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The ensemble known as Poostosh operates between Moscow and London. Their name comes from a Russian term referring to wasteland or some abandoned, untended plot. In the light of such information, it might come as no surprise that the music emanating from these artists is extremely quiet.
In a related spirit, the band's members have been keen in their promotional material to cite those critics or observers who liken the music of Poostosh to "the ambience of childhood nostalgia." It's a contemplative state or atmosphere that's typically developed through techniques our musicians call a "never-ending process of blossoming - established through improvisation and experiment."
...the ambience of childhood nostalgia
Already we sense an appealing tension between the ensemble's name and its output. The noun "poostosh" is rooted in ideas of emptiness, yet the music under discussion is associated with themes of maturation and/or a happy nostalgia for one's youth. This yearning for a biography redux and a chance to start anew leads us to interpret the metaphor of "wasteland" somewhat differently. Instead of imagining some industrial nastiness, we're inclined to view the band's moniker as a celebration of natural spaces... before they were encroached upon by clamorous "progress."
Our opening, verdant image, provided by Poostosh, shows an attempt to save or preserve that untended plot. To keep nocturnal ne'er-do-wells at bay.
Both childhood and hushed natural expanses are free of adult mistakes - be they private or professional. A wasteland, therefore, is a chance to start anew; it's a disheveled but promising place of reconsidered growth.
In fact the two most recent Poostosh recordings speak directly to this synonymy of emptiness and opportunity. In 2005 they released an album with the title of "Untime," a neologism that conjures a sense of suspension. Several years later they released "Herbarium," itself evoking a similar - beneficial! - retardation of growth. Given the airy, wistful air of these instrumentals, that lack of "progress" is by no means cause for despair; quite the opposite.
A chance to slow or completely stop the passage of time is viewed positively.
Which, in turn, implies that without that deceleration, the present will roll inexorably into the future - and into the kind of adult decision-making that ruins natural networks. From a wasteland come the sounds of what might have been.
Slowness, as a result, is cherished - which brings us to the brand-new recording from Galya Chikiss, "Zimnee Serebro" (Winter Silver). This 29-minute instrumental work is part of an ongoing cycle dedicated to the year's passing seasons. The winter recordings, however, did not appear in chronological order; they were published extremely slowly. Chikiss herself made the following observations on that score - a full year ago, and long before the artwork below was even conceived:
"It's only appropriate that a cycle called 'Seasons of the Year' not be rushed. It has been put together slowly thus far - and that'll continue to be the case..."
Work had started way back in 2007 on the first of the seasonal releases, "but the winter recordings really stood their ground. They were composed and recomposed on several occasions; then they were buffed and polished... They turned out to be genuinely 'silvery' - as you'd expect of a wintertime work. I can't say anything more about them."
Slowness, silence - and gratitude - predominate.
The passing year was a good one. And, as ever, it seems as if things are only just beginning...
A couple of days ago, as these recordings finally came to light, Chikiss wrote: "It's been ages since I've been beyond our snowed-covered streets ... Outside it's nighttime and there's permafrost everywhere, but inside my head everything feels so 'spacious.' It's a wonderful sensation. I've no real desire to compose any lists of my achievements in 2010. The passing year was a good one. And, as ever, it seems as if things are only just beginning..."
Slowness, silence, and gratitude, once again. From a sense of second chances, amid the remnants of a year past.
This general atmosphere has just been beautifully summarized in a new compilation from St Petersburg's 56 Stuff, mere weeks after their previous album discussed here. The new publication - perhaps as three imperatives - is entitled "Easy. Slow. Quiet." Thirty-eight minutes in length, the work has been constructed according to the brief text that prefaces it:
"'Easy. Slow. Quiet.' is a defense against [the city's] hustle and bustle. Against bad weather and a miserable mood. It's a compilation made from tracks designed to have a calming effect. 'E.S.Q.' is a new button on life's imaginary keyboard; it offers an escape from the nervous turmoil of the spaces around us."
This is defense against bad weather and a miserable mood
"We have deliberately published this compilation album at the end of the year. This is a season when your levels of tension go up - but our CD will have just the right effect in other seasons, too! The pacifying effect of 'Easy. Slow. Quiet' is guaranteed all year round... and irrespective of geography."
The hats, coats, slush, and tram-lines all paint a very Russian picture.
This music offers an impression of reduced crowding; we hear little - and, therefore, very little must be occurring. Peace and quiet, consequently, result both from a broader purview (from a chance to see further or hear less) and a general reduction in speed. Calm emanates from the promise of a sonic "wasteland" that removes any pointless, manmade ruckus.
This is the kind of wonderful "waste" that means everyone has left the immediate area; it's the noiseless trash of an absent horde.
Once that sensation of emptiness or the promise of a blank canvas is in place, we might imagine the day anew - in easier, slower, and quieter ways.
The music of a vintage romance
The three tracks we've chosen here from "E.S.Q" are both by individuals we've showcased before, such as Roman Skarednov, and newcomers (like The Inay, from Minsk). Skarednov we already know and admire as the figure behind ABC Galaxy; here he appears in the guise of a suitably named side-project, Snow Slow Party.
Skarednov in all his projects gives voice to what he calls "the music of a vintage romance." In other words, the sound of an old, reconsidered - and probably superior - experience.
Belarus' The Inay both extend and clarify this general atmosphere of slow, silent retrospection. For the last five years, frontman Pasha Isachenko and his colleagues have been using old-school, half-forgotten instruments to evoke what they call "provincial Soviet post-rock." These, in other words, are the sounds of endless reverie, played on junkyard tools from the edge of some "consequential" space. They're the sounds of what might have been, performed on the edge of what could be...
Iaschenko's lo-fi, hushed sketches are then given visual shape with a host of Lomo illustrations, as we see above. Figures fade into a vague, slightly disheveled context - in order to reemerge yet again, perhaps into bigger, clearer focus. The wasteland of the present becomes the sketchpad for other, reconsidered potentials.
This is provincial Soviet post-rock...
And in fact the last of the three 56 Stuff performers chosen here - Raumskaya - was tight-lipped about these matters when we first touched upon his work in 2009. That situation has not changed; he - as Galya Chikiss - has nothing to say. Peace, quiet, and immobility thankfully predominate.
The promise of ease we hear from 56 Stuff is especially valuable at the moment. Given that northern Russia is undergoing the worst winter weather for years, the label's soundtrack of noiseless, respectful restraint will be precious.
Below, by way of example, is an image from a major Moscow airport yesterday, where all electricity was lost, due to savage ice storms. Travelers were forced to stay overnight in unlit terminals; tempers quickly worsened as crowds grew.
The child below would, therefore, be most grateful for this music - as a portable, audible space where everything is easy, slow, and quiet.
*Our image of a girl amid trees, used in the "Articles" archive, comes from Lina Khesina.
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