The Dnipropetrovsk music band …I Drug Moi Gruzovik offers a rare combination of continuous artistic exploration and convincing results.
The mere emergence of …I Drug Moi Gruzovik (…IDMG), which translates as…And My Friend Truck, looks like an effective experiment: when in August 1997 local enthusiasts decided to hold a rock festival Karier in the suburbs of Dnipropetrovsk, three musicians gathered to give a one-time performance exclusively for this festival. They had few chances for success: a scarcely known band with a strange core presented by a vocalist, a bass guitarist, and a drummer, and an awkward name. After all, it was …IDMG who came to be a real sensation and breakthrough of the Karier: the bass and drumbeat were weaving a refined and up-tempo rhythmic basis, whereas the charismatic and sprightly frontman Anton Sliepakov filled every composition with insane energy. This was the moment when one of Ukraine’s best music bands was born.
The …IDMG members are a kind of rock alchemists. They have never sat still with the successful fusion of the core elements they created 12 years ago. Instead, they have been trying ever new combinations in every new album or project, which come as a surprise to both music critics and the band’s buffs. They combine funk with jazz, hard-core klezmer (this sort of thing does exist) with hip-hop, techno with bossa nova.
Anton’s lyrics – ironical, at times acrimonious, lyrical, or absurd – ideally embed in the refined ambience produced by the band’s composer, virtuoso bassist Rostyslav Chaban. Rostyslav and Anton are inventive enough to produce an alternative even to themselves. Last year they launched the project NeGruzoviki, which is a productive opposite to the main band: more synthetic electronic sound is surprisingly combined with very confessionary lyrics and a rich video show.
As an independent music band with poor rotation on the leading radio stations, …IDMG has won popularity across the entire CIS space. Each album they release marks a noticeable event among the music communities of Ukraine and Russia. Gruzoviks (not NeGruzoviki this time) receive invitations to prestigious festivals – so, last year they represented Ukraine at the Sziget Festival, the world’s largest rock forum.
This fall NeGruzoviki gave a big concert at Kyiv’s Gogol-Fest; it was followed by a mini-tour — Moscow, St. Petersburg, and Odesa. They are intending to release new albums in both projects.
For me, …IDMG is important as a representative of the city which for a long while had seemed to be a musical failure.
Anton, what was the start?
“Of course, the roots go back to the Soviet times. I became keen on rock music 22 or 23 years ago when I was a usual Kyiv schoolboy, and the first audio cassette that came to hand stirred in me interest for ‘informal music.’ Fortunately, it coincided with perestroika and first semi-underground concerts. A huge cultural layer was opening up, so you had only to choose what you liked. And I liked absolutely everything. This was a gulp of freedom, so much so it determined what I would be doing for my whole conscious life.”
What are the origins of …I Drug Moi Gruzovik?
“This was a chain of accidents that I came to Dnipropetrovsk and got to know the guys and that they had only a bass guitar and drums by then, and of course I am hugely grateful to the organizers of the Karier Festival. Who knows what my life would be if we hadn’t ventured an experimental program for just one festival. I have always wanted to create something with such an extraordinary lineup. And it is so good that I met Rostyslav Chaban, a bass guitarist whose possibilities are limitless.”
How do you avoid discord between the leaders?
“We don’t have any problems of this kind. We have allowed each other to make sideline projects. Incidentally, the result of all that was that at some wonderful point we compared our drafts and made another joint project. We don’t have many arguments on creative questions; instead, we have a wonderful ability to step to the side in time, when somebody is pulling a heavy burden.
“We have learned to come to agreement, even by putting a lid on our ambitions. Although we are very different people, both in creative work and in life, of course, we have been together for 13 years. But the freedom to do a sideline project is a great advantage, and I am very glad that there is no room for jealousy here. We simply spend so much time together that at times we need these moments: you have found something you like – good for you. I am happy that our opinions differ and we have some space to get a break from each other.”
Is NeGruzoviki the joint project that you have just mentioned?
“Each of us had some sketches. We compared them, and something started to emerge. We immediately found a sound producer and got young musicians involved who charged us with their energy.”
Was it hard to switch to the planned electronic style?
“Everything looked awful to begin with. It took us nearly a year to learn to play this. Then Artem Stretovych came to us — he is versed in video programs and shoots something on his own. In NeGruzoviki we emphasized the show part, which we had previously avoided. Artem produced the lacking video, helped us to learn the program, and we started to perform. We immediately began to gather the same audience as Gruzoviki and received an invitation to the Stereolito Festival.”
Do you feel you are a well-known band?
“I am content with our status, to be quite frank. Many people respect us, hopefully for good reason. We have tried to do everything honestly. Of course, this is what everybody else also says. It is up to you whether you believe me or not – I am telling you it was this way.
“I don’t feel any particular popularity. We are no frequent party-goers; we don’t drink alcohol. I very much dislike this sort of informal communication and try to protect myself from it. Every artist wants to be in demand, but at some moment it seems to me that Fortune has given up on us. If people thought of us and invited us a bit, I underline – a bit, more frequently, the situation could be somewhat better. At times, events like Stereolito or Sziget come to us out of the blue. Anyway, I try to take a philosophical approach to things like these. We have few concerts at the moment, but I can do nothing about this. Perhaps, the problem here is not with us.”
With what then?
“The concert system that has been set up in Europe and even in Russia does not work in Ukraine. We have an acute shortage of alternative grounds. In Europe, people lease some sheds even in the countryside and make clubs out of them. Although they are not super comfortable and people pay symbolic fees, but everything is for musicians there. You come, give a performance, and this is thrilling. We don’t have any community or connections, and I can’t do anything about this, for if I busy myself with a club and community, I will have to give up music.”
How do you identify yourself in terms of geography?
“It seems to me that we could well live in any city, even in Europe. Of course, we are a Dnipropetrovsk-based band at least formally, because we live and have rehearsals here. It was difficult for me to understand the beauty of its architecture and aura, which I have been fighting for my whole life, but I am thankful to it for hardening us to some extent. It is pleasant to hear visiting bands say that we have an advanced audience and good clubs. Probably, we ourselves don’t see this. But I feel equally good in Moscow and St. Petersburg. In general, the Ukrainian stage looks very pale, which means, I repeat, that we have no community of our own. Everyone is unaware of each other’s existence, and when they meet accidentally, nobody wants to communicate. This is the saddest thing. I even feel a bit ashamed that Kyiv does not have a place where musicians would perform and communicate. Maybe the time for everyone’s fraternization and unification has passed.”
Isn’t it better to stay on one’s own at the moment?
“Let’s speak about Dnipropetrovsk. This kind of situation is impossible here. Five or six years ago we did not have a place to perform. Until 2006 we had to give acoustic concerts. Many people thought our band looks this way: plays the bass domra, switches on an audio record of a drum, and drums on suitcases and boxes. We have opened several clubs by now. This must be an immense progress. But all unions stay on the level of a close party. Of course, we are on friendly terms with some circle of musicians and try to make something happen, but it’s all weak. We have neither a place to perform, nor culture of concert attendance, nothing. At the moment, Dnipropetrovsk is hardly a point on the map that could be compared even with Kharkiv, which is so close.”
I beg to differ – you are here now. So I have a tricky question for you. Why is …IDMG interesting for the audience?
“It is hard for me to answer. Our performances are interesting for me while they last. Once they end, I become disinterested in them. Sometimes it seems to me that our audience is strongly mistaken about us. I cannot listen to my music through a personal stereo like I listen to other musicians. It seems to me that this is not music, but a product made offhand.”
What music do you listen to?
“I try to listen to everything so I won’t repeat other people’s mistakes. It is difficult to say who is my favorite. I am past the period of adoration, and I believe I am not the only one. Everyone says that nothing new is coming out.”
Can folklore help?
“It is interesting but still ornamental. No matter how much folk music I listen to, I will remain the child of an urbanist epoch. I was born and have lived in high-rises, whereas ethnic things clash with these buildings and our world. We have folk music bands, in Kraina Mrii and Sheshory, but few of them are interesting.”
Do you take interest in anything besides music?
“No. I see with horror that I cannot take interest in anything else. I am a musician not by my skills, as I can hardly play any instrument, but deep down, all the way to my bones, because I live by music. I listen to it all the time and never get tired. Even when I go to some noisy club where dance music beats four-on-the-floor, I still can listen to my music in my headphones and find a spiritual balance with myself. So, I am music and nothing else.”
