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One of images used in lieu of portraiture by Aleksei Rodin (Sinexoid)
The story of instrumental rock music in the West plots an uneven course, because wordlessness frequently leads to a broad - yet imprecise - thematic, and therefore an uncertain status amongst media outlets. Promoting vagueness is never easy. That wavering path between mood and meaning arguably begins in the mid-1950s with various pre-Beatles instrumental outfits, most of whom would quickly sound outdated after the appearance of the Fab Four. The absence of text almost seemed synonymous with an MOR aesthetic: rebellious pop music needed to state its case - in writing. Lyrics likewise helped to save pop tracks from the danger of becoming background music. A post-war lounge heritage needed to be jettisoned, if at all possible. Subversion looked and sounded unconvincing in the world of velvet sofas and cocktail olives.
Radio stations, of course, dictated the fame and fortune of any given style in this timeframe, with or without payola. Throughout the '60s, UK and US media outlets showed an increasing unwillingness to give airtime to instrumentals. Despite the subsequent ability of, say, '70s disco ensembles to use the dancefloor as a happy showcase for textless tracks, the mainstream (or corporate) prejudice against instrumentals would endure for a long time.
One might argue that only prog rock ever managed to give them a degree of status and/or seriousness. If so, however, that would perhaps be because prog's fondness for grand fantasy made it easier to replace poetry with vague, florid imagery spun from sounds, not direct statements.
The most recent Sinexoid release: "Recontr" (2012)
Today, with the decentralization and "de-commercialization" of music production, those financial or broadcasting pressures against instrumentals have quickly vanished. The ability to transmit music internationally - at the flick of a DIY switch - also means reduced textual content could have overt benefits. All the way from wistful post-rock to homespun dance- and ambient textures, there's much to be said for saying nothing.
And so we turn to three new instrumental releases, from performers resident in Moscow and St. Petersburg. The first of them goes by the name of Sinexoid or - in less thespian settings - Aleksei Rodin, born in 1986. Two monikers are only the first signs of his willful flight from specificity: Rodin also performs under the secretive guises of "Hydrocore Wise," "Adaptcore," and "Human Terminal."
Words are insufficient for me to speak about myself
Beyond those masks, however, there's little to be unearthed. Rodin addresses Russian listeners with a single slim paragraph: "Words are insufficient for me to speak about myself. Instead I do what I love most in life. I write the kind of music that hopefully will inspire strong feelings in an audience." As we'll see, that invocation of a listenership will prove important. Among musicians with a leaning towards reticence, it helps to have a loquacious clientele. Somebody needs to spread the word.
A rare image of Aleksei Rodin (Moscow)
The first of Rodin's projects - "Hydrocore Wise" - was founded in 2004, primarily for the purposes of neophyte "fun" and early experimentation. Once a degree of expertise was established, however, a new identity was required and so, within two years, material began to appear as "Adaptcore." This shift occurred simultaneously with some help from Minnesota netlabel Darkwinter, where Rodin published two digital albums. Each was accompanied by a little text, written in rather byzantine English. Nonetheless, it is possible to ascertain from those promotional sketches that Rodin's output - stripped of textual content - has often been designed to both investigate and invoke pre-adult experience.
If we rebuild a few of those thoughts, what emerges is: "Most people feel a sense of loss regarding the distant past. There's no answer to the eternal question of whether one might return to a prior time. There is, after all, nothing that's impossible forever. Probably - one day - it will be possible to return those experiences to us."
Much depends upon you
Talk of times before adult life then switches to a discussion of the related, mental processes prior to logical or "mature" enterprise. "Try delving into the brightest, most joyful moments of your life with music. These instrumentals allow for an intriguing journey to the boundless world of the subconscious. Things long-forgotten can only be rebuilt with your help, though. Much depends upon you."
That final nod in the direction of effort is important. None of these musicians speak in terms of some easily accessible, ubiquitous realm to which their wistful instrumentals (always) have access. Instead, romance goes hand in hand with the push and shove of ostensible reality. The latter often wins.
Evegniy Zolotarev (Queue), St. Petersburg
Actuality grants rare victories or liberty to fragile introverts and so, consequently, we find hidden amid the brief statements by these performers a number of admissions that even the most subjective, silent worldview needs an audience. Work needs to be announced - persuasively. Public proclamations of any sort need to be made - publicly! - and thus these champions of reticence are never entirely able to divorce themselves from the troubling burden of talk.
Whether or not silence and daydreaming are enough to overcome the pushy nature of material experience is an issue that emerges elsewhere. We might turn to the St Petersburg instrumentalist Evegniy Zolotarev, shown above in a suitable moment of bruised reflection and who records as Queue. Despite his young age, Zolotarev currently heads a social networking profile with a (slightly incorrect) and cynical quote taken from John Lennon's "God" (1970), written just as The Beatles were falling apart. The line in question claims that God - in fact all spirituality - is merely a "concept by which we measure our pain."
Whenever I do any cleaning, I look like a ninja...
Any attempt to engage a grander, ideal system is immediately open to mockery. Speaking of his own physical weakness, Zolotarev recently remarked: "Sometimes it's great to be allergic. Whenever I do any cleaning, I look like a ninja..." And so his instrumental compositions are meant not to advocate some higher reality or prior/pre-conscious experience, even. They're hopeful guarantors of comfort, pure and simple. As a result, the author of these tracks also has little or nothing to say. The significance of his works is handed over to those people who want to download them. Recent comments from a good-natured, grateful fraternity include the following:
"There's a such a kindly atmosphere in the music. Thanks for what you do"; "This is good music!"; "I took a listen and I really liked it"; "I listened, too. It's all so pleasant!"; "Count me in..." Uncomplicated expressions of gratitude predominate. There's no suggestion of wanton rebellion here - and even the stubborn introspection of shoegaze is avoided. Relief appears to be the predominant factor - a sensation best attained by saying little or nothing. Gratitude needs no name.
There's a such a kindly atmosphere in the music
On that note, it's worth turning to the Moscow outfit T.Bird, whose name refers to the 8-bit sounds of some talking parrot from an old-school video game. Founded in 1996, the foursome currently consists of Kolya Zhigulin (guitar), Vanya Lebedev (bass), Vitya Shevtsov (keyboards), and the mysterious figure on drums of Plastik Manki. The band's lengthy workplace heritage, however, is grounded in all manner of sound engineering jobs around Moscow. Recordings appeared only piecemeal over that fourteen-year period, and sometimes on a solo basis. The musicians themselves admit that 2009 marks the true start of their wholehearted commitment to T.Bird - together.
"Today the group embodies a quintessential psychedelic sound; its many layers are underwritten by a powerful rhythm section. Our synthesis of electronic and live sound helps to create a unique musical hybrid." Looking for a suitable neologism amid this cutting and pasting, the musicians sometimes opt for "krautronika"... en route to a unified and allegedly "trance-like" experience. Loud shirts and bright lights help.
Kolya Zhigulin, T. Bird (Moscow)
Once more, the meaning of any vague, appealing trajectories is best found in the wordy enthusiasm of admirers. "Thanks so much for the new album - and all the music you make!" The musicians' silence - both before and after any public words of support - comes as a result of two issues. Reticence comes both from their many years in the professional sphere of Moscow's sound engineering (expertise trumps wordiness) and a concomitant desire - through "transcendental" metaphors - to avoid the banal chatter of local business. Shoptalk promises much and achieves nothing.
And yet, given the potential mentioned above of these instrumental tracks to act, on occasion, as some kind of universal panacea (at home) or to find international audiences, the problem remains of telling far-flung, future listeners about one's tight-lipped endeavors. And so, among these three bands from Moscow or St. Petersburg and their common desire to promote a simple (widely-sought) escape from specificity, a clear linguistic need persists. That same need came to light a few days ago on one Russian social network,hoping to find a well-spoken, persuasive champion of wordlessness.
The members of T.Bird need a promoter and manager. Somebody who knows English well
"Dear Friends, the members of T.Bird need a promoter and manager. Somebody who knows English well, since the main goal here is to promote T.Bird across Europe. We'll be grateful for any ideas here - or relevant comments!"
Even silence needs a well-worded rationale.
Vitya Shevtsov (aka Vic Mutant, T. Bird, Moscow)
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