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In the world of Russian dance music, the danger of overstatement, pathos, and so forth is understandably considerable. Given the cutthroat nature of competition between labels and clubs, together with the challenge of frightful distances, a need for artists to adopt a strident promotional tone might seem unavoidable. And yet, as time goes on and the general noise level increases, there comes a point where understatement is appealing to both performers and audiences.
All of the artists under discussion here - from various cities around Russia - have been celebrated on FFM before; they have also, in their newest material, opted to change tack and move in the general direction of slowness or silence.
We begin with Tim Aminov, since he has often shown himself a man of few words. His current reticence both furthers and underscores that stance even more. An occasional promo-snippet online might announce that he's a young, talented, and most promising musician. That short and self-evident claim is typically followed by phrasing such as: "His creative efforts as producer and sound designer allow us to say with confidence that Russian electronic music has a great future." The unobtrusiveness - if not downright silence - from Aminov then extends onto social networks. The very places designed for interaction remain quiet indeed.
Tim Aminov (Moscow)
If we track down audience reactions on Soundcloud and other venues, the likelihood of loquaciousness does not increase. Enthused listeners are no more likely to describe Aminov's charms - sometimes for rather positive reasons. One of the most recently uploaded comments in Russian reads: "Brilliant. Absolutely f***ing brilliant. I've no other words..."
In that general atmosphere of happy silence, a new three-track EP has appeared through Electronica, entitled "Lost without You." Tagged simply as "bass" material on Soundcloud, it certainly displays a very calm and collected attitude towards the dancefloor. Resonance and gentle reverb take the place of any frantic bpm. Nobody's in a hurry: haste in any form would be unseemly. Both excess words and unsightly speed are placed to one side.
Brilliant. Absolutely f***ing brilliant. I've no other words...
This penchant for reserve is evident in some other Moscow releases of late, such as "Firefly" from the capital's Aleksandr Saikov, who performs as Koalips. When we first touched upon his catalog, we sketched Saikov's biography in terms of changing styles - and therefore drew a line from Autechre to what Saikov himself called a more "melodic, calmer register." His new EP extends that same trajectory. In a few impressionistic phrases, Koalips likens these slow and atmospheric instrumentals to "a journey into the forest." That imagined loss of orientation is then interpreted positively, as "a time for experimentation." Deceleration and a metaphorical view of waywardness are both understood as beneficial flight from the noise of the mainstream.
For this same reason, some of Koalips' compositions over the last few years have been dedicated to empty - yet promising! - realms or "far horizons," as one release had it. He has hoped through such imagery to reveal (in sonic form) the "deep, boundless" aspects of space. Not of any given or enclosed environment, but of space per se. Hence the focus upon freedom.
Saikov's metaphors of expanding realms are often developed not in terms of individual travel, but through the imagery of evaporation and/or dispersal; only the breakdown of a singular body allows for increased movement across a broader playing field. Related themes of dissipation within intricate, almost invisible networks fill his music. They also find expression in several reviews - and the small PR materials that accompany them.
Here we read: "Koalips’ music is based upon ambient and dub-techno styles. Together they construct smart, experimental soundscapes. We now present his full-length album, a true journey to the deepest realms of all!" Once again, parallels are drawn between depth and development, between (supposed) loss and (surprising) gain.
Since we're aggregating these recent publications in terms of understatement and slowness, a few words are required on the subject of Ishome (aka Mira Iskhome) from Krasnodar in Russia's southern territory. The first time we touched upon her work, Ishome was busy playing with similar, semi-serious metaphors of travel, away from realms of safety and security. She framed her music with some famous lines from a Russian story for very young readers: "Little children! Don't go walking in Africa! In Africa there are sharks, gorillas, big snakes, and crocodiles, too. They'll bite, punch, and generally be rude..."
Escape is sought from society's rough and tumble.
A new, slow and stately EP from this artist - "Eva" (below) - has now come to light. It can be profitably considered together with an equally new interview, conducted by the Russian web-press. Here she had a few choice words for mainstream dance music in Russia. "If you listened only to the music that makes its way 'to the masses,' then in a couple of months you'd be foaming at the mouth and suffering from feeble-mindedness, too." The heady pace of profiteering needs to be countered.
For that reason, Ishome is unwilling to force her Muse into busy activity - quite literally. In the same interview she makes fun of her (excessive) patience and willingness to simply wait for a creative impulse. In other words, she occupies herself according to the slow rhythms of life in Krasnodar and, if she's lucky, inspiration may strike in an unpredictable, maybe less-than-ideal fashion. "Sometimes I'll be working... and then my Muse will turn up, totally out of breath: 'Oh, I'm so sorry, Mira. I'm really late today. There's terrible traffic, you know!" Forcing one's craft to work for a quick buck is a tactic that guarantees nothing, because inspiration pays no attention to diligence.
On occasion I'll try to 'jump higher than my head,' but here's the problem: I can't!
"Sometimes I can be working on a track for several months... I'll get really tired of the whole process, having lost any ability to judge my work objectively. I'll just want to get the thing finished and hand it off to somebody... On occasion I'll try to 'jump higher than my head,' but here's the problem: I can't!" Superhuman effort and promotional rant on the same scale are quietly rejected.
Some of the most telling observations on this score have come of late from the collective D-Pulse, who - as we've noted before - categorize themselves as a "house-quartet, originally from Izhevsk." The reason for making such a terse observation is that the town of Izhevsk, located in central Russia, is often associated with grim industrial electronica in the minds of many young Russians. Older music fans will remark that the city is better (or more deservingly) known as the birthplace of Tchaikovsky, which is basically true, even if the composer was actually born 62km away, in nearby Votkinsk.
In any case, D-Pulse's brief and introductory remark serves to counter that local impression of musical nastiness and - by implication - position themselves as purveyors of happiness. What makes the ensemble especially interesting and appealing is the strange melange of influences they constantly name-check: elements of French or Chicago house thrown together with what they term "cold Scandinavian romanticism, plus joyous, melodic elements of the early '70s. There's also the analog warmth of Moog synths or some minimalist industrial noise, side by side with psychedelic rock guitars and even the occasional smooth-jazz harmony."
The analog warmth of Moog synths or some minimalist industrial noise
If it were possible to conflate all these various elements and suggest where they might also be heard in other (Western) bands, the logical candidates would be Air, Phoenix, and Daft Punk- all indeed loved by D-Pulse. That upbeat, westward gaze has now led to work with London's The Project Club - and a remix for Paul Weller, of all people. Once again, the Russian press offers some useful context, on this occasion from the city of Ufa. Here a conversation starts to develop around the UK experience and whether D-Pulse now feel themselves any closer to a profitable career. Are the musicians now sensing any need to match the volume and speed of Western business?
Implicit in the artists' answer is a conviction that all periods of creative endeavor (sooner or later) will involve people both greedy and those (merely) enthused. In other words, there's no need to turn one's precious craft into a self-satisfied, noisy stance against the status quo.
D-Pulse (live in Moldova)
The members of D-Pulse also remark that in today's economic climate, the ability of anybody to extract large amounts of cash from dance music is dwindling fast. In other words, those folks who make the choice to operate with reticence or within slower, more introspective styles will find that history comes their way... eventually. There will soon be no reason to churn out deafening high-speed instrumentals any more, since there will be no marketplace. Lessening profit will be reflected in a lessening tempo.
People will soon come to realize that music won't bring them an income...
D-Pulse and the other performers under discussion here believe themselves to be one step ahead of the game. By a doing a lot less. "There will always be some kind of 'balance' between those folks making art for art's sake and the people who do so just for profit. Sure, that balance in recent years may have tipped towards the commercial end of the scales. Yet that might also be a sign of less and less people choosing music [as a career] today. They'll come to realize that music won't bring them an income..."
And so a wise contingent of downtempo DJs stands quietly off to one side, watching the money slip away, the bpm slowly drop, and the levels of genuine commitment return.
Ishome and a colleague, keeping avarice at bay
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