Moscow's Aktovy Zal
The dizzy scale of this "spacey" romance, however, also implies great risk and/or loss, as suggested. Should we desire an example of brinkmanship on a similar scale, we might turn to the Estonian outfit Lack of Eoins, based in Tartu. Formed in 2008, the band also went through an early name-change, having jettisoned the rather dubious choice of "Mehmed Pehmised." There's now a new single on display, including remixes by several Estonian colleagues who are linked to local, respected collectives like Tallinn Daggers, Pia Fraus and, Imandra Lake. Most of them have been mentioned or showcased on FFM before.
The single is entitled "Sudden Death Mode." Optimism, it seems, fades very fast indeed: the title establishes a swift note of melancholy. The quickest introduction to this seemingly dour outlook comes from the tracks' barely audible lyrics. Fixing the English a little, we find buried in a sea of clamor the following phrases: "Sudden death mode, coming right out of the stars/ This night isn't just made for us./ Wise men have spoken, everything's declared./ We've been taught to hold back - and [then] release our fears..." Within that humorless framework we find - to our surprise - the hints of a stubborn hope or pride: " The way I've lived, I am not ashamed./ I never wanted to be on the wall of fame."
The way I've lived, I am not ashamed...
Aspirations emerge - through failure. Put differently, downfall and fiasco allow for the (spectacular!) loss to a cause greater than oneself. Only through failure - or possible "shame" beyond the limits of decorum - can one prove the true, inspiring value of that same cause. One's demise allows for celebration of a path well-chosen, one that deserved utter fidelity. Whether these musicians sing of transformation, astral yearning, universal theories, or even epic collapse(!), the mere involvement with music is cause for a sustained fanfare.
And so a dim, yet very persistent light is discerned through the slate-grey skies over Tartu.
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