Once upon a time in Russia, a Revolution happened. Actually, a ghost had been creeping around for quite a while. The ghost of Communism. Lenin proposed a simple formula: Communism is the power of Soviet plus the electrification of the whole country. Apparently, according to Lenin’s plan, the Ghost would get a huge electric shock and come to life, just like the monster Frankenstein.
This captivating quote set the stage for Elektro Moskva’s exploration into the intersection of Soviet power and electrifying beats. Just as Lenin envisioned Communism as the power of Soviet plus electrification, this electronic music movie shows how a musical monster akin to Frankenstein came to life. As the film delves into the echoes of history, it unfolds an intriguing narrative of electronic music that mirrors the ideologies and social dynamics, weaving an allegorical tale that resonates across time.
In Elektro Moskva, the symbiotic relationship between military endeavors and the transformative power of music unravels against the backdrop of Soviet history. Amidst the relentless march of progress, the power of electricity becomes the driving force behind a formidable military machine. The birth of the Rhythmicon, Theremin’s invention in 1932, introduces the world’s first rhythm machine, crafted from the discarded remnants of the military industry. Murzin, a military engineer, and his lab, embedded within a Scientific Research Institute specializing in air defense, set the stage for the industrial production of synthesizers not originally intended for musical purposes. The juxtaposition of military analogies in synthesizer design, reminiscent of Kalashnikov’s enduring monumentality, further emphasizes the film’s exploration of the military-music connection.
The unpredictability of synthesizers made from waste parts becomes a metaphor for the unpredictability of life in the Soviet Union in political and economic terms. The forbidden cosmic sounds and the ideological bans on certain tones underscore the complex relationship between artistic expression and political constraints. The poignant account of acquiring components for the ‘Alisa’ synthesizer through vodka transactions reflects the challenges of pursuing musical aspirations in a society where instruments were a rarity.
Basing its narrative on creativity amid political and economic hardships, Elektro Moskva skillfully navigates the intricate web of military history and music. It beckons viewers to reflect on the dynamic interplay between societal forces and musical innovations, offering a compelling exploration of ingenuity in the face of challenging circumstances.
What I like about the Soviet instruments is that they are imperfect. In their coating, their design, their keys. But at the same time the instrument tells you: ‘Hey, I am messed up. Probably, you are, too. Let’s try it together.’ On a western device, you push a button and get a result. On a Soviet instrument, you push a button and get something. These instruments are unpredictable. As is life in Moscow, in Russia. Since they are part of the life that surrounds us.
RICHARDAS NORVILA
