DJ Cross Fire: Tales of Provincial Labor and the Odd Benefits of Big Trouble

In the world of Russian dance music, some genres are considered more “provincial” than others. Trance, rightly or wrongly, is often assumed to be one of the styles most likely to fill lop-sided village halls in distant locations. Comedy shows and parodic cinema will certainly make use of trance mixes as the backdrop to all manner of scenes that take place in leafy, sleepy towns of no great distinction. Among those same addresses one might expect to find, for example, Volzshkii, a mid-sized industrial city in southern Russia.

The civic-minded banner below shows a recent attempt by Volzshkii’s authorities to inspire pride in their hometown as a special, i.e., unique location. The banner says “I Love You, Dearest Town!” Which begs the question: “Why?” What might the reasons be to love this place more than any other?

The city in question grew slowly over the course of the 19th century from its origins as a village – thanks to the development of river trade along the Volga. By the time of the Revolution, the population had grown from those first few huts to a respectable 20,000 people. The Soviet years didn’t exactly help the region’s general development, though. In 1952, a year before Stalin’s death, that same residency figure had actually dropped – by an enormous 50%.

As we can tell from even these initial stats, the history of Volzshkii is neither interesting nor special. Even today, both historically and architecturally, it reflects a general historical process that was undergone by many other towns – in many other regions. This is a profoundly typical place.

So what of those local, equally typical or provincial dance halls – especially in the context of trance, their fittingly “normal” style? Poking around other people’s property, we might run into a certain DJ Cross Fire (aka Aleksandr Sizintsev) who was born in Volzhskii 20 years ago and graces the top of this post. He produces a series of lengthy trance mixes on a fairly regular basis and has established a small web presence on most of Russia’s dance-related portals; we include two of those mixes lower down in this text. On his home page he includes a potted bio that says a great deal about the emotional, stylistic, and professional connections to “the [mythical] Big Time,” situated somewhere far away in the Big City.

It is written in the third person, a decision that also speaks to the general objectivity or typicality of his experiences. Speaking of oneself “from the side” in this manner not only lessens the level of uniqueness, but also leaves a general impression of some shared, social annal. One young man’s story adopts the air of an old-school, universalized or socialist biography, even. It is told in such dry and predictable tones that with each paragraph it simply moves us down the road from rags to riches, or from the periphery to the “center of things.” Risk seems minimal.

The question, however, will remain of whether this information is reliable. Does life in a typically provincial town lend itself, especially today, to the kind of extraordinary, predetermined progress that fueled so many Soviet biographies? The kind of lifelines that brought diligent, distant toilers to the famed streets of the capital?

Will this story map a road to renown – or to nowhere? Much depends on which way your car is facing.

We begin as follows: “Aleksandr’s interest in music began at the age of 8. This was when he entered music school, having first passed the entrance exam. Much later on – in 2002 – he would finally finish that education, during which he specialized in the piano. He decided, [nonetheless], to become a DJ and went about looking for an appropriate style of dance music. The years of 2003 and 2004 were a tough introduction to the profession of DJ-ing; basically Aleksandr was busy learning all the technical aspects of the job. Serious, practical studies of all the complexities and nuances of DJ-ing came only when he entered DJ school in 2004.”

Until that point, everything was shrouded in mystery.

“Having found out about the DJ school, Aleksandr showed great initiative and desire. He studied under a couple of local performers. The equipment proved at first to be both complicated and confusing, but he got used to the JOG Pioneer CDJ100 fairly quickly. It ended up being, in fact, the only equipment that Aleksandr worked with. Having learned how to work this [one piece of] machinery to a skilled, professional degree, Aleksandr then started looking for a way to get on stage. Over the course of 2004 and 2005, these efforts proved fruitless, but thanks again to his desire and stubbornness, he established the necessary contacts to organize a debut show.”

Given the cost of initial stage equipment, getting to job interviews often proved problematic.

This first performance took place in the “legendary Volzhskii club – that has long since closed down[!] – called Ibiza. As so often happens with young DJs, the first show wasn’t exactly a success. His knees kept knocking, and his fingers got lost among all the knobs and buttons. Aleksandr showed himself to be a performer with promise… but he wasn’t yet leaving the impression of an experienced DJ.” At this point, the list of performance milestones trails off into silence, since our hero goes to law school for a while. Nonetheless, even though he was bound more to dusty libraries than to dancefloors, he would continue to seek the occasional opportunity to show how well he can “feel the audience.”

Once again the empty local streets beckoned, as he tried to get (rare) bookings.

Sizintsev’s real return to live shows came with a long-time commitment to a local restaurant, where Aleksandr “worked hard – so that people could either dance or relax to the right kind of music.” He then needed a suitable stage name, and “set about learning the theory of how to choose the right one. Having learned that theory [the nature of which remains a secret], he moved on to the selection process. That lasted two or three weeks[!], after which he simply gave up.” This state of melancholy endured until he happen to run across the phrase “crossfire” on a dubbed TV show. Why, however, he then decided to break the same term into two separate parts of speech remains just as mysterious as the supposed “theory of stage names.”

It’s enough to make your head spin.

And burst into flames.

It seems reasonable at this point to assume that Sizintsev’s law studies fell by the wayside. He instead used his time to open a DJ School of his own, “where he worked as a teacher.” Within a month, however, the school folded “due to some disagreements with the owner of the equipment.” It transpires, therefore, that Aleksandr owned neither the school’s venue, nor the machinery used. He also had no official qualifications. Things continued to look bad until – somehow – sufficient money was found to acquire a Pioneer CDJ 1000 turntable. In the US, that kind of machinery sells for over $1,000, which is no huge sum, but it does give a sense of how little financial misfortune can stop a musical career dead.

And, at some point, the remaining finances are best spent on fruits of the vine, rather than on vinyl.

Sizintsev’s problems with owning turntables have parallels in his troubles with accommodation for these projects, too.

Once Aleksandr had equipment of his own, he went in search of new premises… because he had been kicked out of the old ones. Much effort was expended on discovering a suitable venue and finally the so-called “Garage Club” was found. In a city where gloss and glamor is rare indeed, it seems unlikely that any such name would be chosen as an expression of self-deprecation; unfashionable locales need to be promoted, not mocked. If, therefore, a Volzhskii address is called a “garage,” it probably is.

A quick call would verify such matters.

To this likelihood we can also add the apparent bankruptcy of the first DJ school from which Aleksandr graduated. He attributes the success of his own garage-project to the “fact that there were no other schools in the city.” These biographical milestones of achievement, therefore, gradually take on the appearance of necessary movement in order to dodge disaster, rather than any steps “upwards” or “onwards.” In other words, it’s not as if capital is being accrued or employment made more stable as this narrative continues. The events we’ve noted thus far are, instead, a series of hops or skips across rare stepping stones, each of which melts away the moment it is attained…

The assured structure or rhetoric of a Soviet biography, of “great effort and subsequent victory” is mapped onto a much less stable society with considerable effort. And hazard.

One of the very last facts we learn is that “Aleksandr is now getting lots of experience on his equipment, training each and every day for 5-6 hours.” What – in the past – would have sounded like progressive zeal today has the ring of impending unemployment. Anybody with that much time on their hands – and a DIY school in a garage – probably does not have a job. Or a law degree. What they do have, paradoxically, with (absolutely) nothing to lose, is the chance to make a total, almost irrational commitment to their craft. And indeed: “at the moment, DJ Cross Fire is working on his new mixes. He is starting to try and write his own trance tracks, too. This is only the beginning…”

Presuming, of course, that the fickle workings of provincial business do not take our hero by surprise.

Yet again.

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