This evening I met up with a young Russian, Kirill Vesnik, who lives outside the center of Riga. I was put in touch with him during my last trip here on account of the fact that he collects old Soviet-era synthesizers. He recently opened up for Pan Sonic here in riga, and his sounds were used in an installation for the Venice Architecture Biennale. Like many young people in Latvia, he lives in a run down flat block with his mother. His room is piled high with crazy analog sound gear, decorated with tacky wallpaper, and is the furthest thing from soundproof one can imagine. The cars and trucks outside the window sound like they are in every corner of the room, the sounds of drills and hammers cut through our conversation, and every utterance in or out of the building seems to seep through the walls. On top of that, every five minutes or so, the lights go dim and a sharp crack comes through the speakers from some fridge somewhere turning on or off. In spite of all these minor disturbances, Kirill works on.

Kirill's pride and joy is a RMIF TR-3. In the late 80's and early 90's, the Riga Music Instrument Factory produced clones of popular western synths, such as the Prophet and other keyboards made popular by groups like Depeche Mode, and sold them for something like 18.000 rubles, or roughly 105 dollars. The TR-3 is a digital keyboard with analog controls, and takes about two hours to properly warm up, otherwise errors can occur in the oscillators. I happen to like the errors, and spend most of my time with this machine tweaking controls faster than the beast's little brain can keep up, trying to induce more and more dramatic failures. Kirill proudly says that there are only a few of these keyboards left, and that his is in the best condition. With this monster, which would cover completely your average desktop, a few drum machines and rack-sized tape delays that look like military communications devices and a fairly basic PC, he produces some quality 'clicks + cuts' style minimal techno and noise-scapes.

The part which amazes me is not the crudeness of his equipment. I have know for a long time that the roughest instruments can make the most interesting sounds. the amazing part is how his enviroment of social decay, cheap housing and cultural alienation (Kirill is Russian and does not speak Latvian well, and therefore cannot be a full citizen of the new Latvian republic) has lead him to something so austere and restrained. one would expect a style with the cocky protest of punk, the aimless anger of metal, or the swaggering bravado of hip hop. Something I have noticed about the Latvian underground music scene is that it is heavy with hard industrial, tek-step drum and bass, dark wave and minimal beats--all styles characterized by a repression of emotion in favor of lock- step mathematical precision and cold, mechanical sounds. A Scandanavian influence, perhaps, but I can't help think that it is also their reaction to the circumstances. Like the sleek clothes and sharp makeup of the girls of Riga out on the town, Kirill's sounds defy his environment by betraying no emotions, keeping all his cards close to his chest, and waiting for the next best chance.

---derek

Kolka-Music, Kirill's label.

Kirill's Museum of Soviet-era noise machines.