A charlatan with no limits. Wields a dubious education like a badge of honour.

Unashamedly leeches off the talents of others.

Too much of a snob for pop culture, too spineless for the uncompromising avant-garde.

Shallow, but adept at cloaking it in a fog of faux significance.

Puts far too much faith in chance. Routinely passes off intuition as strategy — and strategy as intuition.

Genre-fluid in the most unstable sense: prone to chaotic mash-ups with no clear target audience in sight.

His own musical ventures? He brands them as short-sighted ambient, hyperactive drone, frozen jazz, faded classical, and folk for the inner tribe.

Plus a generous layer of completely unnecessary noise.

 

Highlights:

Fourteen Mornings (2019) - Zen inspired pseudo improvisations on pseudo piano,

Appearance of Dionysus in a Bomb Shelter (2024, EP with Iouri Grankin) - kalimba driven electro-acoustic experience ,

Clarinets of the Moon (2025, with JD Roberts) - contemplation of local and global apocalypse, drowning in beauties and noise.

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I could note about fifty inspiring names - but I have to admit that to a much greater extent I am formed by sounds that are hardly seem noble. Drunk railway orchestras and the chorus of frogs in the swampy shore. Inventive children treating toys like musical instruments and musical instruments like toys. Clangorous saucepan covers and carnival calliopes. Music of folks who have not forgotten how to play for a praying and how to play for fun. Random combinations of street sounds that add up to a modernist symphony. Rarely performed composers whose names have survived due to pure chance or someone's restless enthusiasm. Crumbling tapes of amateur musicians recorded something raw, alive and vibrant in their kitchens. And, of course, my own story, full of strange insights and superfluous movements, without which the things I do would be very different.