Forms of Distortion and Difference: Zavoloka and Ugol Ratmanova

A new release by this performer is always reason for sustained applause, as might be evident from the tone adopted when she first appeared on FFM. Zavoloka is the sur- and stage name of Kateryna Zavoloka, a remarkable electronic musician from Kiev. Born in 1981, she is currently touted with understandable pride by her label, Kvitnu Records, as perhaps the nation's best-known electronic artist and one of Europe's most unique.

Such hyperbole should, of course, be taken with a large pinch of salt, but given the fact that Zavoloka also works as Kvitnu's graphic designer, these words of (unsubstantiated) high praise might be forgiven as friendly support among colleagues.

The same support system led to a fine recording a couple of years ago, entitled "Viter" (i.e., "Wind" in Ukrainian). The idea, ultimately, was to dedicate a series of instrumental works to the four elements. Over time, as we'll see, the raison d'etre behind "Viter" would increasingly inform Zavoloka's style. Metaphors and mechanical wizardry developed side by side in increasingly consequential patterns.

And so the fiddly work began.

A small accompanying text spoke of Zavoloka's early desire to produce an audible expression of "purification and self-actualization." In essence, that grand summons was designed to investigate some initial parallels between changes in nature and a potential within human experience for similar transformations. Rigid in our daily custom - went the argument - we shy away from any quiet, natural inclination towards (constant) metamorphoses. Hence this musical invitation to a more "eventful" worldview, in which differences take precedence over stasis.

Tiptoeing around stereotype, Zavoloka ended that earlier text with two brief statements and an imperative: "Human beings are an integral part of the universe. The universe itself is magical. Breathe!"

The universe itself is magical. Breathe!

The accompanying artwork was inspired by a windswept evening skyline, blurring the boundary between terra firma and a more mobile domain. The design's similarity to a Ukrainian flag could hardly have been accidental. The guarded limits of ostensible existence and political geography were thus nudged towards more "open," kinetic forms.

The press received "Viter" positively, praising its "skillful combinations of electronic and analog instrumentation, as well as a seamless merger of modern and traditional influences." Other observers spoke of "strange, strange music! It all evokes the lightness of nature, [forever] swirling and moving... The rhythms are borrowed from the world of clicks and cuts, but the string sections could be traditional Ukrainian folk music. It all sounds like it was recorded in a cathedral."

Since the time of "Viter," Zavoloka has been on something of a creative hiatus, working instead on smaller projects - reflected by a couple of the compositions here. Her label, Kvitnu, describes this timeout as a combination of studio work and collaborations with various Ukrainian visual artists. 

...constantly broken rythms and unexpected structural turns

Kvitnu continues: "A lot of fresh material has been written and the first selection of Zavoloka's new work is now presented in an EP." Entitled "Svitlo" ("Light" or "Radiant"), the recording is built upon "heavy, raw bass lines. They're combined with constantly broken rythms and unexpected structural turns."

The 2011 cover art, based on photography by colleague Kotra (aka Dmytro Fedorenko), gives an indication both of that structural complexity and what will become a key metaphor for novelty.

The greatest surprise, perhaps, is the level of distortion in the aforementioned bass. The EP's opening few seconds tumble from warm resonance into the noisy pain of suffering speakers. The "light" evoked in these instrumentals is clearly meant to be disorienting, if not blinding. A tiny New Year's track, offered by Zavoloka to her listeners (see audio player), made that clearer. Accompanied by an image of rising, dazzling sunlight, the composition's twenty one seconds move from a strict, even severe rhythm to shimmering ambient notes.

In other words, the old year is counted down (or out) - in order to usher in pure potential. The options of a New Year are infinite - and the choices can be daunting.

And thus resolutions fail, as we return to the habit and custom maligned on "Viter." Once again Zavoloka includes some traditional vocals (by Dania Chekun), leading to what she calls a "weird, dusky, and immersive atmosphere." The abandonment of ingrained habits is likened to a form of descent - and all the related anxiety. 

The Moscow duo known as Ugol Ratmanova operate according to a related philosophy. They formed in 2008, initially with the intention of only playing live. Fixed, unchanging recordings seemed to contradict the project's attention upon what they called "melodic works, spun from sound and light. Sonic designs interweave with antagonistic rhythmic patterns." Gradually, however, the musicians have moved towards net-releases and a series of ongoing "nanocasts," accessible for free - either through a central website or iTunes.

The two members of Ugol Ratmanova are Sergei Kniazkov and Igor Orlov, who continue to stress the importance of improvisation and change in their work. Early recordings were made entirely of jam sessions, with a marked emphasis upon analog tools. The artists said at the time that a "minimal use of computers, software, and synthesizers allowed us to fashion a powerful, even aggressive sound."

...a powerful, even aggressive sound

Aesthetically speaking, those recordings - just as today - are in debt to what Kniazkov and Orlov term the "old-school industrial" noises of Soviet electronica from the late '70s and early '80s. On the eve of perestroika, initial hints of movement appeared in the Soviet monolith. Electronica inspired by that same period - using the "heavy industry" of antique instruments - speaks directly to a need for the natural, even "blinding" metamorphoses celebrated by Zavoloka.

Civic transformation, once it arrived in '91, was indeed dazzling - to the point of longterm disorientation. 

Transferring the ethos of change and difference into old, staid structures, Kniazkov and Orlov have also worked with various handmade synthesizers, first breaking them down in order to build them anew - and differently. The resulting musical styles, born of those fragile machines, have been equally fractured - all in celebration of other "nonconventional methods and creatively varied techniques."

...atmospheric noise-patterns and microtonal, minimalist sound structures

The result? "Harsh, broken rhythms that overflow with atmospheric noise-patterns and microtonal, minimalist sound structures." The soundtrack to alteration and transformation remains small - since the processes it lauds are both huge and homeless. Zavoloka's celebration of the (entire) New Year is twenty-one seconds in length and barely audible! 

...complex, nonlinear shapes

In the same vein, Ugol Ratmanova's newest recording is entitled "Oregon." In order to depict 98,000 rugged square miles of the Pacific Northwest, Kniazkov and Orlov resort once more to improvisational work - to the sounds of deviation, difference, and burgeoning patterns. "Thanks to the unusual application of both instruments and programming options, this new release is full of complex, nonlinear shapes." 

Beginning with the t-shirts.

The simple manifesto according to which Ugol Ratmanova operate is: "We Make Unsound." Texts and other audible statements are made in order to evoke something beyond themselves: a performer both enunciates and exits with equal speed.

The musicians' frequent preference for improvisation likewise means that disappearance and transience are on an equal footing with declaration. Each note and/or statement is made only in order to reach the next. The byzantine, risky beauty produced by this flight from convention was famously summarized by Miles Davis: "I'll play it first - and tell you what it is later.”

We make unsound

He also made the equally renowned claim that performing artists “shouldn't fear mistakes [en route]. There are none.” And so both Zavoloka and Ugol Ratmanova employ distortion, deviance, and (endless) difference in their musical tributes to natural evolution, where - as another wit once declared - there's no such thing as bad weather. Only bad clothes.

And so the cover work to "Oregon," as with Zavoloka's New Year output, eulogizes the disconcerting radiance of a naturally-determined metamorphosis. All that's needed to engage and endure these overwhelming changes is a brave heart and a pair of sunglasses.