Text: Juule Kay

The world is changing, and with it, a new generation of trailblazers is taking over. In our monthly series E-MERGING, we introduce the people adding to the cultural moment with their creative minds, new ideas and unique approaches. It’s a glimpse behind the scenes, a way to dig deeper and look beyond the picture-perfect outcome we’re swamped with every day.

Standard Deviation is not your typical record label. What started back in 2020 in Kyiv as a multidisciplinary label for music, art and publishing, closely linked to infamous club K41, evolved into one of the most important platforms to represent contemporary Ukrainian culture and artists. Since the full-scale invasion, STDEV uses its channels to raise awareness for the current situation by explicitly focusing on relevant thematics and concepts that contribute to the global discourse about the Russian war against Ukraine. This can be seen in their recent audiovisual project RIDNE, which engages the audience with the realities Ukrainians are now presented with every day, but also in their K41 community fund, which to this day raised over 150k euros. They even opened up the club again “as a place for our community to connect, feel safe and think of something other than the realities” with all entry donations going to the fund.

For STDEV, community is more than just a buzzword. It’s a genuine way of fostering creative collaborations among the local music scene, but also with the global community. “We’re aware that growth only really happens when people from different backgrounds and cultures come together to exchange,” explains the team behind the multidisciplinary record label. “Many of our projects are joined efforts as a means to amplify each other and help build lasting and rewarding relationships.” And still, STDEV is and will always be a Ukrainian project, which gives visibility and space for the broad spectrum of Ukraine’s artistic styles and voices, no matter the format. “There is so much Ukrainian talent out there which needs to be heard, especially now that many local artists have lost their source of income without gigs,” they continue to explain. “We want to become a home and community for these Ukrainian talents beyond just releasing music.”

Here, four Ukrainian artists from the STDEV community give a glimpse into their musical practices, their current lives and their never-ending hope.

Text: Juule Kay

The world is changing, and with it, a new generation of trailblazers is taking over. In our monthly series E-MERGING, we introduce the people adding to the cultural moment with their creative minds, new ideas and unique approaches. It’s a glimpse behind the scenes, a way to dig deeper and look beyond the picture-perfect outcome we’re swamped with every day.

Standard Deviation is not your typical record label. What started back in 2020 in Kyiv as a multidisciplinary label for music, art and publishing, closely linked to infamous club K41, evolved into one of the most important platforms to represent contemporary Ukrainian culture and artists. Since the full-scale invasion, STDEV uses its channels to raise awareness for the current situation by explicitly focusing on relevant thematics and concepts that contribute to the global discourse about the Russian war against Ukraine. This can be seen in their recent audiovisual project RIDNE, which engages the audience with the realities Ukrainians are now presented with every day, but also in their K41 community fund, which to this day raised over 150k euros. They even opened up the club again “as a place for our community to connect, feel safe and think of something other than the realities” with all entry donations going to the fund.

For STDEV, community is more than just a buzzword. It’s a genuine way of fostering creative collaborations among the local music scene, but also with the global community. “We’re aware that growth only really happens when people from different backgrounds and cultures come together to exchange,” explains the team behind the multidisciplinary record label. “Many of our projects are joined efforts as a means to amplify each other and help build lasting and rewarding relationships.” And still, STDEV is and will always be a Ukrainian project, which gives visibility and space for the broad spectrum of Ukraine’s artistic styles and voices, no matter the format. “There is so much Ukrainian talent out there which needs to be heard, especially now that many local artists have lost their source of income without gigs,” they continue to explain. “We want to become a home and community for these Ukrainian talents beyond just releasing music.”

Here, four Ukrainian artists from the STDEV community give a glimpse into their musical practices, their current lives and their never-ending hope.

You love to convert letters into sounds. Imagine you’re writing a letter to Kyiv, how would it start?

Привет, привіт, hey, hallo, здравствуй.
Милий мій Києве
Давно не навіщаєш мене у сні
І журюся я за твоіми сиренами
За твоіми пагорбами

You’re the co-director of Module Exchange. What is it all about?

It’s an open space of exchange, an attempt to create a new education for contemporary music. Thanks to Module Exchange, I have the opportunity to educate music in a very different way, teaching it as if it’s a language. Music and learning music both hold a great power of freedom and freeing other people, sometimes even from themselves. Ukraine has a huge craving for freedom, even from a historical background, and this freedom penetrates through everything we make. In the times of full scale war, we also focus a lot on our charity and social contribution. 

What gives you hope in current times?

People, especially those who manage to remain sane and kind-hearted. People who are able to perceive the world from all different angles at the same time. People who could remain sensitive even after experiencing terrible things. They all make me feel that I have someone to make music for. And music, of course. It helps me to move forward with my thoughts and ideas. Music is a great tool for thinking, as it’s abstract and therefore becomes a perfect container for concepts and feelings.

If you could go back to any memory right now, which one would you pick?

I’m not really a nostalgic person, but I would definitely return to a perfect moment of space and time when I just finished my lecture about music theory at school, which is in the same building as K41. It was a Sunday noon, and I joined the party in the backyard. Summer heat, orange tents, amphitheatre, concrete staircase, water sprayed on beautiful dancing people with microscopic drops hovering in the air. One of those moments lost in time. I will never forget. 

You love to convert letters into sounds. Imagine you’re writing a letter to Kyiv, how would it start?

Привет, привіт, hey, hallo, здравствуй.
Милий мій Києве
Давно не навіщаєш мене у сні
І журюся я за твоіми сиренами
За твоіми пагорбами

You’re the co-director of Module Exchange. What is it all about?

It’s an open space of exchange, an attempt to create a new education for contemporary music. Thanks to Module Exchange, I have the opportunity to educate music in a very different way, teaching it as if it’s a language. Music and learning music both hold a great power of freedom and freeing other people, sometimes even from themselves. Ukraine has a huge craving for freedom, even from a historical background, and this freedom penetrates through everything we make. In the times of full scale war, we also focus a lot on our charity and social contribution. 

What gives you hope in current times?

People, especially those who manage to remain sane and kind-hearted. People who are able to perceive the world from all different angles at the same time. People who could remain sensitive even after experiencing terrible things. They all make me feel that I have someone to make music for. And music, of course. It helps me to move forward with my thoughts and ideas. Music is a great tool for thinking, as it’s abstract and therefore becomes a perfect container for concepts and feelings.

If you could go back to any memory right now, which one would you pick?

I’m not really a nostalgic person, but I would definitely return to a perfect moment of space and time when I just finished my lecture about music theory at school, which is in the same building as K41. It was a Sunday noon, and I joined the party in the backyard. Summer heat, orange tents, amphitheatre, concrete staircase, water sprayed on beautiful dancing people with microscopic drops hovering in the air. One of those moments lost in time. I will never forget. 

Your practice consists of CGI, sound, and text. How do all these different media influence each other in your work?

For a long time, the music I’ve been writing has been on the darker and heavier side, both mentally and sonically. Even though it will always be a part of who I am and how I create certain things, I’ve also been wanting to try myself in a slightly different direction, like playing around with genres and the mood of the sound. I can see a picture in my head that’s informed by a certain idea, which inspires the sound. Sometimes, it works the other way around. However, text almost always accompanies the other media I’m working with. Writing does help me to structure and complement the work I’m doing. 

There’s a melancholy sentiment of estrangement lingering on your art. Can you describe where this feeling stems from?

For me, melancholy and nostalgia are intertwined. I have this longing for these specific feelings of what I experienced during my childhood and adolescence. Those were very rare occasions, but I believe they’ve had a very huge effect on me and reverberate throughout the years. 

What’s the last dream you remember?

I was standing on a gigantic mushroom-like thing in the middle of a stadium. It was a very warm and sunny day. I hear the sirens go off, but I have no time to climb down the metal ladder, as it would take me too long to reach the ground. So I keep standing on that thing close to the sky. Suddenly I realise the rocket has been launched, and it’s heading towards the stadium, looking like a spaceship. I lay down and cover my head before I hear an explosion, but I’m not wounded.

What’s something you want people to know about Ukraine?

The last year has shown everyone that Ukrainians are very strong. There is this sense of unity and closeness I perceive. 

Your practice consists of CGI, sound, and text. How do all these different media influence each other in your work?

For a long time, the music I’ve been writing has been on the darker and heavier side, both mentally and sonically. Even though it will always be a part of who I am and how I create certain things, I’ve also been wanting to try myself in a slightly different direction, like playing around with genres and the mood of the sound. I can see a picture in my head that’s informed by a certain idea, which inspires the sound. Sometimes, it works the other way around. However, text almost always accompanies the other media I’m working with. Writing does help me to structure and complement the work I’m doing. 

There’s a melancholy sentiment of estrangement lingering on your art. Can you describe where this feeling stems from?

For me, melancholy and nostalgia are intertwined. I have this longing for these specific feelings of what I experienced during my childhood and adolescence. Those were very rare occasions, but I believe they’ve had a very huge effect on me and reverberate throughout the years. 

What’s the last dream you remember?

I was standing on a gigantic mushroom-like thing in the middle of a stadium. It was a very warm and sunny day. I hear the sirens go off, but I have no time to climb down the metal ladder, as it would take me too long to reach the ground. So I keep standing on that thing close to the sky. Suddenly I realise the rocket has been launched, and it’s heading towards the stadium, looking like a spaceship. I lay down and cover my head before I hear an explosion, but I’m not wounded.

What’s something you want people to know about Ukraine?

The last year has shown everyone that Ukrainians are very strong. There is this sense of unity and closeness I perceive. 

You recently released your mini album KATAKOMBA on Standard Deviation, which should initially have been released on February 24th 2022. Can you share a bit of the creative process behind?

It’s a collection of similar atmospheres. It’s aggressive, dark, sometimes melancholic, kind, pure and sad music. A mix of electro, metal, punk, post-punk and maybe some other shit. I heard the last track of the album in a dream I had the night after my good friend passed away. In the dream, I was carrying his coffin to a sunny graveyard while the melody was playing. When I woke up, I grabbed my guitar and recorded it. The process usually happens organically, almost like some sort of meditation. The chaos in my head doesn’t even allow me to understand what I feel, it’s always something different. All the tracks were created at home with a computer on a cheap guitar plugged into a cheap sound card.

How would you describe your sound in three emotions?

Despair, fury, appeasement. 

If you’re writing a note to yourself right now, what would it say?

You are a fucking asshole!

What’s something music taught you in life?

I don’t remember.

You recently released your mini album KATAKOMBA on Standard Deviation, which should initially have been released on February 24th 2022. Can you share a bit of the creative process behind?

It’s a collection of similar atmospheres. It’s aggressive, dark, sometimes melancholic, kind, pure and sad music. A mix of electro, metal, punk, post-punk and maybe some other shit. I heard the last track of the album in a dream I had the night after my good friend passed away. In the dream, I was carrying his coffin to a sunny graveyard while the melody was playing. When I woke up, I grabbed my guitar and recorded it. The process usually happens organically, almost like some sort of meditation. The chaos in my head doesn’t even allow me to understand what I feel, it’s always something different. All the tracks were created at home with a computer on a cheap guitar plugged into a cheap sound card.

How would you describe your sound in three emotions?

Despair, fury, appeasement. 

If you’re writing a note to yourself right now, what would it say?

You are a fucking asshole!

What’s something music taught you in life?

I don’t remember.

What’s something not everyone knows about you?

Sometimes I walk in my sleep, that’s why I always lock the door, hide sharp objects, and never sleep in public transport.

You’re a classically trained violinist and composer while simultaneously experimenting with electronic music. How do these two worlds collide for you?

The duality in my life and work is present almost everywhere. When it comes to my music, it finally started to melt and take a new form. It’s like I’m sculpting something from clay that I haven’t created before. It is whole and completely different, yet unfamiliar, but something very much mine.

You’re known for your ghostly poetry and haunting melodies. How did the war change your music?

There is so much dreaminess and hope in my first two albums. Now, everything feels harsher, sometimes even disgusting. I want the listener to feel uncomfortable, maybe it’s my way of letting out all the aggression caused by the war.

You found refuge in silence and named your second LP Tysha, the Ukrainian word for silence. How does silence sound for you?

Special. I hardly listen to music in everyday life, otherwise I can’t concentrate. I need silence to sleep properly, that’s why silence is an integral part of my life, just like music. Interestingly enough, I usually choose “my” people by the fact that I can feel comfortable being silent with them.

What’s something life taught you recently?

Even when you give up completely, and it seems that you can’t change anything, you still have to fight no matter how hard it is.

What’s something not everyone knows about you?

Sometimes I walk in my sleep, that’s why I always lock the door, hide sharp objects, and never sleep in public transport.

You’re a classically trained violinist and composer while simultaneously experimenting with electronic music. How do these two worlds collide for you?

The duality in my life and work is present almost everywhere. When it comes to my music, it finally started to melt and take a new form. It’s like I’m sculpting something from clay that I haven’t created before. It is whole and completely different, yet unfamiliar, but something very much mine.

You’re known for your ghostly poetry and haunting melodies. How did the war change your music?

There is so much dreaminess and hope in my first two albums. Now, everything feels harsher, sometimes even disgusting. I want the listener to feel uncomfortable, maybe it’s my way of letting out all the aggression caused by the war.

You found refuge in silence and named your second LP Tysha, the Ukrainian word for silence. How does silence sound for you?

Special. I hardly listen to music in everyday life, otherwise I can’t concentrate. I need silence to sleep properly, that’s why silence is an integral part of my life, just like music. Interestingly enough, I usually choose “my” people by the fact that I can feel comfortable being silent with them.

What’s something life taught you recently?

Even when you give up completely, and it seems that you can’t change anything, you still have to fight no matter how hard it is.