More about: Tallinn Music Week

“Imagine you’re from the West Midlands,” a rather worse for wear 34-year-old Estonian named Oliver instructs me, in between mouthfuls of lager he drinks, shotgun style, from a slit in the side of his can. Given that I was raised on the mean streets of Great Malvern, this is achievable without the hugest leap of imagination. “Now imagine that Manchester has just been invaded by the Russians. Basically, you know that you’re next.”

Our conversation, held among the considerable crowd of smokers outside the Sveta Bar in Tallinn, may not be the most profound ever, but it certainly sums up the feeling that runs through this year’s Tallin Music Week.  The invasion of Ukraine has meant that the number of bands from both that country and its aggressor Russia, is at a bare minimum compared to usual – even though, very admirably, the festival is providing long-term residencies with free accommodation and studio space for any Ukrainian artists who can make it to the Estonian capital.

But the shadow cast by the invasion, and the sheer Medieval brutality of it, have left the event with a ’Last Days of Rome’ feel. An atmosphere, certainly among the local revellers rather than the more international selection of delegates, that bears an edgy debauchery and excess that comes with the very real possibility of life being very different this time next year.

Which would be a crying shame. Not only for the obvious reasons, but specifically because TMW is rapidly becoming a true gem of the European festival market, and an individual gem at that. Not to mention one that is showing signs of international ambition. 

The 2022 edition of the festival could be easily described as Estonia Music Week, given that alongside the usual plethora of gigs in Tallinn, a second city – Narva, about 200 miles away from the capital – is hosting a day of high profile events for the first time. Many here are reading heavily into the geography of this decision, what with Narva lying right on the border with Russia.

It’s probably fair to say that Narva’s programme is considerably more ‘establishment’ than the rough and ready thrills of Tallinn, which is perhaps closer to an Eastern European version of The Great Escape. It’s Narva that plays host to the neo-psychedelic jazzy daydreams of Ninja Tune’s Floating Points, undoubtedly the biggest act to play TMW. Domino’s hot new singing Tirzah warms up the audience for him, impressing with her hazy, skunk-infused songsmithery, a female Tricky for the 21st century if ever we saw one.

Beyond that, though, there are conferences with geo-political themes like ‘The story of Iceland: export or die!’ and ‘Finland - The happiest nation with the darkest music’, as well as full-on classical orchestras doing their stuff and exhibitions aplenty.

Credit: Jackie Hadel

Estonia takes the event so seriously, in fact, that the country’s President Alar Karis turns up to open proceedings. He delivers an impassioned speech that shows he really gets the importance of music and culture, not only in good times but adverse ones too: “Exceptional musicians from home and abroad have gathered here,” he tells us. “These days will offer joy and comfort, bring fresh ideas and give everyone, both the public and the musicians, a chance to briefly step away from their daily lives. 

“We have recently seen many examples of what music can do. We have seen a musician heading into battle in the heart of Ukraine singing a traditional song about the red viburnum, turning it into an anthem for peace recognised the world over. The song gives hope and encourages to stand together. We’ve seen a pianist, wearing body armour, playing Chopin in front of the Irpin cultural centre, a building destroyed by bombs. We’ve seen a mother returning home in the City of Bila Tserkva to a war torn home, wiping the dust off the piano and… playing Chopin as well. We’ve seen children, mothers, fathers, grandmothers, grandfathers, friends and strangers singing in bomb shelters, metro stations, among ruins.

Music helps them stay strong and live. Music helps us stay strong and live.”

Paying tribute to the countless concerts and other events raising cash in support of Ukraine, he adds “these concerts have drawn the attention of millions, tens of millions of people to this brutal war, and they have brought the world together to stand against evil. Artists and creators teach the world empathy and compassion. They teach us the art of being human. “

Can you imagine if our own Boris had been tasked with the same job? He’d almost certainly have mumbled something in Latin, made a joke about the ABBA party at No. 10 and then told anyone in the arts earning less than £100k a year to give up and retrain as an IT consultant. Rather puts us to shame, doesn’t it?

You never know. Maybe next year we’ll see the Estonian President joining in in Tallinn too, getting to the centre of the party, failing sweatily in the moshpit at the Sveta Bar or reaching for the lasers at D3. Because, for all the cultural treats on offer on the border, it’s hard not to argue that the beating heart of TMW is right there.

In the capital there are two general centres around which the festival revolves. The Tallinn Hotel Central Forum is the industry hub where most of the networking goes on and where, it seems, you’re never more than a quarter of an hour from a free cup of coffee and an interesting natter. Just like with the Mancunian we meet, part of the Tesla Tapes label, who loved Riga in Latvia so much that he moved to a log cabin there: “When you know it’s going to be minus 25 in the night,” he says, “you know you’re really going to have to hunker down.”

There are more conferences here too, from ‘Where are all the female producers?’ to a keynote speech given by former Cocteau Twin and Bella Union boss Simon Raymonde and his wife and label manager Abbey. As talks go, it’s got it all, from romance to jeopardy: the moment his distributors went down and would have taken the label down with them if they hadn’t managed to divert a van full of Fleet Foxes CDs before it reached the warehouse, for example. The current delays in vinyl production — meaning turnaround times of about 9-10 months — are “utterly miserable”, he says, before quickly adding “obviously, worse things are happening to people in Ukraine.”

As for gigs, we head out to the Telliskivi district of town on the retro-looking but very swish tram system, clutching the free travel QR code that all musicians and delegates get. Alas, we’re too late to have caught Ivan Dorn open the festival, but he’s a perfect choice not only for his Ukranian origins but also the fact he’s a household name across the region thanks to his TV presenting but his soulful concoction of house, disco and pop is cool enough to attract collaborators like Ninja Tune’s Seven Davis Jr.

Credit: Dramamama by Kaarel Antonov

Arriving in Telliskivi in a few minutes, we’re greeted by a massive pop-up park of metal containers and other buildings. But no punters. Where to start? Well, knowing that elephants use bass tones to communicate over vast distances – true story – we set our ears to the lower end of the sound spectrum and see if we can pick up any trace of bulging bass or the thump of kick drums. After a bit of tramping across empty car parks, we pick up a signal and following where it leads it, we’re soon flashing our armband and gaining entry to D3, a battered warehouse on the outside but inside quite the plush club. A live set is in progress, with UK electronic singer-songwriter Elderbrook surrounded – almost literally – by banks of glowing equipment and an eye-wateringly sparkly light show. This kind of techno-pop isn’t usually up our street at all, but maybe it’s the sheer joy of settling into the club’s velvety sofas and resting our feet, or alternatively the infectious enthusiasm of the packed dancefloor, but the intimate sincerity of songs like ‘Be There Soon’ seem genuinely touching.

We ask the kindly bouncers at D3 for directions to our ultimate destination, the Sveta bar and they laugh and point to the rabble gathered outside a doorway literally 30 feet away. We love it when a plan comes together, and squeeze ourselves into the venue that many call Tallinn’s vibiest. We are rewarded immediately. 

Onstage, the backlit shadowy figures of Lativia’s Plie lurch in time with their dark, jerky, jagged music. It’s edgy, and might be considered Goth if it weren’t so unconventional and imaginative. The riffs are punctuated with lengthy doses of silence, sometimes punctured by violent film samples, at other times by a squealing, tortured saxophone. Utterly thrilling, and also the closest in atmosphere to the geo-political cloud hanging over proceedings. We know we’ve hit the motherlode even before we turn round and see John Robb – blogger, Membranes singer and media spokesman for every single punk rocker in Britain – propping up the bar behind us, nursing a pint and nodding his approval.

Having been rooted to a satisfying but relatively small spot, we take a vow to explore further the delights of the Telliskivi district the following evening. Having ventured into the heart of the container park we discover a veritable village of venues in a variety of old, improvised and specially built spaces. There’s craft ale and booming, dubby techno from the bar on the left, a rockabilly band playing ‘Pulp Fiction’-style surf in the KPK bar on the right — and across the weekend everything from an Indie Shuffle showcase to jazz, metal ands folktronica stages and Dark Disco, the after hours session at Sveta that very much does what it says on the tin.

We venture up the stairs of what looks like an abandoned school science lab to encounter what I’m informed is the Dream stage. With its interior decorated throughout with wispy material and tree branches, it very much fits the Dream bill, even before we encounter Possumiste onstage, whose theatrical, fairytale performance and kooky pop sound is the perfect soundtrack to it too. We’d scribbled down the phrase Bjork-esque long before we discover they’re also from Iceland.  Estonia’s own Dramamama follow, donning shades and Led Zeppelin-esque approach to rock. It goes down a storm here, but we can’t say they have much to offer by way of their own personality.

Not something you could accuse Costa Titch of, the South African rapper who is command of Cava Lava’s dark, box shaped environs, which are quite possibly modelled on the Ministry of Sound. Rapping over an addictive combination of old style Afrobeat and gloopy bass lines that are very much now, he’s inclusive and also pulls the only female-dominated crowd we see all weekend.  

It’s a great high to go out on, and despite feeling blistered and slightly sad to be getting on our free tram back to the hotel, we can only hope that the same will never be said of the festival itself. Roll on TMW  2023 – and fingers crossed it’ll take place in safer and happier circumstances.

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More about: Tallinn Music Week