“The Cavestompers!” Soviet Pop As Subversionhttp://www.moscow.ucla.edu/?p=4434The Cavestompers
celebrate and embody a ridiculous number of influences. They claim
inspiration from almost fifty bands and genres on their MySpace page.
This is obviously a group of serious enthusiasts, and that same
enthusiasm is audible in their output. The fundamental influence that
strikes listeners on first hearing is US garage rock of the 60s - The
Monks and MC5, perhaps - plus britpop of the same period a la Ray Davis.
That’s
a fairly clear-cut and recognizable style, but The Cavestompers are
more than happy to muddy the waters with additional lists that include
“Soviet beat and pop, surf, post punk, frat rock, early rockabilly,
soul, funk, rocksteady, early ska and all the unusual, desperate and
obscure music in the world…” What exactly “desperate” music might be
remains a mystery, but the adjective alone is suitable, additional
evidence of the band’s general zeal.
They’ve garnered a very
positive response from a number of European publications, such as the
following opinion, all the way from Edinburgh. Read the next two
sentences quietly to yourself in a Scottish accent: “It’s great to hear
a brand-new record that gives off electric sparks and a palpable sense
of the teenage spirit that lies behind all great rock ‘n’ roll sounds…
Without any further ado, crank up your music machine, cue the disc and
let your hips shake, your boot heels stomp, and your head swirl!”
In
pithier terms, Germany’s Soundflat has declared the band to be
exponents of “ace garage from Russia.” And, in a similarly telegraphic
manner, the group themselves employ the term “retro-futurist” on
several occasions, which is a nice summary of ways in which they both
reproduce and modernize the garage aesthetic of decades gone by.
Their
debt to that past is at times so considerable that they also use the
term “semi-covers” to explain the extent to which they rework others’
prior achievements in updated forms that are “solid, raw, and rude with
slashing guitars, groovy organ and occasional feedback freakouts!”
So
what of the Russian reaction? It’s keen, to say the least: “Russian
garage rock! Class AAAAA!” The author of this loud celebration also
states that the band’s new recordings prove “post-punk is almost
post-rock ‘n’ roll.” This seems a dubious claim on many scores, the
foremost of which is that it doesn’t make a great deal of sense.
If
we were to be a little more accommodating, though, one possible (and
useful) way in which to shore up this Slavic statement would be to look
at how The Cavestompers dispense with musical history by reusing and
reemploying dusty old 45s, almost with the flexibility of jazz
standards. Soviet “vocal-instrumental ensembles” offer a tradition that
deserves to be remembered, yet not subject to excessive reverence. It
should be broken down and refashioned precisely because it is loved.
The more violence, the more love!
The
most obvious of these mashups, so to speak, is a Soviet standard from
the late 60s: “There Was a Lad” (Byl odin paren’), which originated in
Italy and was popular in various Soviet republics. It also enjoyed
renown in Brazil, Greece, and other nations with left-leaning youth
during the Vietnam War. Russians listeners will recall it in the
repertoire of beat combo “Poiushchie gitary” (Singing Guitars). It
tells of a young man who travels to socialist lands, inspired by The
Beatles and Rolling Stones, with songs of love.
When, however, he’s
drafted for service in Vietnam, he immediately goes off to “rip the
trousers from slain Asian women and crush their skulls”(!). It’s hard
to recall another Soviet song that goes from lightweight romanticism to
strident cant in two minutes.
In the light of that song’s resonance
for local fans, even now, a few observations online have been audible,
asking that the band sing more in Russian. That would indeed be
interesting: the use of an overseas vigor, forged in US garages, to
fuel domestic traditions. Any such shift won’t, we suspect happen until after the summer, since the band - despite the current
fiscal climate - have a few concerts planned in Holland and England.
Another
reason, perhaps, not to abandon English soon would - in another fan’s
view - be the fact “that the group sounds awful when they sing in
Russian! It comes out sounding like [post-Soviet ska-punks] Distemper
or something! It’s much better in English. All they need is a bit more
drive. A little more energy.”
In a recent interview, one member of
the band has spoken at length about The Cavestompers‘ relationship to
both these issues: an older catalog and the usual avoidance of
Russian-language material. (The text here is in the original English.)
“We try not to bound our music only to sixties rock. In the process of
composing music, everyone have to make various compromises with each
other to do the best, to make each song sound as complicate and
beautiful so it matches every member’s vision and makes it possible to
fulfill his own creative task to the maximum. That’s why our covers of
Joy Division and Clash are not similar to originals, but are something
peculiar.”
At this point, a few eyebrows start moving upwards. Joy
Division? Yes, indeed: the band’s new album concludes with a cover of
‘Isolation,” a song that has itself been subjected to a few other
treatments by Northern Ireland’s Therapy, Smashing Pumpkins’ offshoot
Starchildren, and others. By ending this new album with Ian Curtis’
tragically prophetic lyrics, the preceding fourteen tracks of “The
Cavestompers!” are suddenly cast in a very different light. Their
apparently carefree worldview now seems an illusion, if the CD’s
closing observations are designed to leave the most lasting impression
of all. Tales of love and laughter turn - retrospectively - from actual
hedonism into absent objects of desire.
If, once again, the Joy
Division cover is taken seriously - and it’s hardly a track that lends
itself to irony! - then The Cavestompers‘ happiness becomes more of a
pipe-dream. There can be no convincing stories of college romance if a
maternal relationship lies in ruins; Curtis’ lament as a failed son
cancels any chance of lighthearted interaction with society’s prettier
members - “Mother, I tried, please believe me. I’m doing the best that
I can.”
In fact this closing testament to failed expectations and
shattered illusions casts “Byl odin paren’” in a different light, too.
The original - as noted - is an angry condemnation of unfulfilled
responsibilities, though on first listen we take The Cavestompers‘
version to be an entertaining and ironic romp through a defunct
tradition. Hand in hand with the album’s concluding statement from the
wet streets of Manchester, however, it doesn’t seem so funny.
Legend
has it that the track was broadcast only once on Soviet airwaves -
before being swiftly banned as an excessively bitter work. State media
had no time for inflammatory rhetoric, especially in songs that turned
in a very swift (and unenertaining) manner from joie de vivre to rage.
The text was disconcertingly unpredictable and diplomatically unwise;
it should not be given airtime.
Given the dark mood cast over
this album in its final minutes, we wonder whether the unexciting and
fundamentally conservative output of The Singing Guitars is being used
to make a very pointed (and irony-free) observation about today’s
national service. Either because of hazing or military action, one
Russian newspaper is currently reporting that of Moscow’s 60,000 young
men currently eligible for service, 45,000 are trying to avoid it.
If
so, then the exclamation mark in the title of this CD is no longer a
declaration of fun and games, but a warning that hides behind a smile.
A warning that in the Russian capital it can cost you $10,000 to dodge
your social duty and hide in false medical records.
David MacFayden (Department of Slavic Languages and Literatures,
University of California, Los Angeles http://www.farfrommoscow.com)