A Polish band with a long history, but one I'd never really listened to. It finally changed with Schröttersburg's 7th album, released only a month ago Ignis. Everyone sayd it's post-industrial and post-punky and while this may be true, I'm at this party for the hypnotizing psychedelia of the longer tracks.
Yes, it is dark, yes, the track titles translate to some macabre images (like the Midsommar-esque Szubienice z kwiatów or "Gallows made of flowers"), but to me the Płock-based band is the best when they focus on creating the trance-inducing sections of the ongoing sonic repetitions and short (yes, usually disturibing) phrases shouted over and over again until they drown in the guitar noise eventually. Sorta like 10 000 Russos or other Las Cobras. The emotionless and slightly withdrawn vocals make this impression even more significant and I dig it. This is further enforced when you learn that the title's fire is viewed at the album as " a form of transformation, or spiritual energy" which explains the trance properties.
Of course, I wouldn't be myself if I didn't hear some post-rock in these compositions, especially in the monumental Jaźń, but it's not the clue here. The clue is that I'd love to be a part of the mesmerized audience at Schröttersburg's show right now when I listen to the album.
Ignis costs 9 EUR.
Check: Jaźń
Country: Poland
Genre: psychedelic post-industrial
Label: Zoharum, DIY Koło, Hidden Beauty, Bat-Cave Production, Esion Records
Dopiero co wydali EP-kę i już wydali debiutancką płytę długogrającą zatytułowaną Sawant. Dopiero co wydali płytę, a już tworzą następną. Wrocławskie Kielichy porzuciły bezpieczne wody neofolku i ruszyły na niezbadane morza. Gdzie dopłyną? Czy w ogóle wiedzą? Na dwa tygodnie przed festiwalowym debiutem na katowickim OFFie, udało mi się porozmawiać z zespołem w Krakowie. Był ciepły, letni wieczór, siedzieliśmy nad Wisłą i rozmawialiśmy o tym, co jest w ich muzyce gotyckiego, co to za sawant i co będzie dla nich największym wyzwaniem przed pokazaniem się szerokiej publiczności na OFFie.
Pośrodku morza
ŁŚ: W styczniu tego roku wyszła wasza EP-ka Punkty płonące, na której znalazł się utwór Morze czarne z tekstem: “Pozwólcie nam płynąć na statkach utkanych ze snów, szukać nowych mórz” i “musimy wreszcie coś zniszczyć, aby móc stworzyć nowe miejsca”. A już w czerwcu wydajecie swoją pierwszą płytę długogrającą, Sawant. Czy ta płyta to już jest to miejsce, do którego do płynęliście, czy raczej wciąż skupiacie się na eksploracji starych terenów?
Adrian Szczecina: Ten tekst nie był pisany z zamysłem tworzenia narracji o naszej twórczości. Szczerze mówiąc to bardziej chciałem po prostu wyeksponować bardziej życiowy temat. Też fun fact jest taki, że ta piosenka została stworzona już po napisaniu Sawanta. A więc to nie jest tak, że ta płyta to już ma nas zdefiniować na najbliższych kilka wydawnictw. Cały czas sobie pozwalamy na eksplorację, szukanie tych nowych miejsc.
ŁŚ: Czyli tak jak w tej piosence, nie macie tego portu, do którego płyniecie?
Aleks Ciekalski: Nie, żadnej konkluzji nie ma i chyba się z tym pogodziliśmy. Nasza twórczość to kolejny przykład na to, że podróż jest ważniejsza niż cel.
ŁŚ: Ale powiedziałeś, że ta płyta teraz jest trochę inna muzycznie.
AC: Tak, jasne, odjechaliśmy na tej płycie, a na nowym wydawnictwie, nad którym teraz pracujemy, odjeżdżamy w jeszcze inne miejsca. Ale nie jest to coś, do czego dążymy za wszelką cenę: zmieniać się tylko żeby się zmieniać. To jest bardziej naturalna ewolucja. Żyjemy i doświadczamy nowych rzeczy, słuchamy nowych nowej muzyki, poznajemy nowych ludzi i to nas skłania, żeby też muzycznie iść gdzie indziej jako zespół i jako kolektyw.
AS: Nasze gusta się zmieniają i zmieniają się też nasze możliwości. Mamy teraz więcej instrumentów. Nie, nie boimy się eksplorować. U nas to mnie też kręci, że ten element niszczenia starej stylistyki wszystkim nam się podoba. Podejrzewam, że każdy z nas czerpie satysfakcję z tego, że musieliśmy wyjść z neofolku i że teraz jesteśmy już na pełnym morzu.
Mikołaj Uchman: Ten materiał też nie powstawał linearnie, na przykład część utworów, które jest na tej płycie powstała nawet jeszcze przed wydaniem pierwszej EP-ki.
AC: Na przykład Myśliwy, który został kompletnie przearanżowany. W pierwszej wersji był bardzo, ale to bardzo neofolkową piosenką: wszystkie instrumenty i rytmika były bardzo neofolkowe. Przearanżowaliśmy go na potrzeby tej naszej nowej odsłony, że tak powiem, nowego imidżu.
MU: Został tylko tekst i akordy w refrenie.
ŁŚ: Adrian, powiedziałeś, że tekst Morza czarnego nie odnosi się do waszej twórczości, ale jak tak was słucham, to można pomyśleć, że jednak się trochę odnośni.
AS: Pisząc ten tekst nie starałem się stworzyć narracji, która miałaby opowiadać słuchaczowi, co się stanie z zespołem, czego może spodziewać. Patrząc z perspektywy czasu może to się faktycznie wpisało, ale nie taka była intencja.
ŁŚ: No widzicie, ja się nabrałem, ja automatycznie odczytałem to jako jako taki właśnie manifest. Dokądś jednak zmierzacie. Możecie powiedzieć tak w skrócie, w jaką stronę? Kontrolujecie to w jakiś sposób, czy po prostu idziecie na żywioł?
AS: Jest jakaś estetyka, którą mamy w głowie. W pewien sposób chcieliśmy troszeczkę zrezygnować z tego crescendującego post-rocka na rzecz bardziej prymitywnego no wave'u, ale nie udało się tak w pełni.
MU: Są takie elementy, ale zostały okraszone jakimiś jeszcze wpływami. No wave jest taki bardzo prymitywny, bardzo mocno oparty na rytmie, na dysonansach.
AC: I przez to podobny jest do neofolków w tej swojej formule. Bardzo łatwo się przez to wyczerpuje. Tak na EP-kę, albo dwie jak sądzę. Dla nas stałoby się to mega szybko monotematyczne i nudne. Więc mimo takiego pierwotnego założenia prędko z tego zrezygnowaliśmy i zrozumieliśmy, że po prostu potrzebujemy iść z naszym naturalnym flow. I potem znowu pojawiały się kompozycje, które miały jakieś bardziej rozciągniętą strukturę, połamane metrum, coś co w ogóle nie przypominało no wave’u. Więc chyba konkluzja jest taka, że jest to totalnie poza naszą kontrolą i to dobrze.
AS: Na Sawancie, w ostatnim utworze, w Schodach wężowych, jest już taki klimat trochę bliskowschodnich skal. To zapowiada mam wrażenie nasze kolejne wydawnictwo, które jednak nie wiemy jeszcze, kiedy się ukaże.
AC: Więc ten element absurdyzmu, że wszystko jest poza kontrolą, a mimo to jest ok, jest w nas żywy.
AS: Muzyka, którą robimy musi się nam podobać. Chyba taka jest konkluzja.
Kielichy na początku 2026
ŁŚ: Dopiero wydaliście nową płytę i już planujecie następną?
AS: No tak, naturalnie się to wszystko dzieje. Też ten proces produkcyjny ostatniej płyty był mocno rozciągnięty. Nagraliśmy materiał w kwietniu zeszłego roku ale cały proces dogrywek, miksu, masteringu zakończył się dopiero zimą.
ŁŚ: Dobra, a to jeszcze wrócę do tego Morza czarnego, bo nie ukrywam, że ten utwór zrobił na mnie wrażenie. Na pierwszej EP-ce mieliście Bałtyk, na drugiej Morze czarne i jak sobie spojrzałem na kawałki na nowym albumie, to aż się zdziwiłem, że nie ma żadnego morza wśród tytułów. Co jest takiego w tym morzu, że jest dla ciebie, Adrian, tak inspirującym tematem?
AS: Od dzieciaka byłem strasznie zajarany morzem i żeglowaniem ogólnie. To trochę absurdalne, bo jestem z gór, ale chociaż teraz mieszkam przy jeziorze. Jeśli chodzi o Bałtyk to mam wrażenie, że ten utwór łapał dla mnie taki jakiś ambians końca wakacji nad Bałtykiem. Atmosferę późnego sierpnia. Z kolei Morze czarne to nasze wspólne wspomnienie. Byliśmy dwa lata temu na takim fajnym road tripie po Bałkanach i spędziliśmy cudowny wieczór nad Morzem Czarnym, bardzo taki oczyszczający. A na takiej warstwie symbolicznej, morze kojarzy mi się zawsze z taką bardzo rozległą warstwą nieświadomą i te teksty, które piszę też bardzo często właśnie działają bardziej na na zasadzie skojarzeń, trochę przypominają sny. Słynne słowo oniryzm się często pojawia, gdy ktoś określa naszą muzykę. Morze jest więc dla mnie symbolem również tego, z czego te teksty wyrastają.
ŁŚ: No i “morze czarne” to nawet nie musi być nazwa tego morza, po prostu jego wygląd.
AC: To raczej nie jest toponim.
MU: To znaczy, mieliśmy taką debatę, czy to jest odpowiedni tytuł, ale stwierdziliśmy, że to jest faktycznie też określenie jakie może dotyczyć morza, zwłaszcza, że Adrian rysuje w tym kawałku taki dość mroczny pejzaż.
Wszyscy jesteśmy sawantami
ŁŚ: Wydaliście swoją pierwszą płytę długogrającą i zatytułowaliście ją Sawant. Przyznaję, musiałem sobie wygooglować, ale teraz wiem, że to albo określenie człowieka, który jest wyjątkowo uzdolniony, albo może to być nazwa schorzenia. W zasadzie dokładnie tej odmiany autyzmu, którą najczęściej przedstawia się w filmach, jak na przykład w Rain Manie. Kto dla was jest tym sawantem? Skąd w ogóle taki tytuł?
AS: Wiesz co, ja myślę, że poniekąd wszyscy jesteśmy sawantami, jakkolwiek to nie brzmi. Dla mnie przynajmniej ten sawant to trochę opowieść też o nas, takie nasze nowe imię na tę chwilę. Bo wszyscy mamy czasem jakieś problemy w życiu, czasem sobie z czymś nie radzimy. Ale muzyka jest tym miejscem, gdzie ta nasza wrażliwość, która często sprawia nam dużo problemów, dostaje swój głos.
ŁŚ: Jest w waszej twórczości też coś, co bardzo rzuca mi się w oczy: użycie symboliki religijnej. Mam nawet listę: w waszych kawałkach jest i piekło, bramy piekielne, i niebo, i anioł, chociaż diabła chyba nie, ale mogłem przeoczyć. Ze dwa razy pojawia się człowiek, który wisi na drzewie, jest korona cierniowa, liczba 7. A i same kielichy to też przecież potężny symbol religijny.
Zastanawiam się, czy to jest celowe zagranie, bo dodaje to odpowiedniego klimatu i pewnej gotyckiej atmosfery, a może to bardziej efekt tego, że w naszej kulturze po prostu tak często pojawiają się takie referencje?
AS: Nigdy nie było tak, żebym celowo w tych tekstach sięgał po symbole religijne, żeby jakiś klimat wprowadzić. Bardziej, wydaje mi się, że to ze względu na naszą kulturę i to jak bardzo emocjonalnie i symbolicznie są one nacechowane, że można odczytywać je na różny sposób. Bardzo mi się to podoba. Tak trochę po jungowsku do tego podchodzę, że często są to fajne symbole dla określenia różnych przemian, które w nas zachodzą. Plus do tego mam wrażenie, że do Sawanta pasuje ta nomenklatura religijna ze względu na to, że nasza muzyka jest muzyką rytualną. Przynajmniej tak jak my to odczuwamy, jak my to odgrywamy. Muzyka, która prowadzi do jakiejś przemiany.
Często bazujemy nasze utwory na jednej zmianie dźwięku, którą budujemy przez długi czas, co sprzyja wpadaniu w pewnego rodzaju trans. Mam wrażenie, że użycie języka religijnego jeszcze to podkreśla.
MU: Mi się nasza muzyka kojarzy z doświadczeniem religijnym. Raczej stąd ta stylistyka tekstów wynika niż z jakichś gotyckich inspiracji, które, nie zrozum mnie źle, również mamy. Ale nie wiem, czy byś określił naszą muzykę jako związaną z, powiedzmy, subkulturą gotycką.
Bartosz Grygielski: Wszyscy czerpiemy z takiego mistycyzmu właśnie, wydaje mi się, bardziej na zasadzie radzenie sobie z tą naszą wrażliwością. Czerpiemy z symboliki, która pozwala to wszystko jakoś przepracowywać.
AC: No i myślę, że istnieje też taka paralela liryczna pomiędzy tym sawantem i nomenklaturą religijną. Bo to jest takie opozycyjne: sawant a więc ta piękna część, tak samo jak mamy to w sferze sacrum, jest przeciwstawiona tym pewnym zwyrodnieniem. Czymś grzesznym, czymś po prostu ludzkim. Myślę, że idzie to ze sobą w parze.
Sawant ozdobiony jest przejmującymi grafikami Darii Izworskiej
ŁŚ: Na singiel z nowej płyty wybraliście Puste niebo i zastanawiam się, czy utwór z tak wiele mówiącym tytułem to jest jakiś wasz manifest światopoglądowy?
AS: Wiesz co, trochę tak. Wydaje mi się, że taki mocny fundamentalizm religijny kreuje mocną dychotomię: albo coś jest białe, albo coś jest czarne, nie ma nic pomiędzy. I ta piosenka jest trochę o tym, że albo jesteś na tym szczycie i wyżej jest tylko niebo, albo są te najniższe doliny. Druga część tekstu opowiada o tym, jak można gdzieś uciec w taką fantazję, że wszystko jest cudowne, piękne. Ale ostatecznie okazuje się, że to jednak tylko jakiś sen, jakieś odklejnie od rzeczywistości. Więc trochę tak, ale nie powiedziałbym, że to jest manifest. Wiesz, zadziałała tu taka organika i tekst po prostu powstał gdzieś przy okazji komponowania utworu.
ŁŚ: Powiedziałeś wcześniej o Jungu, o warstwie podświadomości. Czy to znaczy, że w taki sposób piszesz teksty? Poprzez strumień świadomości?
AS: Zdarza mi się często, że mam jakieś skojarzenie, które wydaje mi się bardzo trafne i fajnie pasujące do utworu i wokół tego powstaje reszta. Najczęściej jednak pierwsza powstaje warstwa melodyjna, ja łapię jej klimat i napływają skojarzenia.
Poniżej stu decybeli nie schodzimy.
ŁŚ: Skoro mamy omówioną warstwę tekstową to muszę spytać jeszcze o gatunek. Czy wy w ogóle siebie widzicie, jakkolwiek w takim szeroko pojętym post-rocku? Bo na albumie są fragmenty bardziej gitarowe, bardziej noisowe, ale czy to jest w ogóle jest coś, co was inspiruje?
AC: Poniekąd na pewno. Bo skoro rozszerzasz definicję tego gatunku tak, że zaliczacz do niego i nas, to możemy powiedzieć, że są wśród nich też takie zespoły jak Swans czy Godspeed You! Black Emperor.
Michał Warzecha: Z post-rockiem jest taki problem, że ten termin oznacza teraz pewną niszę. Jak słyszę “post-rock” to od razu widzę zespoły typu Explosions in the Sky. Kiedyś było to szersze pojęcie, teraz kojarzy mi się tylko z jego trzecią falą. Mimo tego, że z założenie post-rock oznaczał wyjście poza klasyczną rockową formułę, a więc naprawdę ciekawa sprawa. Zespoły typu Slint, Talk Talk, jeszcze pewnie Mogwai, to były bardzo ciekawe rzeczy, a potem mam wrażenie, że… jak coś po, powiedzmy, 2010 roku, jest otagowane jako post-rock to ja już wiem czego się spodziewać.
Więc teraz ten post-rock znaczy… No właściwie kopiowanie Tides From Nebula. Trochę ubolewam, że ten gatunek zamknął się na eksperymenty.
AC: To tak jak to jest teraz z post-punkiem. Nazwa tego gatunku zmieniła znaczenie. Kiedy zespół mówi, że gra post-punk to nic to dla mnie nie znaczy.
ŁŚ: Za trzy tygodnie gracie na OFF Festivalu. Graliście kiedyś na imprezie o takiej skali?
MU: Chyba jedyne festiwale, jeśli można tak to nazwać, na którym do tej pory graliśmy to była Muzyczna Jesień i wrOFF (showcase), ale to nie to samo. To były weekendowe albo jednodniowe sprawy, ograniczone z reguły do jednego klubu. Więc można powiedzieć, że to będzie nasz festiwalowy debiut.
ŁŚ: Jak do tego w ogóle doszło?
MU: Napisali do nas. (śmiech) Nigdzie się nie zgłaszaliśmy, ani nic.
ŁŚ: To czego się w ogóle spodziewacie po OFFie?
MU: Na pewno cieszy nas slot czasowy, który dostaliśmy, bo mimo że gramy na najmniejszej scenie, to jednak o dwudziestej drugiej między Black Country, New Road a Flaming Lips, więc wiesz… super!
AC: Tak, ale forma i czas będą dla nas wyzwaniem. Będziemy mieli 30-35 minut na sam set. A takim naszym głównym założeniem, kiedy gramy koncert jest to, że my sobie lubimy te formy rozciągnąć i bawić się tymi piosenkami i dać sobie czas. Tu musimy to bardzo skondensować i skupić się na tym, żeby mimo wszystko trafić w sedno. Nie chcę powiedzieć, że zrobimy medley, bo to, to nie.
AS: Pewnie zagramy dwa-trzy utwory w te 35 minut, żeby one po prostu miały czas, żeby wybrzmieć, żeby to jakoś zaczęło grzać.
AC: To jest największe dla nas teraz wyzwanie.
ŁŚ: Będziecie pewnie zagłuszani przez Flaming Lips, którzy będą się soundcheckować tuż obok.
They'd just released an EP and already released their debut full-length album, Sawant. They've just released the album, and they're already working on another one. Wrocławskie Kielichy have abandoned the safe waters of neofolk and set off for uncharted seas. Where will they end up? Do they even know? Two weeks before their festival debut at the OFF Festival in Katowice, I managed to talk to the band in Kraków. It was a warm summer evening when we sat by the Vistula River and talked about what's Gothic about their music, what a savant is, and what will be their biggest challenge before presenting themselves to the general public at OFF.
In the Middle of the Sea
ŁŚ: In January of this year, your EP Punkty płonące ("Burning Points") was released, featuring the song Morze czarne ("Black Sea"), with the lyrics: "Let us sail on ships woven from dreams and search for new seas" and "we must finally destroy something to create some new places." And in June, you released your first full-length album, Sawant ("Savant"). Is this album the destination you've been sailing to, or are you still focusing on exploring the old places?
Adrian Szczecina: This text wasn't written with the intention of creating a narrative about our work. Honestly, I simply wanted to highlight some real-life topics. It's also a fun fact that this song was written after we wrote Sawant. So it's not like this album is going to define us for the next few releases. We're constantly allowing ourselves to explore, to find these new places.
ŁŚ: So, like in that song, you don't have a specific port of call?
Aleks Ciekalski: No, there's no conclusions, and I think we've come to terms with that. Our work is another example of how a journey is more important than its destination.
ŁŚ: But you said this album is a bit different musically.
AC: Yes, of course, we've gone a bit further on this album, and on the new release we're working on now, we're going to even different places. But it's not something we strive for at all costs: to change just for the sake of changing. It's more of a natural evolution. We live and experience new things, we listen to new music, we meet new people, and that's what pushes us to go somewhere else musically as a band and as a collective.
AS: Our tastes are changing, and so are our capabilities: we have more instruments now. No, we're not afraid to explore. What I'm also excited about is that we all like this element of destroying the old style. I suspect each of us derives satisfaction from having had to leave neofolk and that we're now on the high seas.
Mikołaj Uchman: This material wasn't created linearly either; for example, some of the songs on this album were written even before the release of the first EP.
AC: For example, Myśliwy ("Hunter"), which was completely rearranged. In the first version, it was a very, very neofolk song: all the instruments and rhythms were very neofolk. We rearranged it for this new version of ours, a new image, so to speak.
MU: Only the lyrics and chords in the chorus remained.
ŁŚ: Adrian, you said that the lyrics of Morze Czarne don't refer to your work, but listening to you now, I think they might.
AS: When writing this, I wasn't trying to create a narrative that would tell the listener what would happen to the band, what they could expect. Looking back, maybe it did, but that wasn't the intention.
ŁŚ: See, I was fooled; I automatically read it as a manifesto. You're heading somewhere, though. Can you briefly say where? Do you control it in any way, or do you just go with the flow?
AS: There's a certain aesthetic we have in mind. In a way, we wanted to abandon this crescendoing post-rock in favor of more primitive no wave, but it didn't quite work out.
MU: There are elements like that, but they've been embellished with other influences. No wave is very primitive, very rhythm-based, very dissonant.
AC: And that's why it's similar to neofolk in its formula. It gets exhausted very easily. It's good for an EP or two, I think. For us, it would quickly become monotonous and boring. So, despite that initial intention, we quickly abandoned it and realized that we simply needed to follow our natural flow. And then compositions appeared again that had a more extended structure, a broken meter, something that didn't resemble no wave at all. So I guess the conclusion is that it's completely out of our control, and that it's a good thing.
AS: On Sawant, in the last track, Schody wężowe ("Snake stairs"), there's already a slightly Middle Eastern feel to it. I think this foreshadows our next release, which, however, we don't know when will be released yet.
AC: So this element of absurdity, that everything is out of control and yet it's okay, is alive within us.
AS: We have to like the music we make. I guess that's the conclusion.
Kielichy at the beginning of 2026
ŁŚ: You just released a new album and you're already planning the next one?
AS: Well, it's all happening naturally. The production process for the last album was also quite drawn out. We recorded the material in April last year, but the entire process of overdubbing, mixing, and mastering didn't finish until winter.
ŁŚ: I'll go back to Morze czarne, because I won't deny that this song made an impression on me. On the first EP, you had Bałtyk ("Baltic Sea"), on the second Black Sea, and when I looked at the tracks on the new album, I was surprised there wasn't any sea among the titles. What is it about the sea that makes it such an inspiring subject for you, Adrian?
AS: Since I was a kid, I've been incredibly passionate about the sea and sailing in general. It's a bit absurd, because I'm from the mountains, but at least I live by a lake now. As for Morze Czarne, I feel like this song captured the ambiance of the end of holidays at the Baltic Sea coast for me. The atmosphere of late August. Morze czarne, on the other hand, is a shared memory of ours. Two years ago, we went on a great road trip through the Balkans and spent a wonderful, very cleansing evening by the Black Sea. On a symbolic level, the sea always reminds me of a very vast unconscious layer, and the lyrics I write often work more on the basis of associations, a bit like dreams. The famous word "onirism" often comes up when someone describes our music. So, for me, the sea also symbolizes what these lyrics stem from.
ŁŚ: And "black sea" doesn't even have to be the name of the sea, just its description.
AC: It's not really a toponym.
MU: Well, we had a debate about whether it was the right title, but we decided that it's actually a term that could describe the sea, especially since Adrian draws such a dark landscape in this piece.
We Are All Savants
ŁŚ: You released your first full-length album and titled it Sawant. I admit, I had to google it, but now I know it's either a term for someone who is exceptionally gifted, or it could be the name of a medical condition. Specifically, the very type of autism most often portrayed in movies, like "Rain Man." Who is this savant for you? Where did that title come from?
AS: You know what, I think we're all savants in a way, no matter how that sounds. For me, at least, this savant is a story about us, too, a new name for us at the moment. Because we all have problems in life sometimes, sometimes we struggle with things. But music is the place where our sensitivity, which often causes us a lot of problems, finds its voice.
ŁŚ: There's also something in your work that really catches my eye: the use of religious symbolism. I even have a list: in your songs, there's hell, the gates of hell, heaven, and an angel, although I don't think there's a devil, but I might have missed it. A man hanging from a tree appears about twice, there's a crown of thorns, the number 7. And the chalices ("kielichy") themselves are also a powerful religious symbol.
I wonder if this is intentional, because it adds the right atmosphere and a certain Gothic feel, or maybe it's more a result of the fact that such references simply appear so frequently in our culture?
AS: I've never deliberately used religious symbols in my lyrics to create a certain atmosphere. I think it's more because of our culture and how emotionally and symbolically charged those symbols are, that they can be interpreted in different ways. I really like that. I approach it in a somewhat Jungian way, in that they're often cool symbols for describing the various transformations taking place within us. Plus, I feel like this religious nomenclature fits Sawant because our music is ritual music. At least as we experience it, as we enact it. Music that leads to some kind of transformation.
We often base our songs on a single change of sound, which we build over a long period of time, which encourages falling into a kind of trance. I feel like the use of religious language further emphasizes this.
MU: I associate our music with a religious experience. This lyrical style stems from that fact rather than from any Gothic inspirations, which, don't get me wrong, we also have. But I don't know if you would describe our music as related to, say, the Gothic subculture.
Bartosz Grygielski: We all draw from this kind of mysticism, I think, more as a way of coping with our sensitivity. We draw on symbolism, which allows us to process all of this somehow.
AC: And I think there's also a lyrical parallel between the savant and religious nomenclature. Because it's so oppositional: the savant, this beautiful part, just as we have in the sphere of sacrum, is opposed by certain degeneration. Something sinful, something simply human. I think they go hand in hand.
Sawant features poignant illustrations by Daria Izworska
ŁŚ: You chose Puste niebo ("Empty Sky" but also "Empty Heaven") as the single from the new album, and I'm wondering if a song with such a telling title is some kind of manifesto of your worldview?
AS: You know, to a certain degree. I think strong religious fundamentalism creates a strong dichotomy: something is either white or black, there's nothing in between. And this song is a bit about either you're on that peak and above there's only sky, or you're somewhere at the bottom and there are those lowest valleys. The second part of the lyrics is about how you can escape into a fantasy where everything is wonderful and beautiful. But ultimately, it turns out to be just a dream, some kind of misplacement from reality. So it's a bit like that, but I wouldn't say it's a manifesto. You know, something organic happened here, and the lyrics simply came about while I was composing the song.
ŁŚ: Earlier, you mentioned Jung, the subconscious layer. Does that mean you write lyrics this way? Through a stream of consciousness?
AS: It often happens to me that I have an association that seems very apt and fits the song nicely, and the rest is created around that. Most often, however, the melodic layer comes first; I capture its atmosphere, and associations flow in.
We don't go below a hundred decibels.
ŁŚ: Since we've discussed the lyrical layer, I have to ask about the genre. Do you see yourselves at all in the broadly defined post-rock genre? Because there are more guitar-based, more noise-based pieces on the album, but is that something that inspires you at all?
AC: To a certain extent, for sure. Because if you're broadening the definition of the genre so that you include us, we can say that bands like Swans or Godspeed You! Black Emperor are also included.
Michał Warzecha: The problem with post-rock is that the term now denotes a niche. When I hear "post-rock," I immediately think of bands like Explosions in the Sky. It used to be a broader term, but now I associate it only with its third wave. Even though post-rock was initially meant to transcend the classic rock formula, which is a really interesting thing. Bands like Slint, Talk Talk, and probably Mogwai, were very interesting, but then I get the feeling that... if something after, say, 2010 is tagged as post-rock, I already know what to expect.
So now post-rock means... well, copying Tides From Nebula. I kind of regret that the genre has closed itself off to experimentation.
AC: It's like post-punk now. The name of the genre has changed its meaning. When a band says they play post-punk, it means nothing to me.
ŁŚ: You're playing at the OFF Festival in three weeks. Have you ever played at an event of this scale?
MU: I think the only festivals, if you can call them that, we've played at so far were Muzyczna Jesień and wrOFF (the showcase), but they're not the same. Those were weekend or one-day affairs, usually limited to a single club. So you could say this will be our festival debut.
ŁŚ: How did this even happen?
MU: They wrote to us. (laughs) We didn't apply anywhere or anything.
ŁŚ: So what do you even expect from OFF?
MU: We're definitely happy with the slot we got, because even though we're playing on the smallest stage, it's at 10 PM between Black Country, New Road, and Flaming Lips, so you know... great!
AC: Yes, but the format and timing will be a challenge for us. We'll have 30-35 minutes for the set itself. And our main goal when we play a concert is that we like to stretch these formats and have fun with these songs and give ourselves time. Here, we have to really condense the material and focus on hitting the mark. I don't want to say we'll do a medley, because that's not the case.
AS: We'll probably play two or three songs in those 35 minutes, just to give them time to fade in, to get the vibe going.
AC: That's our biggest challenge right now.
ŁŚ: You'll probably be drowned out by the Flaming Lips, who will be soundchecking right next to you.
Kielichy were featured on the blog already this year, but it was BEFORE. Back then, the Punkty płonące EP heralded a change and now we can already witness where the artist's discovery voyage landed them. SAWANT, called after the French for "scholar", but also a medical condition which is basically how autistic people are presented in media, album makes a huge impression from the beautiful cover art up to the lyrical and musical parts of the compositions.
I can see some similarities with one of my favourite albums of the recent times: Pothamus' Abur with similar weight put on the atmosphere and spirituality that comes from some kind of religion but ultimately is more than that. And when the psychedelic and sacral atmosphere is set up, here with the unhurried pace, dense guitars and characteristic vocals, the post-rock wall of sound appears out of nowhere to make the compositions' gravity even more emphasized. I have already said it a couple of times this year, but this is a good time for Polish dark psychedelic projects and this album is another prove to support the claim.
I've seen their music being described as "gothic post-rock" now and I can see why: it's not only the slow and moody music, it's also the themes. The band's name being the Polish word for "chalices" (which I read now in a very religious, perhaps ironic way) is one thing, but the lyrics all over SAWANT are very strongly leaning towards the mysterious and the religious with references to the importance of blood (Pieśń robaków), heavens (Puste niebo) or an entity hanging from a tree (Wisielec). But, judging from tracks like Puste niebo (which means "empty skies" but also could mean "Empty Heaven"), the religious here is just a decor, but if you employ it, you become part of it. Hence "gothic post-rock".
When you are called a "sonic alchemist", you know there is something special in your music. Martyna Basta, Polish composer and singer/songwriter based in the city of Kraków (my neighbour I presume) released her third album (but first under the acclaimed 7k records) filled with ambitious electronica turned ambient pop music.
The signature sound of this album focuses on the artful electronic samples sewn together into a sonic canvas on which beautiful though enigmatic vocals are displayed. This is not an easy kind of neoclassical electronica, it requires attention and brain power to process everything that is happening around you. But it's satisfying if enjoyed properly. I love the vocals, even if they are used sparingly, they show the range of the artist's voice and add to the mysterious atmosphere of the release.
I love that Basta invited some interesting guests, especially the harp-electronic duo LEYA (which, coincidentally, has also some Polish roots) in Laid and the British experimental rapper Rainy Miller in 2674. This is a beautiful, airy and ambitious electronic soundscape with elements of chamber pop appearing here and there that only make it more engaging to listen to.
Transmission Zero is a band I grew extremely attached to over the years. Hailing from the city I live in, they were the first local post-rock outfit I knew and decided to support. Even if the band has changed immensely since then, the feelings stayed. And I'm very happy to say that their third album proves their versatile ability to create immersive post-rock compositions. And also angry ones.
Local Hero that opens the album is a somewhat misleading track: it is slower, built on the atmosphere and the Poles quickly state that this time, it's not the case. The Kids' Gloves Are Off are such a perfect single track: the composition is not easy, meanders from rapid cascades into slower fragments and back, but the first thought that brings to your mind is "how a post-rock song can have such a punk energy?!" And when I look at the cover art and the whole visual identification around the album, I can see this again: the subtle post-rock aesthetics is replaced with shouting, bright-colored, California punk-rock like images. I see it and I hear it. Something's changed.
The frantic drums at No Such Thing as a Fair Fight or the incredible flow of A Devil You Do further prove the way the artists chose to follow from now on. No wonder the band themselves state the following: "This might be our third record, but it feels like a >second debut< for us". And finally, the titles themselves suggest that Transmission Zero are rebelling against the society, the human nature and, I guess, against being ashamed of anything you've done and you feel proud about. Cheers to that!
"Melancholia, Misanthropy, Melody", this is the whole description of the Polish project Kielichy ("Chalices"). But it's also everything it needs. The Wrocław-based band walks among alternative genres with grace, taking a lot from folk and post-punk, but ultimately creating something very, very theirs. But it's also a goodbye of some sorts.
The short EP makes the second longer entry in the band's discography after the self-titled EP from two years ago. This one feels like a continuation of the debut, but also a level up for me. Adrian Szczecina's deep voice automatically adds a lot of darkness (and darkwaveness) to the whole project that marries folk's lyrics-writing and sensibility with alternative guitar music. I must say that my favourite part of this music is the sound of the guitars here: the darkness just emanates from their low-pitched, calm but also unnerving presence. Black Heart Procession's vibes all over the place.
But also i is said that the band aims at changing their signature sound, moving away from the neofolk vibes towards... Yeah, who knows? The EP's last song, Morze Czarne ("The Black Sea") is a clear statement on this style shift. It doesn't reveal the destination, but verses like "We have to destroy some things finally/To create new places" tell a lot. I'm very curious here cause the artists clearly know how to draw inspiration from various genres to make something poignant and dark so I'm not worried. As they sing: "Let us sail. We'll find ourselves alone in the middle of the sea".
Sasha Pushkin and Jegor Mickiewicz have been living in Poland for years, creating their artistic in form and unsettling in message music as Flower and Pines. Their socially (though not politically) engaged yet poetic lyrics evoke post-punk sensibility, but their guitar-heavy music, which doesn't shy away from truly noisy moments, places them somewhere in the realm of post-rock. And if so, this is one of my favorite post-rock projects in the country. I managed to talk with Sasha, Jegor, and their new drummer, Anton, during their December concert at Krakow's Oliwa pub. How does their nationality influence their music? Is the new album meant to be still a warning or already a commentary? And what does minimalism mean in their music?
ŁŚ: I'll start by quoting a bit from Wikipedia: "Poet of transformations, Slavic bard," "classic of Russian and world literature," that's about Mickiewicz and Pushkin. Those are quite big shoes to step into, aren't they? Did you choose so ambitiously on purpose?
Sasha Pushkin: No, no, Mickiewicz is Jegor's real surname! And Pushkin is just a nickname.
ŁŚ: So, Jegor, do you have Polish roots? Or is that a Belarusian surname?
Jegor Mickiewicz: Here it's considered that I have Polish roots. My paternal family comes from the parts of western Belarus that changed hands multiple times. THAT Mickiewicz was also from those regions.
ŁŚ: So you're the family of the Great Bard?
JM: Well, there are a lot of Mickiewiczes there. In Poland, the surname Mickiewicz isn't that common, but there, it's quite the opposite.
ŁŚ: So it's a complete coincidence? Incredible. But at the same time, Flower and Pines' lyrics are heavily based on plot, on stories, practically like literary works. Do you feel any connection to the Romantic literature? Because I see some connections.
JM: Yes, yes. I write our lyrics. Of course, it has nothing to do with my surname being Mickiewicz, but I've simply always liked literature and poetry. There might be something to do with Romanticism, but I can't say I draw any specific inspiration from this or that literary genre.
ŁŚ: I even see something Romanticism-related in the band's name: Flower and Pines. The symbolism of nature, that sort of thing. Where did your name come from?
SP: We wanted it to be like the title of a painting in a museum.
JM: To present the title of a painting without any details of the work itself. So that the listener could figure out the details themselves. I also think there were some inspirations from black metal symbolism. Pine trees, conifers. They remind me of...
SP: A Norwegian forest. Darkthrone! (laughter)
ŁS: I have another reference to the historical figures of Mickiewicz and Pushkin: they were also known for their anti-tsarist stance. Mickiewicz, of course, but so was Pushkin, at least at the beginning.
JM: Exactly, but later not so much. But it won't be like that with us, don't be afraid! (laughter)
ŁŚ: But I wanted to ask, do you see yourselves as, let's say, rebels against the modern-day tsars?
SP: Against the entire world in a sense. Against all evil, while supporting all that is good. It might sound silly, but that's how I would put it. It's not about a specific "tsar," but about things in the world we disagree with.
JM: I rather see it this way: you can't see any specific worldview in our music. What do we think about any specific politician, for example. When you listen to our music, it's like watching a historical film and you can choose which side you're on. You can choose whether you're for this particular thing or against it.
SP: Or maybe is it about you?
JM: Exactly.
ŁS: But we can't escape the fact that you're from Belarus. And that it's some kind of a commentary on the situation there.
JM: Yes, yes, of course.
ŁŚ: Especially the Hnieŭ EP, on which you sing in Belarusian. Was it created with a specific event in mind? Or simply as a reaction to the situation in Belarus?
JM: More likely, simply as a reaction to all of this. We wrote Hnieŭ, which means "anger" in English, when things were at their most intense. We recorded what we felt then. It's not an anthem, not a hymn. It's not like we're saying: "Hey! We're going to the barricades!" I think that, to some extent, it's like a panikhida (a funeral service in Eastern Rite Christian Churches - ŁŚ), like a requiem. We're saying that we know what it was like there and how deeply we feel about it.
ŁŚ: Do you have any signs that you're being listened to in Belarus? That you're being noticed?
JM: Yes, we know that we're being listened to in Belarus, but... In reality, there are very few people left in Belarus who could listen to us. Who could be our audience. Many of them already live somewhere in Europe.
SP: In fact, we haven't lived in Belarus for a long time; we left before the worst happened. So maybe we simply don't exactly know what's going on there. Although there are still some people who listen to us there.
Anton Betson: I can also add that there are Belarusian media outlets online that write about us. About the existence of this band and its music, but not in a political context.
JM: Especially since the release of our last album.
ŁŚ: Right, this year you released the album Unconditional Love, which includes my favorite song of the year, Dogs. The entire album, as you describe it, presents a dystopian picture. Each track is poignant, showing a sense of helplessness in the face of oppressive power, but I feel it most strongly in Dogs. This song describes the attitude of an individual hounded by the regime, by the society in which they live. You describe it, but you don't comment on whether such an attitude is wrong or maybe understandable.
SP: I think all comments must come not from the creator, but from the listeners, because every person has their own story, so the message will never be the same for everyone.
JM: You know, with Dogs, the song itself is about how there's no side to choose. It's about how, when you live under a regime, you're both a policeman and a victim. Everything changes: today you're looking for someone who disagrees with the regime, and tomorrow they come after you.
SP: It's normal that we all have something bad and something good inside us. Today you do good things, tomorrow you do bad things. That's human nature.
ŁŚ: When I listen to Unconditional Love, I wonder if you see it as a warning about a situation that might arise, or more as a commentary on what's actually happening?
JM: Both. We're from a country that, in our lifetimes, has always been the way it is now; sometimes it was just a little better, sometimes a little worse. But now it's the hardest, it's like in those dystopian books. And what's happening in Poland doesn't look particularly good either, right? Of course, it's in no way comparable to what's happening in our country, but the intentions themselves are a bit terrifying.
ŁŚ: So do you think that it's possible that the situation in Poland will actually get close to what's happening in Belarus?
JM: We're not saying it will, we just know that these things happen very quickly.
SP: In an instant, you can find yourself in a completely different place than you were yesterday.
JM: That's why it's terrifying. So it's both a warning and a reflection on what we already know.
SP: It's always like that. When World War II ended, everyone kept repeating all this advice about remembering, because as long as you remember, you won't do the same shit again. But when you finally forget, suddenly: good morning! (laughter)
ŁŚ: This whole album is quite terrifying. Was that the intention?
JM: I think so. But it wasn't as if I said, "Sasha, come on, let's do something terrifying!" It was just that during the making of the album, it turned out that this was the only way we could do it.
SP: I think it was some kind of unformulated feeling somewhere inside us, we just saw that we had to choose these options, create these sounds. But we didn't agree to do it this way. It just happened that way.
ŁŚ: The album title is... It's ironic, right?
SP: No.
JM: To some extent, yes.
SP: Well, actually to some extent, but I would say irony is the last thing on my mind when I think about it.
JM: First of all, that phrase appears at the end of the song Act of Historical Justice. It's about a lie, it's about 2+2 equaling 5, about us saying we're here to help you. This war is there to prevent more wars, this repression is there to make things better for you. This is love, but you don't understand it yet.
SP: That's just how it is in this world. And it's not ironic, it's more sad than ironic.
JM: Another thing is that this phrase doesn't apply only to this song. In all the songs on the album, there's something about love. It can be different. For example, in Jerusalem, the lyrical subject also feels some kind of love, love for this place for which blood is shed. That, too, is love.
SP: So this is an album about love?
JM: Yes, yes, about love that can be very different.
ŁŚ: Someone who picked up the album just by looking at the title probably wouldn't expect it to be like that inside. It's filled with pessimism (or perhaps realism, since you're commenting on reality), but do you see any reason for optimism beyond that? Is there a place for it in music?
SP: There's definitely a place for it, but maybe it's not the right time yet.
JM: I don't see a place for it in music. Even my mother often asks me that. Do you…
SP: When will you play about happy things? (laughter)
JM: That's exactly what she asked me a few weeks ago: are you and Sasha doing anything new, and will it be a bit more optimistic? To which I replied that I don't know. Because I see no reason to be optimistic; everything seems to be getting worse. I just feel utter pessimism.
SP: We'll see how it goes, because we're only in the middle of recording a new album! Maybe something will change! (laughter)
ŁŚ: So there's already a plan for the next album? Are you planning to release it next year?
JM: It would be great if it were next year, but things can happen, who knows.
ŁŚ: I'd like to return to optimism for a moment. Do you hope to go to Belarus for a concert someday?
JM: It might happen someday. All those people there won't live forever! They might think that way, but it's impossible. So I hope we'll go someday. The problem is, not only we can't go there for a concert. We can't go there at all. So when I think about Belarus, it's not primarily about wanting to play there. I just want to see this place again.
ŁŚ: You recently changed the band's lineup. Now you're playing as a foursome. Is it very different from your perspective? There's a video on YouTube titled "We have finally become a four piece band", as if you were really looking forward to it.
SP: I'd say maybe we weren't "waiting," but we're definitely happy. Our music just sounds a bit different when we're on stage as a duo than when we're playing as a foursome now. I think Jegor was more keen on changing that; I wasn't as enthusiastic about the idea back then, but now I like it.
JM: It's definitely harder, because when we were just two people, we had to communicate only with each other. And with four people, you have to manage things more. But yes, I really wanted it because I thought there were certain things that would simply sound better with more people. Now that we're playing as a foursome, you can hear more space in our sound.
AB: I went to concerts when Sasha and Yegor were playing as a duo and I thought to myself, "Wow, what will it sound like when there's real drums and bass?"
ŁŚ: You're playing a few shows with Spoiwo and Jo Quail next year. Spoiwo is an icon of Polish post-rock, and Jo Quail is associated with many artists in this genre; she played with God Is an Astronaut, for example. Do you feel any connection to this genre at all?
SP: It's definitely one of the genres we like, especially me. Back in Belarus, I played in two bands: Challenger Deep, which is more post-metal, and Marie Chante, which is more of a screamo band, but with post-rock elements.
JM: You could say Sasha really has post-rock roots. I hadn't listened to that genre before.
SP: I've unlocked it in you!
JM: I've been a Swans fan for a long time, but it might not be exactly seen as post-rock. I started discovering true post-rock bands for myself when we started Flower and Pines.
ŁS: I can understand that, I think post-rock conveys a lot of content and emotion using instruments, but you write lyrics, and it's them that are very emotional and poetic.
JM: I think there's a connection there, yes. I started listening to instrumental music quite late in life. I always wanted lyrics, someone singing.
ŁŚ: At this point, you're conveying messages and emotions through both words and music. Do you think it's possible to combine the two in one project?
JM: We have no problem combining this. In fact, when we started our band, I thought there wouldn't really be much vocals. In bands, I've always been more of a vocalist, but here I wanted to play guitar and do something more instrumental, so the vocals would be more of an addition, but it turned out a bit differently.
ŁŚ: Sure. I asked about this because the description of your music, I think on Spotify, says that you create minimalist music. I, for one, don't hear that at all.
JM: Oh, because it's about minimalism in composition.
SP: Exactly. If we were doing something more complicated, we'd achieve a different goal than we intended. A minimalist approach to composition allows listeners to experience a certain feeling throughout the composition, for example, several times. This allows us to finally grasp its meaning, I think.
JM: For example, if we don't change a chord throughout the entire piece, then...
SP: It's kind of the foundation. If we assume that one song is a story, then that one chord is the foundation upon which everything happens. And then maybe you add different scenes, different characters who do something, something happens, but that foundation doesn't change until the end.
JM: I think I'm not lying if I say that we also want our music to sound a bit trance-like, so that you can get carried away by that trance. That's why when we talk about minimalism, it's simply about composition, but in arrangements, it can be completely eclectic.
ŁŚ: Well, that wall of sound does appear from time to time! Lyrically, you also repeat the same motifs and phrases, for example in Dogs. It can also have a trance-like effect.
JM: When we were making Dogs, we didn't have that goal in mind at the beginning.
SP: I would say that when creating our songs, we first think about how their elements would work together to form a cohesive whole. Although we didn't agree on any specific goal, we still felt deep inside how we wanted our songs to sound.
JM: Plus, I've had this feeling since childhood that when I hear something cool, I want it to just repeat and repeat and repeat. I often feel sad that a cool moment only appeared once.
SP: All these little things maintain the atmosphere of this trance.
