THE Theory of Resistance is the project of Iskander Gunin, a Russian musician who has been living in England since 1993. The cover of this release shows a human head with the scalp tantalisingly peeled away to reveal an exposed brain, or at least a brain in the guise of a complex machine. As Gunin explains in the sleeve notes to this home-made production, human beings are re-transmitters who are ‘capable of tuning in wilfully and consciously to an almost infinite range of frequencies for his perception and retransmission.’ In other words, this project centres on the ability of certain individuals to deliberately retune themselves and therefore counteract what Gunin describes as ‘the spell cast on him by magicians and priests.’ The whole point of this operation is to identify one’s enemies and to discover one’s true purpose in life. He calls this process ‘the Revolt’. Listening to the sounds on this album, he believes, will help to unlock the unconscious and free it from the programmatic shackles that prevent resistance. The first of twelve tracks, ‘Enter’, is jazzy and eclectic. Clattering drums and a lively guitar are soon over-ridden by vocal samples, rhythmic heartbeats and static. A brief flirtation with the experimental gradually turns into an exercise in minimalism. And, like a man suffering from the perils of premature ejaculation, it’s all over in a flash. ‘Atomic Water’ starts in the same jazzy manner, before following the example of its predecessor and ushering in more vocal samples and electro beats. The atmosphere is stifling and claustrophobic and it’s rather like playing back a soundtrack to the mindless trivia one has absorbed during the course of a lifetime; full of half-remembered radio broadcasts and the steady hum of cerebral cogs. ‘Possessions’ is a cacophony of dripping water, indiscernible frequencies, erratic percussion, choral traces and snippets about the esoteric symbolism of the one dollar bill. ‘Dream Collection No.4’ seems to concern the transient mediocrity of human existence. Again, it’s a complex array of visual memories and snatches of aural irrelevance. Philosophically, of course, there is a decidedly existentialist dimension to this track and it induces the listener to constantly question the point of life in the modern age. The fact that it also mentions the Devil ‘offering his services’ at such opportune moments also suggests that the contemporary age contains the seeds of its own destruction. ‘Urban Fragments’, with its screams and breaking glass, is another example of the way the human brain absorbs everything within its immediate environment like a complex sponge. This is the stuff of misanthropic nightmares. Next we have ‘Drops of Destruction’, its watery swirls superimposed across police radio messages, sirens, discordant piano melodies and rushing bass beats that sound like a locomotive with brake-failure. It’s enough to make you want to pay a visit to your local shopping mall with an AK47. ‘Night Drive’ is cold and hollow. The whispering vocals make it far more sinister than the previous tracks and it bristles with a sustained menace all of its own. Something wicked this way comes. ‘Electric Jazz Therapy’ may be the cure we are all looking for. But rather than bash somebody across the back of the head with a saxophone, which, in this context, is perhaps what the title implies, we are led through Eastern bazaars on a tidal flow of throbbing energy. It’s as though the entirety of Huntingdon’s ‘Clash of Civilisations’ were taking place inside your head. And yes, later on in the track a saxophone does finally make an appearence. ‘Backtrack’ is bursting with electronic fury and the title smacks of governmental hypocrisy. This is another jazz-inspired excursion into the busy recesses of Gunin’s mind and it works beautifully. Piano, trumpet, keyboards, muffled vocals and sonic tampering make this a real classic. ‘Mountain Ambush’ includes samples of joyful children, high-pitched whistles and a conspiratorial discourse about Aleister Crowley and the secret Masonic imagery used for the cover of the Michael Jackson album, ‘Dangerous’. Meanwhile, ‘Heart’ - as expected - contains the trademark heartbeat rhythm used on some of the earlier tracks and, all in all, is fairly laid-back and melancholic. The half-tinkering piano allows you to drift in thoughts of your own, but without falling into a mental stupor. Consciousness on the very fringes of the unconscious. ‘Dream Collection No.8’ is very dark and ambient. Metallic chimes can be heard in the distance, but compared to the hubbub on the first part of the album this track has a fairly calming quality and the accentuation of the beating heart may be an indication that man has, during the course of this process, managed to attune himself to himself and away from the multifarious distractions that clutter the mind. It’s pure and rhythmic, without an abrasive note in sight. There is, however, an untitled thirteenth track that reverts to the aural messiness and vocal trivialisation of before. It’s inane commercials and conversational banality serving as a timely reminder, perhaps, that ‘the Revolt’ is still yet to come. For more information, please visit:
www.myspace.com/theoryofresistance
