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Griboyedov Canal, St. Petersburg
Yesterday the St. Petersburg culture and entertainment magazine Sobaka.Ru published a valuable snapshot of eleven young electronic projects from around the city. Several of those ensembles and solo musicians have already been discussed on FFM before, so we're taking this opportunity to showcase four new names - among those better suited to a dancefloor. In the next few days we'll return to the Sobaka list, in order to consider the more understated, downtempo, or familiar composers.
Sobaka opens the discussion with a basic statement of fact: "St. Petersburg has once again become the nation's capital of electronic music. These musicians [in our article] will challenge dancefloors in 2012 - all the way from Japan to Holland." No gentle suggestions or debates are offered: instead there's a straightforward declaration, pure and simple. To what degree does that confidence - or elitism, even - tally with the views of the musicians themselves?
St. Petersburg has once again become the nation's capital of electronic music (Sobaka.Ru)
It makes sense, arguably, to begin with the act known as Twin Sevens (aka Anton Proskurnin). He is also the first artist allowed by Sobaka to state his case and credo. Proskurnin, who is originally from Krasnoyarsk, begins by explaining that his creative biography - to a large degree - is "fairly typical" for Russia. By that he means that his earliest enthusiasms were within the realm of rock music. His first ensemble, in fact, even managed to create enough interest to play in Germany. Over time, however, he would develop a private passion for dance music and began to write on a solo basis.
That led to him moving to St. Petersburg. Attention was paid to the upper edges of a national map.
Twin Sevens (Anton Proskurnin)
Still his peripatetic existence continued, because although Twin Sevens was now a relatively established name, Proskurnin himself was without a label. "That meant I didn't have any releases, but I built up a fair amount of material. The whole point of a label isn't just to sell music, but also to promote it... and I really don't think labels fulfill that function [any more]. I get offers from web-based publishers, but they don't really interest me." The absence of a label is explained as a specific, voluntary desire to avoid commercial practice. Chance is explained as choice.
I get offers from web-based publishers, but they don't really interest me
And so the search for lasting (worthy!) inspiration goes on, beginning - perhaps - with the stage-name Twin Sevens. Proskurnin says it relates to the shape of lifelines and wrinkles on his forehead, as if a lucky digit were inscribed upon his body for some special purpose. The most current information regarding his work - coming to us via Twitter - documents this hunt for unique, latent significances much further from his home in Krasnoyarsk. He is currently in Bali: "Pants off, shorts on. I missed wearing them. It's hot here!" Discerning aesthetes need special locations.
This happy sense of homelessness - or an exacting pursuit of something better - also emerges in the work of Kirill Tipo (Kirill Tkachev). He has recently used the title of a solo composition - "Believe in Rhythm" - as something of a mini-manifesto. Put differently, there's greater fidelity here to some vagrant, fastidious craft than to any tangible place or belongings. Stability in any form would mean acceptance or acquiescence - and the end of progress, perhaps. Movement, on the other end hand, speaks of potential.
Kirill Tipo (Kirill Tkachev)
Mr. Tkachev has been performing as "Tipo" for just over a year and feels himself to be part of an ascendant scene. "The Russian sound [in popular music] is currently on the rise. I'm not just talking about St. Petersburg or Moscow: there are performers from places like Ulyanovsk and Tyumen who also sound great! People are getting respect in the West. You could say that folks here are no longer amazed when some local artist releases tracks on vinyl - and through a good label, too. Nowadays that situation is pretty normal."
The general impression from Tipo's Western listeners would support that proud connection. A quick look at posted Soundcloud comments reveals the following tone - "Wow!"; "Nice": "Great stuff. Keep it up!"; "Beautiful work... once again!" Brevity and a marked enthusiasm are both typical.
I get tired of generic limits very quickly
The intriguing moniker Yoizk! is used by Denis Podusenko, whose creative enterprise began far from Russian rock - in the field of abstract hip-hop. As he now says, though: "I got tired of those generic limits very quickly. I never like staying within the framework of any one style - or sticking to certain instruments, their [trademark] sounds, and so on." He traces this electronic or aesthetic twiddling to his childhood. At the age of five he was already intrigued by beatbox - and by fifteen was manipulating a computer in order to produce idm.
It would appear that a love of impromptu experimentation has not waned.
Yoizk! (Denis Podusenko)
By his own admission, Podusenko's lost-lasting, enthusiastic empiricism helps to contradict some enduring cliches regarding music from Russia's so-called "Northern Capital." "There's a widespread view that music from St. Petersburg tends to be miserable. I'd like to challenge that notion and play a 'sunnier' style." His hunt for a unique register brings us back, once again, to the overriding impression we get from Sobaka's performers that the city itself is a location well suited to discerning, even demanding artists. Yoizk! declares: "I've traveled all over the place, and - for me - St. Petersburg is the only location where music truly flows from the heart of the city."
There's a widepread view that music from St. Petersburg tends to be miserable
As with Twin Sevens, these generic travels may have led Podusenko to a given, physical address - but not to a fixed record label. He has discovered a creative, not a commercial home. "There are no releases under the Yoizk! name yet, but this is still a very young project..." Again as with Twin Sevens, the chance absence of a label (yet to be found) is explained as a deliberate avoidance. Corporate ties are spoken of in negative tones - whether or not they'd make financial sense.
Last, but not least, in this original quartet is Nikolay Serebryakov, who performs under the nickname of Koyla (presumably a play upon the usual diminutive form of his Christian name, Kolya). Here we gravitate away from the worlds of idm and abstract hip-hop, moving instead in the general direction of crowd-pleasing jazzy house and deep techno ("with ethnic motifs"). These are the smooth sounds, hopes Serebryakov, to evoke "a night journey to Hawaii."
Koyla (Nikolay Serebryakov)
Here, more than anywhere, we find evidence of a classic Petersburg education, steeped in serious, conservative tradition. Serebryakov's mother is an artist and his father a physicist. One of his grandparents played in a symphony orchestra. Studies in the clarinet, piano, and saxophone would take Serebryakov Jnr. into the realm of jazz and ska before choosing music as a lifelong vocation. Prestigious institutions were involved en route.
In assessing the music of St. Petersburg at present, Serebryakov - just like Kirill Tkachev - concurs that the city has a distinct, rather aloof sound. "I can't say the same thing about Moscow, though. People who live in Petersburg tend to be fairly melancholy types - so that finds expression in the music. And one more thing... Petersburg artists are real layabouts!"
One more thing... Petersburg artists are real layabouts!
Based upon what we hear from Twin Sevens, Yoizk!, Kirill Tipo, and Koyla, any audible "Petersburgian" traits are part and parcel of a certain worldview, which might be expressed as follows. A rejection of prior styles and towns has led these musicians to what they feel is a better, more discerning creative context. In short, we're dealing with a northern, "melancholy" elitism, fostered on the streets of a severe (and sometimes palatial) classicism.
And that, surely, has been the biggest stereotype of all surrounding the city - for a very long time. After all, what other location possesses sufficient chutzpah to call itself the nation's "cultural capital"? And - following that logic - what place could be better suited to gifted musicians who shun tawdry commercial enterprise... and only cease being "layabouts" when they see good reason to move...?
Some environments are more likely to foster elitism than others.
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