The Birch, Fall 2005

The Unlikely Vanguard of Russian Pop Music
Once again, t.A.T.u. defy convention with their new album

Mark Krotov

At first, it seemed like the ultimate ironist's ruse. Two teenage lesbians in short skirts making out with each other and singing whiny songs that no one seemed to care about -- mainly because the singers were two teenage lesbians in short skirts making out with each other. It seemed to be an idea that was so transparent, such a marketing ploy, that either no one would buy into it or it would become the biggest sensation in the country. And yet, while the girls of t.A.T.u. gained major notoriety in Russia and some solid fame throughout the rest of the world, their American reception was decidedly half-hearted; MTV Movie Awards, pop radio -- sure, but nothing like the long-term fame, success, or tabloid dominance achieved by the likes of Britney Spears or Christina Aguilera.

There were concrete reasons for t.A.T.u.'s failure to truly affect American pop music: their English was heavily accented, their lesbianism was too forward (but yet annoyingly ambiguous), and perhaps the whole endeavor was simply too illicit and impure for audiences used to arguing about pop stars' breast implants and celebrity boyfriends, not their supposed deviant sexuality. But a single listen to t.A.T.u.'s first American album, and their newly released follow- up, "Dangerous and Moving," illustrates why the group truly failed to succeed in the United States' competitive pop climate: their emotion was too real.

In Gary Shteyngart's 2003 article on modern Russia in the New Yorker, he interviewed the girls themselves and Ivan Shapovalov, the former child psychologist who designed and created all aspects of the t.A.T.u. monolith. Shteyngart observed that "despite the techno-enhanced quality of their music, they are able to communicate the loneliness and insecurity of youth." This is true, of course, but in Shteyngart's analysis, the band's Russianness is secondary. He puts Lena Katina and Julia Volkova in the canon of great pop that conveyed teenage angst-The Smiths, Nirvana, and many others. Yet, while the girls of t.A.T.u. are certainly capable of conveying emotion, what makes them truly exceptional is that the feelings that they convey seem uniquely Russian.

What can be Russian about synthesizers and electric guitars? Not much. And yet, the music seems like the perfect complement to Katina and Volkova's stunning voices. On "All the Things She Said," their most famous American single, the guitar flourishes possess an amazing power, directing all of the girls' emotion in the refrain into a few seconds of instrumental music. "All the Things She Said" was t.A.T.u.'s best song until this year, when "All About Us" was chosen as the new album's lead single. The song is the clearest example yet of the importance of a musical counterpoint in the band's music. "All About Us" is unashamedly bombastic, with the same guitars but a new emphasis on percussion and strings. When a mashup artist combined t.A.T.u.'s words with Rammstein's instrumentals last year, he did so because the wailing vocals perfectly matched the German band's epic grandiosity; bombast is an essential component of t.A.T.u.'s presentation.

It is unclear whether the unconventional musical accompaniment is a product of brilliant planning, or simply not knowing any better. Had Shapovalov listened to enough American pop music a few years ago, he would have noticed the conspicuous dearth of bombast and, rather, the unending presence of light, in offensive tunes. It is possible that the music is one of the qualities that got tangled up in the slightly awkward transition to American shores. While the unusual bravado worked in the band's favor, there were some more misguided efforts. For example, titling the first album "200 km/h in the Wrong Lane" certainly worked in Europe, but it sounds rather odd stateside. Moreover, Shapovalov changed the band's name from Tatu to t.A.T.u. for Western audiences. While everyone loves good punctuation, this was an entirely misguided and unnecessary effort.

But the truly serendipitous quality that t.A.T.u. did not lose in translation was real, dire emotion. While Shapovalov must take some credit for not knowing (or not caring) that American pop had to be transparent and empty, it is Katina and Volkova that resound in a truly substantial way. They were probably chosen because they were the most attractive, the most lesbian, or the most willing to make out on camera. And yet, what they brought to t.A.T.u. were unique, amazing voices.

Arguably the best illustration of the girls' resonance appeared in L u k a s Moodyson's film Lilya 4- Ever, a 2002 tale of a Russian teenager who, upon her mother's desertion , becomes a child prostitute in Sweden. In a key scene, one of the many brutal men in Lilya's life is driving her to a club, as t.A.T.u.'s "Nas Ne Dagoniat" (translated as "Not Gonna Get Us") plays on the car's stereo. The scene is resonant because the image perfectly fits the music. The film's vivid portrayal of a girl lost in and oppressed by post-Communist Russian society (or its absence) is the visual equivalent of t.A.T.u. Can pop with such an overtly commercial agenda really conceal such provocative truths? The answer lies in the voices.

Simply, no straightforward Western pop possesses something so odd, human, and unpolished as Katina and Volkova's voices. And it is not simply a matter of having those voices, but rather, letting them be heard. It would be unthinkable for an American producer to allow his marketable pop star's voice to remain so urgent, off-key, and defiant. This is not to say that American pop has no great vocalists- Christina Aguilera is a definitive rebuke to that claim. Nevertheless, even Aguilera's voice is theatrical and derivative of a hundred earlier pop stars with chest-beating, booming voices. And as for the others, by the time their voices have confronted the computer, there is no heart, no emotion, no substance left.

While the new album is longer and more consistent, it also seems slightly more vocally restrained. Nothing on "Dangerous and Moving" possesses the sheer desperation and anarchical spirit of "Not Gonna Get Us," where the title lyrics are sung with an almost painful urgency. The song evolves from a gentle, almost spoken intro into something closer to wailing than regular singing. This absolute extreme is lacking on the new album, but there are still amazing performances to be found. Inexplicably, "Friend or Foe" is cowritten by the Eurythmics' David Stewart and features Sting on bass, but despite the celebrity appearances, the song belongs to Katina and Volkova, as they move from quiet reflection to angry howling. "Cosmos" finds the girls approaching a lower register for the first time, with great results. The spoken, practically stilted delivery reveals more of the accent than before, but it is also a grounded performance that only heightens the contrast with the high voice singing, "Our home forever is outer space."

What makes a great album even greater, however, is its somewhat inexplicable existence. If the Russian accents, ambiguous lesbianism, bombastic musical accompaniment, and unconventional singing style were detriments to the success of the first album, the second album also finds t.A.T.u. with almost no American audience-the limited amounts of teenagers have disappeared, normal adults do not take them seriously, and cerebral, pretentious music critics do not number more than a few thousand. In addition, t.A.T.u. really is a product of its unique culture. The voices conceal real, powerful longing to escape allencompassing hopelessness, but how much can that escape resonate in a relatively contented society whose idea of drama is a celebrity breakup? t.A.T.u is the music of the decrepit Brezhnev apartment blocks and empty, ruined cities-can the suburbs compare?

Probably not. Thus, it is the whole endeavor that seems slightly futile, and not just the voices. Certainly, the girls are not putting their careers on the line. They are still wildly successful in Russia, and, given that they are not legally old enough to drink in this country, they have many years ahead of them. The multiple producers and songwriters will probably continue to produce popular facsimiles of the t.A.T.u. model. Yet, "Dangerous and Moving" is such a strong album, such a bold statement of continuing intent, such an affecting recognition of the transcendent emotion buried in Katina and Volkova's voices, that its certain commercial failure is simultaneously disheartening and perfect. Disheartening, because as a truly great pop collective, t.A.T.u. is pushed aside so that the nation can consume more terrible product. And perfect, because it would be unnatural for those voices to succeed. Desperation and anguish cannot persist when they are surrounded by success and accomplishment. Undoubtedly, Katina and Volkova can sing ad infinitum, but if they lose sight of their surroundings, they run the risk of becoming something that the world can really do without: empty teenage lesbians with nothing to say.

t.A.T.u.’s new album, Dangerous and Moving, was released in October 2005 on the Interscope Records label.