CDs - Reviews

Review of the CD series from Professor David MacFadyen

«Independent Music in Russia, 2002-2006:The SpecialRadio Media Project»

          The twenty CDs in this collection call themselves a monument to independent Russian rock between 2002 and 2006. Whatever the grandeur in such self-definition, they are invaluable evidence of how Russian songwriting has shaped itself relative to various institutions over the last half-decade, of ways that artists see themselves as hopefully “independent” of Moscow’s bigger, more banal tendencies.

          In that light, the SpecialRadio collection begs parallels with similar statements of independence in British music. The one UK compilation of which we are reminded is the NME’s legendary “C86” cassette, published two decades ago with the assistance of Rough Trade. It included Primal Scream, The Mighty Lemon Drops, The Shop Assistants, Half Man, Half Biscuit and other bands who would come to be synonymous with the abbreviated adjective “indie.” This was a deliberate amateurism, designed to foster an independence from the consumerist ideals of Thatcherism, from the grandiose gestures of “rockism,” and the perceived nastiness of American dance music. Appearing on the (distant) heels of a much more discordant NME collection “C81” this second cassette would breathe new life into the worldview of the late 1970s.

          The difference between the C86 aesthetic and that of punk, however, was felt in one significant regard. As opposed to punk’s raucous, often self-destructive methods, these new bands adopted a more introspective, if not childish chic of jangly guitars played with borderline incompetence, as with Orange Juice, Josef K, and their Scottish label-mates on Postcard Records, for example. Independence came from not growing up.

          The bands on this Russian compilation face a similar situation, making possible the parallels between Kitti Louis and Belle & Sebastian. How might they see themselves vis a vis today’s equally conservative, market-driven politics or the related intransigence of well-moneyed kingpins across primetime media? Does anything unite them like the acts of C81 and C86? If so, will they express their self-determination with recourse to greater volume, or a shy, more meditative style? Will they, finally, look forwards or back for points of reference?

Sounds of the Seventies

          Just as British indie bands looked over their shoulder to the 1970s, there are several artists in this compilation who resurrect pop-rock traditions of the late Soviet Union. Maksim Lebedev-Uvarov (born 1963) certainly plays his guitar with the grand, droning panache of Vladimir Kuz’min and refers to himself with an equally unfashionable moniker, as “rock-bard.” Proudly accruing these and other anachronisms, he has even used some recent releases to showcase some of his oldest songs. In the same antique spirit, Znoinyi papa insist their music is performed with a dangerous-sounding “mauvais ton” yet the first twenty seconds of their song Goroda sound like a well-behaved homage to the young Grebenshchikov, a man whose influence is, incidentally, felt elsewhere, even in the names of bands such as Radio Afrika (whatever their hipper references in promo materials may be to The Residents).

          Alibi from the town of Dubna look even further back in time with a very McCartneyesque composition, 1967. Its gently ironic horn section harks back to Sir Paul’s earlier, sentimental use of “northern” brass bands in loving consideration of a non-existent age of coronations, tea, and home-baked biscuits. A happy, treasured time that never really happened.

          We’re reminded here of the Russian Museum’s 2006 celebration of underground art “under” Brezhnev, too, its mock-up of a domestic exhibition: the adoring yet humble reproduction of a practice no longer meaningful in today’s fiscal climate. This sense of loss fuels several tracks. Nikolai Korshunov, holder of a PhD, represents the perfect wistful intelligent, even if he’s walking on stage 30 years too late. By his own admission a fan of acutely obsolete rock from the ‘70s, such as Black Sabbath, Blue Oyster Cult and Uriah Heep, he adopts a brisk acoustic method for Babki i tachki. In the manner of yesteryear’s kvartirniki, he offers a light-hearted critique of today’s avarice – of what happens outside the home. His complaints are funny because they could never seriously change anything; the outside world is too busy being avaricious.

          This nostalgic, increasingly insignificant domesticity is underscored by arguably the compilation’s most famous contributor, Sergei Chigrakov, here as guest vocalist for the charismatic Estonian group Avenue. It’s this “portable” aesthetic of Avenue’s acoustic guitars and accordion, from “apartment to apartment” (as BG himself once sang), that gives their music such magnetism, the same humbleness that makes the acoustic World Service sessions of Chizh much more appealing than their bolder, electric recordings. One can certainly see why Piatyi kanal in Chigrakov’s home town recently broadcast a documentary about Avenue; their sound embodies a vanished object of ongoing desire.

          If we exchange the guitars for mandolins, for snare drums and (even more!) horns, we move towards the shambolic techniques that leave Garik Sukachev open to criticism as a manque Tom Waits, or the same ungainly affinities that gives us Billy’s Band from Petersburg. Moscow’s Gruppa Lits characterize their messy, brass-heavy performances as “chanson … probably!” It’s this self-deprecation, free of conceit, which saves them from the stagy postures of Billy’s Band, as we hear in their track Seredovich. It has the same Brechtian swagger, but it’s tempered by a quiet, self-effacing melancholy – once again for an acoustic, enthusiastic spontaneity that may no longer be possible.

Echoes of the Eighties

          The 1980s are drawn upon, too, for more upbeat tendencies. Vova Sinii is happy to call himself a “legend” of that decade (perhaps justifiably…) and claims elsewhere that he reworks elements of Cabaret Voltaire, David Byrne, and Robert Fripp. In this anthology, however, he offers here some amazingly polished jazz-funk with vocals that remind us more of established domestic models, especially Maksim Leonidov. The same can be said of Baklushi-Beat, who include the oddest member of any band in this collection; their drummer, Vasilii Zhuravlev, is a nationally-recognized newsreader!

          More cases of the melodic, “Beatlesque” restraint that Leonidov embodied with Sekret in the 80s can be found, both in musical arrangements and vocal stylings. The opening chords from Kuba’s track, Serye doma, are strikingly cheery, but it is Dmitrii Nozdrin’s vocals that swiftly halt this impression. A simple lighthearted style is frustrated, perhaps by the band’s own influences of the 80s: The Cure, Iggy Pop… and Zhanna Aguzarova. A motley, often despondent crew, to be sure.

          The percussive simplicity of more commercial songs from the 1980s is audible in Pim-pim-pim by E-Bit! Their so-called “disco-chaos” may only have enjoyed popularity in the last few years (around the Baltic nations and in Poland), but their synth-pop influences clearly hark back to something older, circa perestroika. From the same part of the world, Violeta (Riga) clearly reminds us of Mirazh; this may be, the songstress admits on her website, because she wants to be appreciated “by all age groups.”

          These retrospections are not uncommon in Russian pop music, of course, and some of today’s singers have never abandoned the methods that made them stars in the 1980s. One could argue that Alena Apina or Irina Saltykova, for example, have barely changed over the last two decades; their cadenced minimalism certainly rolled on with great success into the early songs of Natasha Koroleva, Natali, and many (many) others. It has lived long enough to inspire the elegant, well-produced retro-mode of Katia Lel’s early albums like Talisman (1999), a truly guilty pleasure for today’s listeners.

          For that reason, it is both odd and intriguing to encounter a chanteuse like Moscow’s Lena Voronova or Tat’iana Osipova. Both fall into the very “un-contemporary” sound of Apina et al. Voronova’s claim to “independence” is remarkable, given these parallels; even more remarkable is that she published a book in Rostov last year, entitled “Rational Universe.” It documents the scientific evidence for alien life on Earth… Osipova, in an equally absorbing way, makes frequent, bizarre reference in promotional materials to her star sign, the Chinese horoscope, and the number 13 (a numeral Pugacheva has often credited with her success!). Osipova tells us, to boot, that she shapes her career through “psychological training sessions.” The long-lasting importance here of things mystical takes us straight back to Russian fashions of the late 80s and early 90s.

          Some of the other commercial contributors sound less dated, however. Younger representatives of pure popsa, like Valia Papirosov, Irina Siletskaia, or Module (Dnepropetrovsk), would not sound out of place on Fabrika zvezd. Indeed, like many contestants of that show, they’ve all had fleeting interactions with fame: Module has been the support act for ViaGra and Bi-2; Valia Papirosov has been interviewed on the BBC’s Russian Service and Ekho Moskvy, while Siletskaia has sung (once) on the stage of the Rossiia concert hall, albeit in 2002. Equally intriguing in this same vein are Gavrosh and Moscow’s M-Trek, the two closest things we have to a youthful R&B sound. And yet a significant part of M-Trek’s repertoire is made of 80’s remixes…

Fame, Fashion and the Female Element

          So what about innovation? Some of the better-known artists on these CDs are also indicative of more inventive tendencies. Messer Chups and their “mondo surf” sound both mock, of course, the kitschier aspects of Soviet culture noted above. Their frequent colleague Oleg Kostrov, also represented here, has often taken that sardonic humor and then moved onwards to greater critical success with absorbing, witty soundscapes for several contemporary playwrights. Even more renowned are Rada i ternovnik, heard with reasonable frequency on national radio after more than 15 years together; they remain critical darlings for what they themselves call “very, very erotically charged” performances.

          Not everybody is so bold, though. The quieter, loungier aspects of Kostrov’s work dovetail with those bands that draw clearly upon Portishead or other representatives of recent indietronica. The most obvious example, from their name alone, is Saint Petersburg’s Britaniia and their “depressingly romantic” trip-hop. Working in an allied, echoey vein are Shaliai-valiai (Kishinev) and - to distinctive effect - the Vladivostok ensemble Svetoch. Although they dress and sound (at least vocally) like a number of other well-trained and conservative folk groups, Svetoch include trendy, almost chilled rhythms to “open their songs to the world’s beauty, to the roots and origins of our [forgetful] age.”

          The persistence of folk elements - plus the classical training they so often require - reminds us of the one female ensemble who did so much to modernize Russian independent songwriting after 1991: Kolibri. The ever-wonderful Sed’moe nebo are thankfully on show here, interweaving great respect for folk (and jazz) traditions with years of study at the Novosibirsk Conservatory. Likewise, from the hometown of Kolibri, the understated, though studied folk-finesse of Stupeni is building an increasing fan base. This female duo, often recognizable from their wistful trademark flute, is now able to fill venues on the scale of Petersburg’s Estrada theater. We can only hope they work their way up the road to the October Concert Hall.

          It seems reasonable to see Sed’moe nebo and Stupeni as two tendencies in independent female performance. Other artistes, like Shtrikh-kot from Minsk, reflect and develop these given manners in ways that are specifically local without denouncing all things Western. Parizh, for example, fronted by the delicate Kseniia Panaeva, embody a gorgeous lounge-oriented chic that has garnered them seven major prizes in provincial competitions, together with space on recent compilations beside Nochnye snaipery, Leningrad and even Mumii Troll’. Correspondingly Kristina Vikhrova, again with a classical background (from Magnitogorsk), has been recording equally classical versions of Blok and others since the early 1990s, but is now taking her skills into a more populist melange of East and West, such as her recent radio production of “Pokemons in Russia”!

          Working between tradition and innovation, both home and away, the most radical expression of an “independent” female voice here is Svetlana Avramova, closely tied to Svetoteni, and therefore to the better-known Biopsikhoz. In one minute, fifty-one seconds, Avramova’s lonely, lilting voice sings a cappella with folkish woe of the moon, universe, and other sweeping metaphors. Suddenly she stops; from the silence we hear a barely audible address to a presumed audience: “That’s all” (Vse…). The gap between big and small, between membership and absence could not be more dramatic.

Membership in the Mainstream: Possible Names to Watch

          Which bands, as yet unmentioned, manage to combine a healthy degree of artistic independence, yet still embrace techniques of potential popularity? Let’s start with new- or alt-metal as epitomized by Moscow’s Slot. A contender would be another Novosibirsk ensemble, Provereno. They have claimed in the past to emulate Garbage, but their sound is already big and bold enough to challenge Slot’s role in recent movie soundtracks. Louder still, with one of the most robust bass-lines in recent memory, is Kommanda Gu, once again from the capital. Either band could easily satisfy a countrywide audience.

          National listeners to today’s female artists, however, might feel more comfortable with the work of Chicherina, and in that slightly lighter, more melodic vein, we have Plutonium and DidiLada, who are already local celebrities in their native Kaluga. “Lightest” of all is the fast, acoustic flippancy of Pis’mo by Novye prazdniki, who – despite sounding self-consciously artful – include several ex-members of Prem’er-Ministr!

          Forced to champion one band in particular with a female vocalist, I would plump for the modestly-defined “pop-rock” of Svetlana Tsybina and the superb Beshenye from Yekaterinburg. Their rugged, occasionally aggressive track Zachem is begging for serious airplay, while the band’s second, more lyrical contribution, On i ona, would certainly charm any obstinate fans of Iuta.

          As for the gentlemen, I have never understood why Krasnodar’s Bogi are not hugely popular. Their three tracks in this anthology may, however, help to change that. Formed more than a decade ago, they have supported Va-Bank, Vopli vidopliasova, and Nogu svelo, but remain one painful step away from primetime. Their swirling guitars, distorted, distant vocals, and ample feedback would surely stand them in good stead for festival accolades. They, together, with Saint Petersburg’s superb Vdryzgviola, could proudly extend the fanbase claimed thus far by Okean El’zy.

          The key to doing so will be in variety, in change and “independence” from categories per se. In this regard we can admire Ekstaz, also together for over a decade, yet their funk-driven folk-rock (already a healthy muddle!) does not steer them towards convention: even now they declare their similarity to everything - and their equal love for everything, too. This, surely, is the attitude that got them booked for the 2005 Okna otkroi! festival. Similarly, it’s great to see that two of the generically most complex bands here are from the “deepest provinces”: More! (Samara) and Dai dorogu! (Brest). The former ensemble has even added a second “r” to their name, thus guaranteeing they’ll remain independent of another, identically-titled group. Interest and independence are synonymous with constant change, with difference. Take, for example, Dai dorogu! As the ugliest band on this compilation, they don’t even look like anybody else… In short, many of these 400 songs may start in a Western mode, but the most exciting and enticing among them also use domestic traditions; together they’re neither one thing nor the other. They’re something different. No song plots this trajectory better than the opening countdown from our Brest ensemble: Raz, dva, tri… opa!

Professor David MacFadyen, USA
for Special Radio