|
Volzhsky, 2011
The history of Volzhsky is remarkable; situated on the banks of the Volga River, this city was not even registered as a "settlement" until the 1950s. It is now home to approximately 300,000 people. That rise from the surrounding, empty steppe is even more amazing when we consider how the first settlers came together. Historians believe that the very first locals were, in fact, poorly-clad fugitives of the late seventeenth century who referred to themselves as "bezrodnye" (i.e., endlessly "homeless" or "without family"). They survived by hunting and fishing for decades, until a 1720 decree by Peter the Great led to the construction of a silk factory nearby. Bricks started to replace logs.
The subsequent leap from a twentieth-century "settlement" to several hundred thousand residents today occurred due to another industrial project. The Soviets established a hydroelectric dam near the Volga. More housing was suddenly needed for workers and their families, not to mention all manner of related services, and so the grey homogenous apartments of socialist design appeared as if from nowhere.
Something in between avant-garde improvisation and the grooves of jazz-funk
Resident in these newer, though melancholy buildings are the members of Mystic Morrison Visions, whose name speaks clearly to issues of escape, either geographically or psychedelically. The band is a trio: Garegin Benglyants (drums), Dmitry Smolentsev (keyboards, vocals), and Aleksej Esin (bass). Their collective noise is sometimes described as "something in between avant-garde improvisation and the grooves of jazz-funk." The desire to dance emerges... but then peters out.
Mystic Morrison Visions (Volzhsky)
With a little more effort, additional texts can be unearthed, informing us that "over the course of their creative evolution, the members of MMV have moved away from [traditional] song structures towards an ornate and rhythmic fusion of various genres." Tradition and local tedium are then avoided in dramatic fashion: "The group both surrounds audiences with an airy sensation of estrangement [or "aloofness"] and rolls over them like a mighty locomotive, too. The trio's music will conjure all kinds of associations: all the way from 1970s art-rock to the absurdism of the avant-garde."
All the way from 1970s art-rock to the absurdism of the avant-garde
What's interesting here is the conflation of aesthetic complexity with absurdism - and then the coincidence of "estrangment" or escapism with (very!) crude, physical effort. Any flight from ostensible existence will clearly be demanding and is already seen in terms of dismissing all rational enterprise. Daily routine is precisely that - routine activity - and is perhaps best countered with a celebration of willful complication... to the point of nonsense.
Some Western reviews of the band have touched upon the effort needed to shirk one's humdrum presence in the here and now. MMV's byzantine passage through complex chord sequences or time signatures is described as "frantic." There's something excessive at work, almost a kind of over-compensation, since the lifeless burden of reality is so heavy. A recent image suggests the kind of revolutionary zeal that's needed (all over again).
And yet if we turn to domestic reviews, the tone is one of complete admiration and empathy. Frantic structures are endorsed and celebrated: "It's absolutely phenomenal. The way MMV build their experimental imagery is masterful.... It's all top-quality and beautifully executed." Considerable physical exertion, invested in a baroque process of twisting and turning away from grey actuality, is given a top score of "10 out of 10." Determined enterprise, directed towards some form of mental escape, is loudly applauded.
Something similar is at work in the career of Minsk band Marie Chante Quelle Elle Telephone. Here the "frantic" complexity of MMV is replaced by screamo: our Volzhsky ensemble declares canonical songwriting to be incompatible with local experience. The members of Marie Chante Quelle Elle Telephone give up on coherent language altogether (as even their moniker suggests). And, once again as with MMV, this Belarusian outfit (themselves known by an abbreviation - MCQET) came together as a result of approval from nearby towns and villages. Local audiences sensed a local relevance.
Intrigue, fury, catharsis, tragedy, melodrama, farce, spectacle... and you
What exactly Belarusian fans found in MCQET's abandonment of reasonable debate is something neatly formulated in the group's most famous promotional phrase. On several websites dedicated to the outift we find a proudly declared fidelity to "Intrigue, fury, catharsis, tragedy, melodrama, farce, spectacle... and you!" Such are the genres or emotional states determining the strident, driven sounds we hear from Aleksandr Pushkin (guitar, vocals), Denis Korablev (guitar), and Leonid Basharkvich (drums).
Marie Chante Quelle Elle Telephone (Minsk)
The band's lyrics likewise display the kind of manic emotional states that find true, clamorous voice only in screamo. Translated into English prose, one of the songs ("Mistake, Part One") might read: "I'm sleeping OK/ and eating regularly/ but something is wrong./ There's some noise in my ears./ I will not save you./ You'll go to hell." Neither the level-headed formats of institutionalized songwriting nor the sensible language thereof can do justice to some extremely unpleasant pressures operating within dull, daily life. The constant recourse to themes of escape is hardly surprising.
I'm sleeping OK and eating regularly, but something is wrong...
And, for this very reason, perhaps, MCQET just released a debut EP... and then "ceased their existence" immediately afterwards, as the band's representatives had it. The image shown below documents the group's very last show, earlier this season. Songs about departure led to the act itself: the crowd's evident reaction shows the salience of these issues. Somewhere else - anywhere - looks a lot better.
Working along the lines of a related argument, it's interesting to watch the behavior of those Slavic collectives that make absolutely no attempt to "present themselves" online. Audio is posted, sometimes without the slightest reference to a hometown, specific genre, or prior recordings. The notion of homeless, transient, virtually anonymous and therefore happily mobile sound is more appealing than the shackles of geography, speech, or some stable promotional outlet.
MCQET: The farewell concert (2011)
The line between comfort and (crushing) convention is thin enough to prompt these paradoxical audio-statements that almost come from nowhere. It's an outlook leading to the conviction that songwriting - as a form of creative liberty - should perhaps be done with equal and suitable freedom, even at the expense of renown, celebrity, or a discernible face.
Above we see the last hurrah before sound peters out. Voluntarily.
Sad, thoughtful post-rock - the kind that'll submerge you in a state of deep thought...
That brings us to the recent work of one St. Petersburg outfit, who have shunned not only the constraints of a single stage-name, but also invest much effort in hiding from public attention. These musicians are known both as Panzercat and Bronekot (i.e., Бронекот). Even their label has nothing to say in the face of zero specificity. "The band does not like to distrubute materials about itself, so there's really very little information indeed. Nonetheless, the music certainly deserves attention. Panzercat play sad, thoughtful post-rock - the kind that'll submerge you in a state of profound contemplation..."
At this point, therefore, we leave the example of MCQET to one side and consider an even more dramatic engagement of absence: the intention never to appear in the first place.
Put differently, the claim is made here that these lengthy, studied instrumentals will prompt melancholy thoughts of - or a yearning for - somewhere else. In which case, that sonic statement will best be produced by musicians who themselves are "elsewhere." And so, as champions of departure and daydreaming, the members of Panzercat never even show up.
They are the very embodiment of an ever-absent object of desire.
The miserable, angular buildings we see at the top of this text were arranged on the grasslands of Volzhsky such that they stand at certain angles to one another. In that way, said Soviet architects, they could offer maximum shelter (or buffering) from the considerable winds that blow over the steppe. Domestic life and comfortable routine needed from the outset to be shielded from the physical intrusion of a surrounding wilderness. Private experience hid from impersonal emptiness. And yet, as we see, comfortingly predictable habit only fosters a desire for that which is elsewhere - and outside.
Pondering a better, brighter version of daily experience, it seems logical that Mystic Morrison Visions, both in name and musical spirit, are intrigued by that same (promising) vacuum. And, as we see, some other bands of late have taken that paradoxical liberty to even greater extremes: they release songs just before disbanding... or don't appear at all.
Panzercat / Bronekot (St. Petersburg): "Split with Osoka" (2011)
Comments
Login / Register