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Somewhere in "Siberia" there exists a music blog called DKHC, which is dedicated to various aspects of local and/or regional post-rock. Those initials stand for the English phrase "Don't Know How to Call," which is a rather strange translation of the Russian expression "Ne znaiu chto za stil'." In other words, the blog's name might be better relayed as "I Don't Know What to Call [This Music]"; it has nothing to do with a physical inability to shout loudly over large distances.
Nonetheless, a fortuitous or accidental pun emerges, in that the project's organizers (not to mention their friends online) all go to considerable effort to hide their actual location. Every single networking page refers only to "Siberia," and not to a specific town or address. Consequently, some imprecise yet positive stereotypes come to the fore, imagining Russia's frozen interior as a place of unspeakable dimensions. An ineffable aspect of national geography is drawn upon in order to showcase various musicians... who themselves often shun language in favor of introspective, shoegazing performance. DKHC, its supporters, and the chosen instrumentalists all see considerable appeal in places across which one could never "call."
As some of the related graphic art implies, evident lines between natural and astral realms will slowly be removed. The romance of place slowly becomes that of space. Interior geography prompts various musings on the nature of some outer atmosphere.
The DKHC Compilation (2012)
DKHC states its raison d'être in the simplest terms: "We write about music that we find interesting - and hope to give it some worthy attention. If you have any talented friends, please drop us a line and let us know!" Several of these gifted youngsters have just been packaged in a small compilation of DKHC's efforts, which can be downloaded for free. A couple of the chosen acts have been discussed on this site before, namely Show Me a Dinosaur and Sleep Dealer, who borrow their name from a recent dystopian sci-fi thriller.
The film takes place in the near future and therefore extends a few realities of our current world into more extreme domains; it turns current nervousness into a forthcoming nightmare. Political borders have become paranoid militarized zones and web-based interconnectivity has morphed into a network that joins all our common emotions and thoughts. Individuality as we know it has long since died.
It takes no great effort to see how DKHC's love for "erased" landscapes overlaps with the same unmapped territory of this bizarre social realm in the future. Petty concerns and the present day are both cast aside in favor of the dramatic, if not boundless grandeur that leads Sleep Dealer to make public their enduring admiration for Evpatoria Report, Ireland's God Is an Astronaut, and This Will Destroy You. The artwork below is unlikely to be prompted by other, more reserved exponents of shoegaze. Loud music needs loud colors.
A typical promo-shot employed by Sleep Dealer (Moscow)
A recent interview given by key band member Vadim Palych to DKHC both declared a fondness for "cosmic" themes and also documented his project's intention to move towards "darker" issues or topics. Were the opportunity to arise for collaborations with filmmakers, say, in order to underscore this thematic shift, Palych says he would prefer "writing the music for a documentary feature. Something connected to modern global problems." Again the future is seen in terms of an impressive, yet unspeakable wilderness or wasteland. "I rarely have good dreams," adds Palych: "Most often my dreams are either unpleasant or made from some kind of nonsense..."
Romance and anxiety run side by side.
Most often my dreams are either unpleasant or made from some kind of nonsense...
Furthering that cosmic scale of reference are the St. Petersburg outfit, The Last Flight of Atlantis. Some of the band's artwork shows clearly that the reference point here is indeed the NASA shuttle program, rather than anything mythical. The band members also spoke to DKHC, furthering the connection between real-world experience and musings on the Great Beyond.
All fans of science fiction, these young artists tend to namecheck some rather ominous films from the Western canon as their favorites. "Sometimes sci-fi movies give you a real sense of what the cosmos must be like. The kind of place where nobody can hear you scream - and you become absolutely insignificant in the face of your own madness..." Not the happiest of outlooks, it must be said. Emptiness both charms and insigates considerable worry at the same time.
The Last Flight of Atlantis (St. Petersburg)
Eventually it becomes clear that these distant starscapes mirror some of the worries that TLFOA have about their future careers. "We wouldn't consider ourselves to be any kind of 'cosmonauts.' We're just a bunch of sad schoolboys with delay pedals!" Inspired by places and planets far beyond the ken of amateur astronomers, these artists maintain a degree of self-deprecating humor. The distance between their expressive abilities and any (distant) object of their attention remains substantial.
What kind of music, in that case, might best embody these forthcoming times or places - the ones that produce more fear than happy anticipation? TLFOA respond: "The music of the future will probably move into some 4D realm, making compositions more chaotic and unpredictable. People will be able to see, smell, and touch sounds with the help of psychoactive drugs. Maybe - at some point - they will even discover the 'absolute harmony' that Arthur Clark once talked about..."
People will be able to see, smell, and touch sounds with the help of psychoactive drugs
For both these ensembles, a rock tradition becomes not a soundtrack to bold, intrepid adventure, as has often been the case in a Russian context. Instead their swirling, wordless soundscapes are a way of removing various obstacles between everyday experience and the humbling, if not frightening awareness of some grander vista. Far away from home - and our earthbound vocabulary.
A.Minster (Nastya Minster, Moscow)
That leads us to the Moscow composer and songwriter Nastya Minster, who also works with DKHC. After experience with various collectives over the last few years, she now plots a similar path of stargazing reverie to that of TLFOA: "Nastya is influenced by certain bands, certain facts, and certain stars... but first and foremost she's inspired by the light and beauty of things unnameable."
Songs inspired by the light and beauty of things unnameable
Stepping back from the unimpressive scale of humdrum experience, Minster told the staff at DKHC that she has never written a song about love. This removal of all social themes - or optimism - from her catalog leads DKHC to suggest during the same chat that: "Your music often seems to conjure images of a snowy forest." Metaphors of winter, wilderness, and other uninhabitable places continue to multiply. They do not lead to a happy, easy-going worldview. When Minster is asked about her favorite time of year, she admits that nature's rebirth leaves her unimpressed. "The worst thing of all is the spring[!] - and as for the other seasons, well... my attitude towards them changes..."
Her unwillingness to soften these melancholy compositions with any reference to the comfort of society or nature leads DKHC to ask Minster another, related question. Given that she vigorously detaches her catalog from all manner of performative or market-driven norms, what one might say about this music to future audiences? How might one categorize these songs for those people who've yet to hear them? Minster reponds: "I don't think you need to tell them anything at all." The best preparation for music concerned with distant "light and things unnamable" is to say nothing whatsoever.
That, perhaps, is a logical response when we also remember that one her tracks - "Angels" - consists of incomprehensible vocals, constantly looped backwards. The finest and furthest voices are those hardest to understand.
Absorb the Sun (Rustam Zagitov, Yekaterinburg)
Gradually these artists are retreating into a picture (or straightforward practice) of introspective reticence - a state in which they ponder various faraway realms, all of which are decisively purged of petty concerns. Perhaps the most dramatic exponent of this sonic retreat would be the Yekaterinburg artist Rustam Zagitov, who has the stage-name Absorb the Sun. It's hard to imagine a moniker better suited both to our intergalactic aesthetic and the romance of merging with some unpeopled expanse!
Distorted drones: they're kind of the best thing [around]! (Soundcloud)
And, in that same vein, Mr. Zagitov has a minimal presence online. A Twitter stream, a Soundcloud page, and an account on the Russian Vkontakte network... that's about to be closed down for inactivity. Zagitov's distorted drone instrumentals, reflecting this passage away from social clamor, remove both lyrics and the specificity of structure in favor of some vague, homeless noise that simply endures.
And yet, if we quickly examine his listeners' comments on that Soundcloud page, the response to these crumpled, ambient sounds has been very positive. "A beautiful soundscape... so dreamy"; "This is awesome. I love distorted drones, they're kind of the best thing [around]!" The appeal of being somewhere else is great.
The appeal of being absolutely nowhere is even greater. Siberia sets the stage, both in real and imagined terms.
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