#alexey krjuk

A few months ago, I finally had chance to write about the music of X.Y.R. when I covered Tourist, which was released on both tape and vinyl by Ingrown Records. In the introduction to that piece, I alluded to an upcoming review for X.Y.R.’s Pilgrimage, and though it has taken longer than anticipated, I would at last like to discuss the esoteric side-long excursions that comprise this release. X.Y.R. main man Vladimir Karpov tends to drop his most psychedelic and journeying compositions on Not Not Fun Records (with particular mention given to the spellbinding trips of Mental Journey to B.C.), and happily, this trend continues with his newest Not Not FunLPPilgrimage,which contains two extended pieces that sit amongst the deepest and most zoned out material Karpov has yet produced. Indeed, as on his Quite Time release, Karpov is here exploring longform development, which allows the artist and his collaborator Alexey Krjuk (on Octatrack and Modular Hairud) to craft expansive sonic landscapes and mysterious tonal drone dreamworlds that take in many of the sounds and styles present in earlier X.Y.R. works, but that also push outwards into ever more experimental and immersive zones of musical mysticism. Beds of complex percussion build from simplistic beginnings as rhythm boxes and hand percussions unite amidst panoramas of clicks, cuts, and glitches, with the patterns and progressions seeming to owe as much to IDM as they do to tribal ambient and psychotropic new age. Basslines and bass clouds flow in and out, bringing with them ecstatic stretches of fourth world groove, or elsewhere disturbing the flow with demented subsonic screams. Karpov’s characteristic sample tapestries are heavily effected, with modulating fluids, flora, and fauna transforming the settings into alien ecosystems…as if the sounds of oceans, deserts, and rainforests on faraway planets have somehow been captured and beamed back to Earth. Seed shakers, tambourines, and temple bells move through cascades of static and the breaths of malfunctioning machines, while mermaids and angels sing from sea to sky. And wood flutes and pan-pipes float in delirium hazes as mallet patterns glimmer and glow, with pads wafting like sickly smoke, or elsewhere scoring the motions of a setting sun.

X.Y.R - Pilgrimage (Not Not Fun, 2020)
Transmuting nature sounds merge with granular wavefronts at the outset of “Black Monk in the Dunes,” with everything seeming to transform into demonic breath. Phasers whoosh in slow motion and glitching click and cut patterns suffuse the spectrum as synthetic woodwinds drone in the distance, before resolving into an ancient melodic incantation. Strands of crystal blow in a wind with no source, though their geometric structures are covered in dust, with luster and shimmer lost to the sands of time. Chime trees are mimicked by spectral sequencing as they create blankets of starlight in the background and mysterious machines continue exhaling alongside the hiss of alien serpents. Percussive synth sequences like insects made of glass crawl across the surface of the mind, desolate melodies evoke desert guitar psychedelia, and chanted spells introduce a hypnotizing beat, one that sees mystical caravan rhythms repurposed as a post-technoid pulse. Psychoactive panning effects and dub echo bursts reach out of the stereo field while below, a subtle melodic theme develops, comprised of cold crystalline tone descents and wood flutes blowing like a cosmic wind. Crackles of static interrupt the flow and the hypnotizing rhythms begin moving in and out of focus while delay cascades trip over themselves. A synthesizer tuned like an Arabian organ executes deliriums circulations and opium den fever fantasias as the beats continue devolving…remaining present, but fracturing continuously through futuristic fx chains and abandoning entirely all sense of groove, which leaves the melodic phrases to float untethered amidst soft screams of feedback. Returning to a semblance of hypnotic body motion, drum echoes spread outwards amidst clusters of modular-sourced gemstone detritus and at some unreachable remove, Karpov continues alternating between entrancing synth descents and minimalist organ dreamscapes. Far into the trip, the groove takes on more strength, with shakers giving a further sense of propulsion and helping to create an ever-shifting wall of rhythmic intoxication. This sets the stage of the emergence of energized kosmische basslines…as if the ritual of the titular monk has now taken on a sinister urgency, with clouds swirling against a blood red sky behind a sorcerous silhouette. The sampled hand drums beat ecstatically and the stereo field overflows with metallic wing rustles until the rhythms and kinetic bass grooves disperse, leaving shakers to pan amidst lonely guitar ambulations. The basslines unexpectedly returns as everything else vaporizes, until all that remains is a throbbing pulse surrounded by morphing crystal sequences, crawling clouds of space noise, and whooshing vortices. Then, in the final moments, we return to the introductory world of phaser gusts and synthesized forest flute mimicry.

The introduction of “Echoes of Time” features what could be the sound of a train, though panned and heavily manipulated. Gently dripping and lapping liquids support cyborg bird chirps and puffs of static move constantly in and out of the mix. Hand drum echoes decay over calming pads and as on the A-side, phasers are ever-present to wash clean the spirit. Kick drums, synths strands, and choral flourishes alike billow outward through delay machines—with the drums in particular surfacing like some tribal abstraction—and down low, pan pipes purr out melodies of balearic mystery. Mermaid and fairy voices intertwine, waves of sub bass synthesis swell in, and idiophones glow in enigmatic colorations as they move side-to-side…all while space age squiggles periodically rise from cracks in the ground. It’s a slow steady build, wherein melodic phrases and rhythmic motions resolve at the speed of evolution, and where the various elements thus described alternate, appear, and disperse according to Karpov’s own unique dream logic. Angels of the abyss sing songs of new age majesty and further percussion layers emerge in the form of bubbling drum machines and ceremonial hand drum loops, with tambourines beating out patterns of desert dance enchantment. The mix is alive with constant motion, as panning fx keep the mind ensnared and clouds of alchemical ambiance push the body into a somnambulant trance. The main melodic theme finally reveals itself deep into the journey—comprised of a dance of mallet instruments, droning woodwinds, and descending currents of child choir psychedelic—and the continual presence of morphing fluids and avian chatter evokes some otherworldly jungle of mystery, wherein shamanic beings composed of crystal, carbon, and threaded light lead forbidden rituals down a river of glowing ether. Further synthetic melodies sooth the procession, reverb-shrouded metals pop and decay through ping-pong slapback, and tremolo picked strings flow in the distance…as if seeking the sky through majestic melodic arcs of post-rock wonderment. Throughout, the rhythmic webs continue increasing in magnitude and complexity, as myriad layers of world and drum machine hypnotism merge and morph through evolving dub echo environments, or otherwise lock into extended stretches of meditative magic. Big washes of bass dissonance overtake the track near the end…these angry growls that seem to emanate from planetary depths…and the percussion layers very slowly pull away, leaving just the delay-splattered kick drums to repeat amidst sickly synths, golden idiophonics, and a space age panorama of rainforest emulations. And coming to a close, phase-shifters progress towards audial psychosis and tribal drums pitter-patter against a disappearing storm of laser liquid and birdsong.

(images from my personal copy)