Robots from Atlantis
Remembering EXEM ‘Atlanta’
Exactly 20 years ago, on an early and relatively chilly June morning I was riding in an old car together with my best friends Kryzius and Nidas, heading towards the Lithuanian capital of Vilnius. In the trunk of our car there was a 4th person, a mad robot from Atlantis.
The occasion of our travel was quite celebratory — me and Kryzius had a band, it was called EXEM and we were presenting our second album called ‘Atlanta’ in front of the journalists. It was supposed to be a simple press conference, a few nice words about the new album, bored nods from the press, a couple shots for the tomorrow’s papers and a TV interview if we are lucky. And we wanted it to be more special.
Interlude #1
A bit of context for a non-Lithuanian reader—in 1996 the country was in its 6th year of independence from Soviet Union. The nation was slowly learning to live in a free world, so most of the 90s were filled with a whole spectrum of typical post-collapse problems — corruption, crime and total economic uncertainty became such part of everyday life that we couldn’t imagine it getting better. We didn’t know if we are going to survive, but eventually most of us did.
We have recorded our second EXEM album in total chaos, as usual. For years we were struggling, both mentally and even more financially. We couldn’t release our very first album of dark & noisy techno tracks because no label wanted to take a risk of financing the record when the general public was mostly into cheap folk dance and wedding party music. We made a compromise that I regret to this day, as we went onto produce a Euro-dance record, a really bad one. Our fans didn’t like it, the public didn’t like it, radio stations didn’t play it and we didn’t really like it ourselves. It was a failure on all fronts. And then Kryzius discovered this obscure CD with Lithuanian folk songs.
What eventually saved us, was that instead of getting depressed and quitting it all after 4 years of trying to introduce our country to electronic music, we started tinkering with the instruments. As we were broke and had no own synths, but we found a young guy called Tadas who just built a small studio at home. He was crazy, because he believed that you can make music mainly on computer. You see, back in 1995, when most of the studios needed $20.000-$50.000 worth of equipment to make a decent-sounding record, a 18-year hacker claiming he’ll be produce music using just his desktop PC sounded like a joke. During the next couple of years there will be at least 5 hit albums produced at StereoBase ’studio’, plus countless singles and remixes. And it was mostly because we have learned our tools and pushed them to the limits. We didn’t even know that there were limits, for that matter, we just kept trying things out.
I remember that long night in the studio when Kryzius blended the deep pads and bells with the folk voice sample. Normally, we would be happy when we discovered a good combination of musical parts, getting the feel how it all ‘clicks’ together, as if the track would be asking to be completed, but this time it was different. It’s as if the music was trying to make us listen. We couldn’t get enough of that song, it’s as if it would be tinkering with our brain. When I came back home at 4AM in the morning I kept on listening to the tape for the next 3 hours. This was the first morning of ‘Kursiai’, probably the best track on the Atlanta record, and arguably the best track we’ve ever made with EXEM.
Interlude #2
Just a few months ago, a friend has pointed out that I seem to be obsessed with synthesis of ancient and futuristic. With EXEM back in 1996 we were combining 100-old Lithuanian folk songs and electronic beats, in 2016 I’m embedding microchips and AI into archaic wooden toys with Vai Kai. I sincerely believe that really good and innovative creations have a deep connection to the past. Trying to disregard and disconnect from the past will make us repeat most of the dumb mistakes and keep re-inventing the wheels. Or even as Alan Kay said: ‘re-inventing a flat tire’.
Once the first track has emerged, suddenly everything started coming together, almost like driven by some inner force. The rest of the tracks were done in a few weeks, we got a contract with a really cool new label Koja Records and we didn’t have to explain or push our music anymore, it was everywhere! It resonated with the people from the most diverse backgrounds, on a level that neither we nor they could explain. It just was.
The press conference was fun. A few weeks before that, our very talented designer friend Nidas decided to build a robot for us. It consisted mainly out of my old Soviet-made tank-like stereo, washing machine parts and some random electronic trash. It looked gorgeous. We have introduced it as a new band member and the ‘mastermind’ behind the record. The journalists were observing it with a combination of surprise, shock and WTF on their faces, exactly how we expected. I was telling them stories about futurism, mystical powers, psychedelic substances and underwater civilisations.
The album was out, thousands of people in our small country bought it, it was on the radio, on TV, it was everywhere. And surprisingly it‘s still out there to this day — last year when I was buying ice cream for my daughters in a tiny village store, I heard the familiar strings and bells playing in the background. ’By the way, do you know who made this song?’ — I asked my daughter.
