Sprightly Animals and Patriotic Dancefloors: Vtgnike and Dowdy

Not long ago, this site reported on the work of Samara beatmaker Dowdy, who interprets his stage name in fairly literal terms: it means "messy and unfashionably dressed. Generally unhip, tasteless, inelegant, and so forth." Given that jumble of disorderly tendencies, it's instructive to look at his newest EP, entitled "Borodinsky Beat." The term "Borodinsky" has multiple uses in Russian - designating a wide range of culturally rich places, people, and practices. It can be applied, for example, to an epic battle against Napoleon, another conflict of WWII at the same location, an entire slew of composers or scientists across the centuries - and even a type of bread.

Messy and unfashionably dressed. Generally unhip, tasteless, inelegant, and so forth

In short, therefore, "Borodinsky" carries a wealth of cultural baggage, almost all of which is cause for patriotic sentiment. And then - before the flush of pride has left us - we encounter the artwork below, produced in the style of a traditional Russian picture known as a "lubok." These colorful, yet crude prints were popular in the seventeenth century and later, designed to send literary, spiritual, or satirical messages in very basic form. They would be purchased at marketplaces and then, quite often, used to decorate homes or busy venues such as a village inn, for example.

A lubok, in other words, was a means of underscoring and advocating a socially significant message. It was a visual, one-page pamphlet. Here, in a modernized version, we now have a dancing pig. What on earth can that unflattering imagery hope to advocate, being the handiwork of a DJ?

The picture is instantly recognizable as Russian; Dowdy therefore promotes himself on the level of nationhood. He is a member of that nation and reminds us of the fact. On the other hand, though, the specific use of the lubok here is extremely personal - as one individual uses the illustration to mock himself.  How does this dialog operate between national and private expression, between shaky patriotism, even, and merciless self-irony? Why on earth use a hairy pig to promote Russian music - and oneself - to a worldwide audience? The answer, suggested by the two releases under discussion here, is a surprising one.

Looking first at Dowdy's effort, some clues emerge from the EP's contents, specifically from the opening track, entitled "Jesus Walks." Even though the sampled English vocals are less than distinct, the title reminds most listeners that we're dealing with the 2004 composition by Kanye West. That song operates in the same territory as Dowdy's cover art. It begins by making the claim that modern songwriting - or the business thereof - has no moral qualms about peddling stories of sex and violence. Positive values, in a word, do not sell. In particular, says West, rap songs with a Christian content are destined to lose money. 

Kanye West: They say you can rap about anything except Jesus

A disconnect therefore endures between traditional, socially constructed forms of selfhood and today's ego-pleasing commerce. In a world of self-assurance and selfishness, old group identities (such as patriotism and religion) are terribly unfashionable. "They say you can rap about anything except Jesus. That means guns, sex, lies, [and] video tapes...But if I talk about God my record won't get played, huh?"

Bearing that in mind, take a look at one response from a Western admirer to "Borodinsky Beat." He speaks about a "slouchy feel that disarms you.. until the ridiculous bass arrives." A deliberate "dowdiness" is evident even from afar. Our musician finds something praiseworthy in the music's slouching structure - it becomes a celebration of precisely the qualities we saw in the opening etymology: messiness, a lack of fashion, inelegance, and so forth.

There's a slouchy feel that disarms you.. until the ridiculous bass arrives

Dowdy's self-deprecation finds audience approval. Maybe the unseemliness of the lubok serves a positive purpose, even if it's destined to lose money - or therefore to fail? After all, the dancing pig looks very happy, and is evidently well received by his audience. Perhaps the cover art is asking us to reconsider one or two classic/cliched notions of "Russianness"? 

It seems possible to justify that suggestion if we quickly examine the new release from Moscow's unpronounceable  Vtgnike, made available thanks to the city's RAD organization.

That jumble of letters is, we're told, a pseudonym also used by MyOwn, aka InviteΔYupi. We've looked at the witch house compositions of InviteΔYupi before, and although a second stage name doesn't help us solve the identity of this performer - beyond his Christian name (Danila) - it does at least suggest the involvement of Moscow's  Guerilla magazine. That publication was very closely involved with the witch house tracks.

Those same, earlier publications help us understand the Vtgnike EP. InviteΔYupi's tiny discography was informed by a radical manipulation of 1990's Russian pop, all in order to suggest the existence of dark, dramatic forces that lurk behind the sheen of primetime media. The basic device used was deceleration of the source material, which turned the high-pitched voices of teenage divas into the moan of ailing witches.

One of the RAD logos similarly suggests that we look beyond the glare of promotional razzle-dazzle, to something disconcertingly vague. It's only the bottomless darkness that makes the light seem bright.

Some tiny texts accompanying this new Vtgnike release likewise claim it "reflects the deepest sides of the Slavic Soul (SS). The folks at RAD show us once again that the Russian spirit is strong - and not only in its ability to handle alcohol. It's also capable of writing beautiful music." As with Dowdy, we dance on the edge of patriotic cliche - in order to reconsider it.

Drawing openly upon the messy, frantic rhythms of Chicago juke, the Vtgnike recording has attracted the attention of Guerilla's Woody. Once more, that magazine's role is underscored, somewhere behind the scenes. Woody has the following to say about what he calls Vtgnike's "Russian Orthodox juke." His comments help to explain the rationale of Dowdy's dancing piglet, in other words the connection between personal shabbiness and civic pride. Between a nation and its scruffy citizens.

The argument begins with a few observations about the samples used to make the Vtgnike EP, called "Sueta Nebitiya" (The Vanity of Non-Existence): "This recording takes Russian electronic music to a completely new level. It's the sound of Alla Pugacheva filtered through acid, or Maiia Kristalinskaia through magic mushrooms. It's the sound of those [Soviet] singers who vanished in a bottomless pit of anonymous Russian R&B stars during the 2000s. All of this - in some incredible way - is woven into a plaintive, Orthodox sort of juke that knocks you off your feet. And then it's wrapped in disarmingly beautiful acoustic motifs and enticing synths. Vtgnike is our future. Get well soon!"

Vtgnike is our future. Get well soon!

The recording indeed samples a lot of songs from Brezhnev's period in office, not to mention the children of those stars, such as Kristina Orbakaite, or the (really) cheap and cheerful TV pop of the '90s, from unhip places such as Dagestan. All of those songs have been pushed around and impinged upon by external forces: prior ideology, cynical business practice, or clumsy attempts at '90s glamor. And yet they've all endured as important texts for an enormous number of people. From beneath the junkyard of prior politics, '90s business, and so forth, an entire catalog of nationally significant songs persists. Some of them may not be very polished - in fact most of them aren't! - but they're very important.

The Vtgnike cover makes no attempt to pass itself off as glossy, well-funded allure. It's a happily amateurish view of a simple art form (and its prime concern).

Those equally unprofessional, outmoded, or chintzy songs sampled by Vtgnike are important, perhaps, precisely because they're so battered and limping. Because they're dowdy. At this point in the proceedings, where we might suggest that moral triumph even resides in failure, one can sense the workings of Guerilla's "Orthodox juke" argument, whether it be totally serious or not. The Russianness of these songs is a consequence of their scruffiness, ungodly burden - and scrappy endurance. 

Whatever the validity of that patriotic reasoning, these new compositions from Dowdy and Vtgnike imply that the nation's pop tradition may be sickly, weak, and so forth - and yet it remains a massive source of affection in a difficult time. Hence the invitation to "get well soon."

And that leaves the issue of Vtgnike's name. What on earth does it mean? One listener on Facebook suggests it's an abbreviation from the Russian for a wholly imagined and nonsensical organization: "The All-Russian State Telescopic Scientific Institute for Communicational Electro-Devices." The people at RAD reply: "No, it's much more complex than that." It stands, seemingly, for an illogical love affair with ailing, yet admirable effort. It also represents a peculiar national affection for dowdy, dancing piglets. The kind that other people would probably shun.

It's a sentimental scrapbook aesthetic that refuses to even sit level on the page. It's misshapen, misbehaved, and yet endlessly heartfelt - which is good cause for pride and even patriotism.