Gosprom: Stylistic Instability and Suicidal Poets

Having covered one Kharkov ensemble yesterday (Liuk), we’re throwing another into the mix: Gosprom.  The band’s name comes not only from the two Russian words for “state” and “industry”; those same two terms were merged together in the 1920s to designate a famous concrete structure in the middle of Kharkov (below).  The Gosprom building is today considered a major achievement of early Soviet architecture; the same romance of early socialism is captured in the songs of this Ukrainian ensemble, in that they make liberal use of poems by Vladimir Maiakovskii.

When asked to explain these influences in more specific terms, Gosprom throw together a handful of reference points that – with the help of some dodgy English and an avoidance of capital letters – give us the following mini-manifesto:  ”we are experiment.  we are japanese punk, vanguard dj, tourist, classic clarinettist, birdbass.  we love mayakovsky.  we want urbanism adventure.”   

In search of those adventures, “Lazy” is the band’s second release.  Their 2008 EP, entitled “Broadway,” can still be downloaded here.  The newer recording comes to us thanks to hosting from German netlabel Headphonica and is presaged by a couple of promo-phrases: “There are five compositions here that’ll be familiar to those who have heard Gosprom live, together with a promo track: it’s all about the future, human beings, and robots.  It’s a kind of epilogue for the EP.  On top of all that, of course, there are poems by Maiakovskii and [Andrei Voznesenskii], plus all kinds of DJ-ing tricks!” 

That final phrase is important in that although Gosprom are ofen compared to Portishead and there certainly is a trip-hoppy backbone to most of their songs, there’s also sufficient experimentation going on to garner, for example, invitations to play at the Koktebel Jazz Festival.  The group’s line-up gives us an idea of their fluid format and flexible worldview, both of which are welcome in the world of jazz.  Dmitrii Sysoev is responsible for all the sampling and scratching that reminds of releases from St Petersburg’s 56 Stuff label;  Andrian Fedoseev plays clarinet; Mar’iana D’iadkov is Gosprom’s vocalist; Konstantin Otkidach plays guitar; and Oleg Shpakovskii rounds out the list on bass.  

Gosprom have been together since 2007 and, like their neighbors Liuk, are very keen to see the local scene develop not only in the realm of music, but in other art forms, too.  ”We do all kinds of things with Kharkov artists and photographers.  We find it all really interesting.  If there’s a photography exhibit, say, connected to the concert hall where we’re performing, then we’ll perform there, too.  That’s how we do our own PR work, but it’s all in a pop-art style, something you could call ‘art junk,’ perhaps!” 

This celebration of sampling, generic mash-ups, and a related formlessness on stage has led in several interviews to the issue of whether the band can define itself in ways other than the mini-manifesto above.  It leads to a strange admission: “In essence, we’re not fans of what we do[!].  If, for example, we played britpop, we’d never be able to get beyond the limits of that style – or any other.  The thing is that we’re constantly transforming.”  

It sounds as if they’re constantly on the run from themselves.

That strange sense of self-loathing appears to be a result of the band’s high standards.  They speak of their earliest concerts, for example, as a complete embarrassment.  

“We played all over Kharkov [in the beginning]; wherever we felt like it!  We played in all the clubs.  At least we didn’t resort to getting our friends and classmates to come along – just to tell everybody how cool we were! If we do want to be cool, it’ll be on a worldwide scale and not just locally!”  From self-deprecation to international grandstanding in the space of three sentences.  

Emotional instability beckons.

The group say that they hope to play in Kiev and larger Russian cities soon, together with some festivals, open-air gigs, and a handful of corporate shows (though the latter have virtually vanished from view since the economic downturn).  

In the meanwhile, they continue to dream of a half-decent record deal and “playing concerts.  Lots of them.  We need to finish recording tons of things that we have on tape but remain unedited.  We’ve got loads of stuff that has been started, but then recorded piecemeal.  We’re also in ongoing negotiations with people from other towns, all about playing gigs there, too.  A lot of those plans are materializing, and that’s good.”

We hope that positive note continues: the flip-flopping worldviews here between “we used to be awful” and “the world is ours to conquer” show the unnerving degrees of effort involved in music management.  Keeping a cool head is obviously important today as the Russian and Ukrainian markets provide less and less income. 

Using Maikovskii as your guiding light may not be the most sensible option at the moment.   Although lauded for decades as the champion of broad-shouldered, revolutionary verse, he shot himself at the age of 37 – after years of trying to reconcile the pragmatic, even heartless needs of the new state with his lyricism, born of a less-than-sensible love affair.

As Maiakovskii found out, stalking the wife of your publisher is a plan that’s unlikely to end well, no matter how good your disguise.  It takes more than big spectacles to hide from karma.  Or mental issues.

 

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