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Given the considerable difficulties facing Russian musicians, including this week's weather (above), one might wonder if cynicism would increasingly dissuade people from embarking upon a musical "career." No such worries, however, are evident among the members of Rok-Gryzuny, who are committed to entertaining northern children - with some classic rock 'n' roll. Although the male participants are all Finnish, the Russian connection here comes via St Petersburg chanteuse Galya Chikiss, herself a young mother.
The band's name is Jytajyrsijat in Finnish and can be translated as "Rock Rodents" in English, perhaps. Well-known in their homeland, the group recently included Chikiss in their plans in order to present their repertoire to a new, Russian audience - in a new language.
It turns out the men have known each other since childhood; they grew up together and even avoided military service at the same time - by working in junior schools. It was that experience with very young listeners that led to the development of Jytajyrsijat, together with an shared conviction that today's fledgling audiences need superior entertainment. It should also be mentioned here that the members of Rok-Gryzuny now have children of their own - thus creating another good reason for the songs.
The picture at the top of this article actually shows Galya Chikiss' home street in St Petersburg. Walking her daughter is currently not easy; homespun, portable songs help to entertain and educate homebound toddlers. Two nations of tired parents express their gratitude for a reduced workload.
When Chikiss went to work with the band in Helsinki, they managed to record twelve songs in the course of a single day; аlmost all on the first take, too. Although the lyrics here are in Russian, the participants during those studio sessions would zip back and forth between two languages - showing much enthusiasm and little concern for grammar. The same attitude of happy-go-lucky performance pervades the final versions.
The project's page at Vkontakte lays claim to Rok-Gryzuny's status as "The Happiest Rock Group in the World." The new compositions are simultaneously tagged as both "energetic and anarchic... in a good-natured way." Some of the lyrics give an immediate and telling snapshot of the behavior being celebrated: "You're waiting for some candy in the store. Mom says 'There's no money.' But one thing will always save you: some wild hysterics!"
Our perfect audience would be between three and ten years old
Chikiss - apart from her home situation - was inclined towards the project for yet another (positive) reason. She sees no children's music in Russia that's new - in a literal sense. Youngsters, she believes, are usually raised on kids' material from the Soviet canon: classic musical cartoons and puppet shows, for example. "I was interested, therefore, to see how my own daughter would react to the experiment - so I signed up for Rok-Gryzuny very quickly! I'd say the age-range for our perfect audience would be between three and ten - though we've certainly got some adult fans, too."
Another slogan used by Rok-Gryzuny takes its cue from the phrasing of Soviet rhetoric: "Finnish Rock for the Children!" Trouble is to be expected, no matter the age group.
Celebrating the benefits of bad behavior, several of these ditties have been promoted in a related spirit as "songs of protest for children. Good-natured, upbeat compositions - but without anything infantile." When played live, many of these numbers are designed specifically to get those mischievous kids involved in the show, often by calling out or performing some action together.
Why the immediate advocacy of noisy rebellion? One would think that children need little encouragement to act up. The specific involvement of rock music here - as the soundtrack to subversion - seems to be locally relevant, for the following reasons.
If we start with the new album from Samara's Bajinda Behind the Enemy Lines, a few clues begin to emerge. The band's new recording - available this week - is actually called "Late." Something's evidently not happening on schedule: and indeed, the album has appeared just after the band's virtual collapse. The songs may exist but the ensemble - in its traditional lineup - does not. They've recently lost a lead singer and are therefore regrouping at a time when promotional obligations would be better served by happy cohesion. And for that reason the album is "late."
The outfit began with big, bold intentions. Bajinda - from start to finish - always seemed to invite parallels with Happy Mondays and The Stone Roses, though interviews led to more frequent nods in the direction of Placebo, New Order, U.N.K.L.E., and The Streets. The resulting live shows, as we see, were famously grand and optimistic - drawing once again upon that Madchester heritage.
In a word, Bajinda were (remain?) an outfit both inspired by UK music and potentially of interest to the same shores. As we mentioned before, that love affair with British songwriting traditions even prompted a northern accent in the vocals of now-absent frontman Pavel Teterin. As the remaining members are currently pondering their future, pronunciation becomes another part of the decision-making process.
Demo-versions of these songs have been in existence for a while (in some cases for two years); the album, therefore, did not evolve quickly. Both its development and publication reflected a counterproductive work-rate. With gallows humor, the remaining musicians now say they've learned one good lesson from this entire process: "How not to make an album."
How not to make an album...
One of the biggest ironies here is that the drawn-out production was caused by a desire to match the band's live sound on disc. But, as a result of that unhurried, expensive editing, the concerts stopped - and for quite some while, too.
"We wanted the finished recording to reflect the atmosphere at our gigs - as closely as possible. After all, most people know us from those live shows - and the album was designed as an expression of gratitude to our fans. To the people who'd supported us all these years and [again ironically] waited for this CD! Now that the work's done, though, we feel both joy and relief at the same time. It lets us dedicate ourselves to writing new stuff."
...Which may only duplicate or exacerbate the same dilemma: commitment to one's craft means sacrifices in the workplace - as a result of which, the craft suffers. The apparent inevitability of that cycle - the presumption among local songwriters that material collapse will occur - allows precious little time for creative freedoms. The romance of unfettered creativity becomes a race against time. Hence, it seems, the celebration of joyful misbehavior in the kindergarten catalog of Rok-Gryzuny, before adulthood and actuality catch up with the dreamers.
In between these extremes of playground promise and adult resignation - between the cognitive frameworks of "early" and "late" - we find outfits such as Kazan's strangely-named Harajiev Smokes Virginia! - exclamation mark and all. Formed in 2009, they have just released eight songs through Bandcamp. As if in defiance of the dull, worldly pressures experienced by Bajinda, these young men have turned to absurdity as a useful form of contrariness.
Unpredictability hopes to avoid the inevitable. Staring with a stage name.
"Harajiev" was, allegedly, a boy these musicians once knew at school, who had a reputation for smoking glue in the toilets. Neither he nor anybody else, however, smoked Virginia. The appeal of that moniker, built upon half-truths, is more sonic than semantic. It sounds as if might make sense. More specifically, the band members say that the repeated consonants of "Harajiev Smokes Virginia!" - especially when spoken aloud - remind them of amplified distortion(...). Or so the random story goes.
The high levels of humor and self-deprecation in the band's small catalog are once again an apparent defense mechanism against the likely hassles of approaching adulthood. "There's always a little truth in those jokes. Irony's a useful device for talking about something painful. It lets you see your problems from a different angle - and then try to fix them."
In the light of that bittersweet worldview, some more detailed justification is given by HSV for their own exuberance. Actuality's dead weight begins to smother a sense of freedom, so any kind of contrariness looks appealing: "We write songs in order to brighten our daily lives - just a bit. They help to excite people, too; they get them going." A little later we hear a related - and modest - extension of the same opinion. If time is working against liberty, then it helps to savor the here and now: "I just like to watch how our music comes together. Each time [we perform something] it always seems to take on a different color. It has a different taste, smell, or form, even..."
We write songs in order to brighten our daily lives - just a bit
Processes take precedence over a fixed goal; targets planned in youth have little value in adulthood.
Even though the band feel they've been remarkably fortunate to release this album - called "Vector" - the name alone seems to echo their trademark dark humor. Instead of surefire advancement or longterm fiscal planning, the vague, yet enthusiastic talk of music's changing taste and form - now - is more convincing. Aware that the weighty, quotidian problems faced by Bajinda "definitely" lie ahead, two contrary attitudes come to the fore: self-mockery and a gratitude for each passing moment.
Rock music as social protest becomes instead a brief, fleeting celebration of the present. Since you never know when things will go belly up.
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