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"Novosibirsk," from a Western point of view, is an exotic term that conjures all manner of images; most - as we see above - involve fir trees, wind, and ice. On a more objective level, however, Novosibirsk is Russia's third largest city. It has become a real powerhouse of post-Soviet industry, thanks especially to the boom years of the early 2000s. In terms of how that growth spurt has changed Western perceptions, it is sufficient to look at an article from CNN, published a couple of years ago.
"Time passes slowly in Novosibirsk. In front of the opera house on Red Prospect, skateboard kids skid off the plinth of the Lenin statue. The tilting chimneys of roadside hovels, rusted auto husks and sludge-slicked bus shelters appear to have been slouching into poses over many decades. At the boat hotel on the Ob River, the cook does not hurry with the kasha..."
A hub of activity rises from the woodland...
That slow, noiseless backdrop begins to change: "The capital of Siberia, Novosibirsk in winter offers few explicit charms. But travel beyond the casinos of downtown, past wild dogs patrolling wild weeds, past Tajik road crews in orange jump suits, and a hub of activity rises from the woodland. Here, capitalist opportunity has overcome post-Soviet drear...." Degrees of opportunity may have faded slightly since the economic krizis appeared on the cold Siberian horizon, but levels of energy have not waned. Neither, it seems, has hospitality, if we accept a recent article in the Moscow Times:
A Soviet monument in Novosibirsk, celebrating agricultural achievements
"Strangers [in this city] are apt to approach you and strike up a conversation, a grandfatherly voice wishes you well on the metro intercom: “Good Morning, All!” -- and the ruddiness of people’s cheeks is due primarily to the cold. Novosibirsk, the capital of Siberia and the country's third-largest city, offers a welcome contrast of warmth and immediate friendliness - possibly explained by its situation as a waypoint for travelers moving between East and West."
Don't expect anything concrete, lest those expectations be spoiled
Within this generally optimistic setting we find the young and promising label, Jeto. Given the mysterious nature of that trademark, though, a little context is needed. Thankfully the label offers us something resembling a manifesto or mission statement: it is, however, far from explicit. Translated from the Russian (and taken from Jeto's minimalist site), the text reads as follows. It begins with the anticipated question of a first-time visitor:
"What is this? 'This' is an idea. 'This' is a spark. 'This' is simply music. Don't expect anything concrete, lest those expectations be spoiled. 'This' is a pleasant form of abstraction and an atmosphere of calm. What does that atmosphere create, though? 'It' is a cup of black tea. 'It' is the steam from some coffee. 'It' is the glancing light from a tumbler of your favorite tipple."
These same intriguing dualities, balanced between mystery and growing concern, could also be applied to a barbecue fueled with petroleum.
R13 (Evgeniy Shurygin)
Any related abstractions gradually start to take shape: "Listen to this music. It will tell you much more than anybody can [with words]. Much of what we treasure is temporary: music, however, is eternal. But what is eternity? 'It' is a path. 'It' is a way. 'It' is a flow. What direction will 'it' take?"
The hollow, resonant sounds coming from Jeto, built upon mere fragments of techno, dubstep, and even skweee. are accompanied by some equally involved paragraphs. Those secondary texts, each tied to a specific EP, also "tell us much more" than the artists themselves. With some effort, the names and addresses of the Jeto musicians can be unearthed, but the daily details published on those networking profiles are not as revealing as the stories used to envelop Jeto's tracks.
In other words, beyond fact lies more detail - but not necessarily more clarity. As we'll see, that equation can be mapped spatially, too. The Jeto releases speak increasingly of places further from the city limits of Novosibirsk... where the levels of mystery only grow. We learn more of our ignorance.
You live in a gloomy district along the northern edge of some Siberian town...
The label has now published four EPs, all of which can be downloaded for free. When one of the earlier releases came to light - by R13 (aka Evgeniy Shurygin) - visitors to the Jeto site discovered the following text in Russian: "Let's imagine that each of you is a regular kid: somebody typical-looking, modest, and not especially social. You live in a gloomy section along the northern edge of some Siberian town - that we'll simply call 'N.' Every day you wake up and sit down behind the computer: you go to work, read stuff online, check out some forums, travel to the university, and so on. In the evening you go for a stroll around your gloomy district and then, late at night (maybe early in the morning), you go to bed..."
Slam Duck (Alexander Smirnov)
Things - suddenly - change somewhat: "This pattern of irritating cyclicality only gets shaken off just before dawn. And it's precisely then - in those moments when you're sick of life's vicious circle - that you sit down and spit it all out: all the imaginary worlds or feelings of protest that've been stuck inside you [for so long]. It all turns into sounds and melodies! And that's what gives us this phantasmagorical, doom-laden release... albeit with an occasional note of hope."
Somewhere beyond routine, the city limits, and any comfort zone, lie the worrying dimensions of surprise. Since change - in any form - will involve the risk of fright and/or failure, the promotional materials from Jeto speak of manifestations that can be heard, not seen. Hence the sparse, vacated structures of these recordings, together with the kind of decelerated vocal samples we might associate with witch house.
Sick of life's vicious circle, you sit down and spit it all out
This violent competition of actuality, aspiration, and angst is stronger still in the text from Striped Cat (aka Aleksei Svetlovskii): "The foulest thing of all in life is ourselves. The most beautiful thing of all is our subconscious: it plays with us every day - and every damn night, too. That happens when the snow stops falling in the town of 'S'... and begins to float backwards, back up into the sky as huge flakes. Or at least as long as nobody sees that happen..."
Once more, daily experience only serves only to shield us from grander processes: normality and Novosibirsk's ring road both demarcate a realm where custom ends and worry begins. "Strange metamorphoses start to take place. Walls move in wave-like patterns. Light flickers from dark corners: the world begins to breathe. It breathes with a strange, foul air." Smiles of expectation are mixed with considerable nervousness.
Striped Cat (Aleksei Svetlovskii, Novosibirsk)
On that note, things turn dramatic, as soon as blame is apportioned. Who is responsible for all this nonsense? "Damn people...! OK; that's enough. Calm down. Take a deep breath - it's like a small ray of light in a huge, dark world of nightmares. I've the tiniest hope... The world - as ever - is going through all kinds of strange metamorphoses." Whenever stability appears likely, the visions begin again, offered to us in homeless, sonic forms. A wobble bass orchestrates visible instability: "What's that moving in the corner? Where are those flickering lights coming from? Why can I see sounds? Am I... sleeping? I don't believe book or record covers; I don't believe in words. I believe sound."
The closing turn of phrase almost voices gratitude for this unpredictability or panic attack: at least it trumps the tedium of "cyclical," quotidian experience.
I don't believe words. I believe sound
Such are the mobile, unstable soundscapes drawn by the young musicians at Jeto: Striped Cat, R13, and founding member Slam Duck (Alexander Smirnov). Some of the smiling, genial figures on the streets of Novosibirsk apparently deserve a second look. Especially if they start making noises. At least the local railway musuem has some suitable tools for a quick escape, even during the darkest, most disorienting snowstorm. The notion of an unimpeded exit has apparently been on the mind of locals - for a very long time.
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