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Kazan is a city on the border between Russia's European and Asian territories, which is immediately evident from an architectural viewpoint, if nothing else. Home to just over one million people, it is the nation's eighth largest city in terms of population, yet likes to call itself Russia's "Third Capital." The reason for that vertiginous level of self-confidence is, in essence, the speed at which Kazan is developing. Recent economic surveys have declared Kazan the best place in Russia for young businesses or new entrepreneurial endeavors.
This degree of pragmatism and sensible progress does not suit all residents, of course, and - from a musical point of view - various local performers feel more comfortable with styles redolent of social estrangement. One such example would be the project known (in fused, lower case characters) as thehappymask, which announces itself as a "one-man experimental post-rock/post-black-metal/shoegaze project."
A one-man experimental post-rock/post-black-metal/shoegaze project
The gentleman behind that willful anonymity (and stylistic run-around) can be unearthed on at least one domestic social network, but even there he hides behind the nickname of "Constantine Horizon." Self-portraits, visual or textual, do little to increase our database of objective information; silhouettes and saturated colors hide various faces. Obscurity offers broad appeal, in several senses.
In speaking of his musical development, Constantine shows nothing of the purposeful rhetoric that drives the local economy. Translated from the Russian, his self-declaration instead reads: "Basically speaking, this is my own, modest musical project. It came into being very spontaneously at the start of last summer - in a town that doesn't exist[!]. This is music written under the influence of my private emotions and aspirations, but [despite the overarching melancholy] it's full of hope that the material will improve."
The only other thing these shoegazing instrumentals offer in terms of specificity is a small poem, accredited to an anonymous author and written to an unnamed female addressee. Constantine has uploaded it to one of his networking pages. Turned into English prose, it asks a reader to save "magical beauty" from the "illusion of those who say you're eternal or that happiness lasts forever." The same text also warns its addressee that perfection is an unobtainable state.
[Reject the] illusion of those who say you're eternal
Paraphrased, these couplets assert that any striving for idealism will be a constant, increasingly sad undertaking, one that will outstrip our time of both physical and emotional wellbeing. And should guidance or company be sought on that long, miserable path, it might come from the spirit of Kurt Cobain, whom Constantine quotes as a source of lasting inspiration. Consolation comes, apparently, from Cobain's assertion that joyless - though dignified - dreams are preferable to the mindless distractions of urban nightlife. Sadness is better than (happy) self-delusion.
The Seattle scene of the '90s also provides moral and/or sonic support to other disenchanted rock bands from commercial and industrial centers around Russia, such as Lipetsk, almost three hundred miles south of Moscow. Known for its metallurgical plants and military air bases, Lipetsk's noisy streets offer little comfort to stargazing romantics. And so, amid the chimneys and raucous turbines, we find the band known as Mermaids Of The Lipetsk Shed.
This grunge quartet looks explicitly - and which much affection - towards the Pacific scene of a prior decade, which they associate not only with drugs, suicide, and plaid shirts, but also with the "sound of long guitar solos that relate directly to the psychedelic era of universal love" in the '60s. Within the dolorous clamor that emanated from Washington State they perceive a (kindred, equally difficult) yearning for an easier, more upbeat existence.
The melodies of alluring mermaids, calling you towards a chasm's embrace
Despite any flickers of hope from distant redwood forests, what these Lipetsk musicians also share with thehappymask is a sense that increasing wisdom - sooner or later - walks hand in hand with growing sadness. Knowledge of the world, over time, comes at the expense of youthful hope, hence the reference to mermaids - in the sense of mythical Sirens and shipwrecks. Our Lipetsk performers, happy to champion that almost masochistic trajectory, ask listeners to "chain [your] pragmatic, logical outlook to the melodies of alluring mermaids, as they call you towards a chasm's embrace. Allow yourself to be shipwrecked and plunged into the world of 'astrolizer' guitar solos or storming rhythms..." Philosophical and spiritual insight will only come at a high physical price: these are the workings of classic decadence.
Mermaids of the Lipetsk Shed (Live, 2011)
Some lyrics bring a little clarity to these abstract, occasionally grand images of a mythical sea (and unavoidable rocks...). One of the best examples, arguably, comes not from the recent tracks showcased here, but a Mermaids' song of late 2010, "Kim the Drawer." From the English quatrains, which require a little unravelling, we learn how the song's heroine draws magical pictures that have nothing to do with any "creative" impulse. Instead the production of those same images causes widespread destruction, as a sort of Midas touch in reverse.
In the closing lines, a refrain explains that "I don't want to die... but I have [i.e., carry] a bad sign: the spot upon my right palm." Destiny and doom are not only synonymous; they're also marked clearly upon the human body - as a reminder of what will happen. No wonder the downward spiral of Cobain's biography and the decadent allure of a mermaid's song seem so attractive. And familiar.
This revealing, though shocking kind of surrender is not universally attractive, of course. A loud, contrary response to any kind of sage, yet all-consuming descent can be found within the trio from Kursk known as Dancedancedance. The name says it all: life may be difficult, but there are alternatives to dolor.
Kursk is an ancient Russian city close to the borders of both Ukraine and Belarus, but best known to most people for the epic tank battle that took place here during WWII. Ignoring both that fantastic history and/or tragedy, the members of Dancedancedance make recourse to what they call an "avant-garde" or "experimental" aesthetic, but we move quickly away from either introspection or mythical forms of (self-flattering) demise.
A mockery or rejection of the canonical standards found in jazz, blues, and even heavy metal
That same dismissal of pathos - in favor of a rare and hard-won hedonism continues: "The band's search for their own sound has led to a mockery or rejection of the canonical standards found in jazz, blues, and even heavy metal." This self-definition through endless subversion - or affirmation through rejection - results in a self-declared "postmodernist" stance in which all pretensions towards seriousness will soon fall flat. And so, in a world devoid of lasting significance or enduring human achievement, there remains only one valid response to actuality: "The production of music that's energetic, danceable, and amazingly stylish!"
Headwear in the audience extends that chic far beyond the stage. Happiness has a wide appeal.
A recent interview with band members proves useful here, particularly as it contains direct assertions that the only reason Dancedancedance will "never break up" is because humor is the best defense against misfortune. Decadence - or the sickly pleasure of demise - is therefore replaced by a stubborn (though profoundly difficult) rejection of all forces (both social and mental) that cause melancholy in the first place. Similarly, the humorless and exclusive workings of modishness are also thrown out: po-faced elitism (from which melancholy romantics so often suffer) is erased in favor of good-natured inclusion. Especially on the dancefloor:
Dance however you like!
"Dance however you like [at our gigs]. Nobody is ever going to comment on your moves from the stage. We'll never ask that people be removed from the dancefloor for deliberately moving sloppily or out of time."
After all, if existence truly is in the hands of fate, destiny, grumpy mermaids, and malicious sirens, then there's surely no cause for anxiety. Because there's no likelihood of flight from what must be. Time's inexorable passage, no matter how long we wait, offers neither lasting alternatives nor magical exits. In which case, wild abandon and camaraderie may be the very best response.
Both indoors and out.
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