|
On a few occasions over the last year, the Belarusian capital of Minsk has hosted gatherings of some hip-hop producers who are referred to, en masse, as the Black Milk Beatmakers. These events have a special connection to one particular venue in the city, known as Malako - which itself means "milk," either as a reflection of the menu or in reference to "Clockwork Orange." The idea of these functions from the outset has been to mirror the well-known practice of beatmaker- or rap battles in the US, which use improvised verbal sparring as a way of establishing a hierarchy among participants. Better performers show their skills, which are assessed against the backdrop of earlier efforts.
As the Minsk organizers said before the first Black Milk contest: "These competitions take many shapes [overseas]. Sometimes participants are given audio samples or [the same] instruments, which they then use as they see fit. The main consideration is that everything has to sound innovative." Here we offer seven tracks from the most recent battle, as a snapshot of young or DIY producers on the Belarusian scene today.
The main thing is that everything has to sound innovative
During such collective events, tradition normally dictates that the musicians are arranged in pairs, which themselves are created by pulling names from a hat. Those pairs - and their members - then challenge one another over the course of brief (and maximally ostentatious!) two-minute performances. Winners are chosen by a jury - together with the loud assistance of all present. The picture below gives us a good sense of how busy and claustrophobic the functions can be. Artists, audiences, and the jury all stand side by side, hoping to influence one another in the most direct manner possible - sometimes physically.
bm LM (Maksim Lyagushevich)
It helps, of course, if a performer comes to these musical smackdowns with a certain reputation or "aura" already established. Sometimes that myth-making, effected between colleagues and/or adversaries, can adopt rather strange forms. One of the local Black Milk participants of late has been Maxim Lyagushevich, shown above and whose surname sounds close to the Russian word for "frog." Hence his green avatar, evident on this page, and the fact he decorates his profile at Vkontakte with a related question he must have been asked countless times: "Is that your real name?"
Any such (fortuitous) mystery built into Lyagushevich's most basic biographical information helps to create a vague sense of mystery - if only at the level of mild amusement.
Novelty basically comes from the [faulty] impression that you've forgotten something
Intrigue serves a useful purpose in a world of fundamentally repetitious functions: "Basically everybody knows that nothing's really new [in life]... except whatever has been forgotten. I could, for example, ponder things for a while, recall something I've forgotten myself... and find you a perfect example! Novelty basically comes from the [faulty] impression that you've forgotten something..." Applied to Lyagushevich's music and retro-samples, one can see how the practice of antique sound bites, tape loops, and so forth would illustrate the same notion very well. Old material is reused, recontextualized, and therefore renovated... for an audience who've probably forgotten the original source.
Diaz P (German Medvedev)
The excitement and risk of innovation are thus balanced - if not pleasingly counteracted - by the charm of a returning and comforting motif. By way of illustration, we might turn to the recent recordings from a Black Milk participant, known either as Diaz P or, in less dramatic situations, German Medvedev. (His third designation, "Mad Beatmaker," is probably not employed in domestic contexts.)
Medvedev's recordings from earlier this year were offered to Belarusian audiences as a reconsideration and reinterpretation of "the toughest time in my life. It's all reflected on the album, where you'll find lots of personal experiences and emotions." Unpredictable, upsetting occurences were recalled and expressed - anew - in repetitious patterns. At which point they became a form of encouraging entertainment.
I haven't seen much evidence of friendship so far
It's a common and beneficial practice, apparently; if we look at some of the other social platforms used by Mr. Medvedev, he has undoubtedly been through troubled times of late. Asked on one website about the meaning of friendship in his life, he replies: "I don't know. I haven't seen much evidence of it so far." He then speaks about neighbors in Minsk and the opposite sex (everywhere) in somewhat peeved terms, all as a result of recent conflicts. Soothing sounds are needed.
Murovei (Anton Bodnar')
One of the other musicians on display, Anton Bodnar', who employs the stage-name Murovei ("Ant'), finds a kindred philosophy and spirit in the world of Jamaican music. He believes that the physical and mental challenges of daily existence, both in Slavic and Jamaican cultures, may cut the lives of local musicians tragically short, but that shared thorny path also leads to a more earnest form of music-making. Suffering fosters sincerity, even on a modest scale.
For all the borderline masochism of that statement, it does at least evolve as a healthy counterweight to the grandstanding that undoubtedly - or interminably! - burdens mainstream hip-hop. As proof of this search for understatement and humility, it's worth noting how yet another of the Black Milk participants - Sufiks (Nikita Vorogushin) - happily quotes a famous joke about Bono and a U2 charity concert. Legend has it that Bono once declared to a crowd with trademark gravitas and self-adoration: "Every time I click my fingers, a child in Africa dies." A which point a wag called out from the audience: "Well stop clicking your f***ing fingers, then!"
On the basis of such quips, what eventually replaces any operatic scale of self-aggrandizement is a rather sage kind of amateurism; it maintains that it's better not to be too skilled or independent of one's (storied) social context. Individuality only develops as a consequence of social care and attention. Excessive chutzpah, striding away from that collective foundation and its charitable habits, merely runs the risk of self-satisfied (if not deluded) kinds of "innovatory" behavior.
NGC 6611 (Victor Love)
When asked on one social networking site how he came to master Fruity Loops, Sufiks recently answered: "To start with I was pushing any old buttons - just to discover what they do! Then a good friend of mine - who had more experience - showed me how to simplify what I was doing. After all that, I finally got to grips with the program." Skill (and therefore self-expression) was born of social contact - and it gains little from dismissing the civic spheres in which it was grown.
To start with I was pushing any old buttons!
Furthering this praise for collaboration and modest experiment over well-financed vanity is Alexandr Semuilovich, who comes from nearby Vitebsk, close to the Russian border. He performs with the moniker Samekind and frames his online work with a couple of telling quotes. Both speak to the same issue we see outlined among his colleagues: they underscore a pressing need to keep creative work at am's length from conceited self-determination.
The first quote comes from graffiti maestro Banksy and his 2010 documentary, "Exit through the Gift Shop"; it openly criticizes any link of artistic enterprise to commerce. The artist is quoted as saying he no longer advocates working within a profitable art form, since high-end graffiti is now (sadly) fashioned by its potential as a commercial enterprise: "I used to encourage everyone I knew to make art. I don't do that so much anymore." In that light, it's interesting to see that Samekind depicts himself as a faceless scribbler online. Activity is more important than any (potentially famous) identity.
Samekind (Alexandr Semuilovich, Vitebsk)
The second quote comes from New York hip-hop kingpin KRS-One and some related thoughts, expressed in rhyme: "There used to be a time when rap music was illegal./ The cops would come and break up every party when they see you./ But now the rap music's making money for the corporate./ It's acceptable to flaunt it, now everybody's on it./ Graffiti isn't corporate, so it gets no respect./ Hasn't made a billion dollars for some corporation yet."
Despite, therefore, the high degree of competition at the Black Milk contests, the musicians involved console themselves with the belief that camaraderie is a more laudable, useful, and likely(!) option than any arrogant experience of fame. Cockiness and commercialism - which breed vanity - are lambasted for a couple of reasons.
Firstly, as mentioned, any dismissal of renown creates the impression that fame was never desired in the first place(...). More importantly, however, we sense that day-to-day problems with neighbors, loved ones, and other quotidian hassles are sufficiently onerous to make looping, old sounds much more consoling and thus important than humorless independence.
Maybe, after all, a few core notions from US hip-hop do, therefore, translate into the Belarusian context. Terms such as "posse" and "crew," now dismissed as mere cliches, first emerged from the serious mentoring or support system so important to post-war jazz. Younger artists were invited to train and record with small groups of charitable, gifted elders. Individual expression was nurtured with the help of others; what's important, therefore, is not to forget that early social environment... without which "self-expression" would never exist.
Sufiks (Nikita Vorogushin) and friends
Comments
Login / Register