"Creativity doesn't ask me what it should be like." Laylo on the nature of creativity, performing in Europe, and expectations for Sublimation

“Creativity doesn't ask me what it should be like.” Laylo — on the nature of creativity, performing in Europe, and expectations for Sublimation

On October 10 and 11, the Turkiston Palace of Arts will host the annual electronic music festival, Sublimation Festival. Heading into its fourth year, the organizers are increasingly focusing on a multi-genre format: the lineup is being expanded with new names from outside the rave scene, and a new international production team is joining the project — this time represented by the multimedia team Sila Sveta, the force behind light shows for The Weeknd, Drake, and other global stars.

Among the festival participants is singer Laylo Rikhsieva, familiar to our readers. In September, she performed in Kazakhstan, Germany, and England, and after returning home, she shared her thoughts on her approach to creating music and her observations about the industry with Georgy Shvanov, author of the music channel nukta.

— The tour went well. It's always interesting to see how people from other regions react to you. It was gratifying that even abroad, many people from Central Asia came. On this tour, I realized that no matter where you go, your compatriots will come to support your music.

— No, I work without a producer. There are only two people on the team: me and my manager. We were simply approached with offers from different countries at the same time, which caused the performances to naturally organize themselves into a kind of tour.

We were invited to Berlin by the Pop-Kultur festival itself, with support from the German Federal Foreign Office. They were scouting artists in Central Asia, and they liked my work. Probably largely because they were able to understand it thanks to the English language.

And if we take London, that was the Victoria and Albert Museum and its regular Friday Late events program. The curators leaned toward Central Asia, and our trip was sponsored by the Art and Culture Development Foundation of Uzbekistan. Since my album touches on the topic of continuity and heritage, I fit right in with the mood there (The Victoria and Albert Museum is dedicated to decorative arts and design — ed. note).

— Actually, everything is very individual. For myself, I noticed: if you want to work for the foreign market, you shouldn't isolate yourself from it.

Don't think of the Humo Arena or a certain number of streams as your goals — it's better to think about the artist's concept itself and the ideas you are passionate about. Where do you want to go, where do you see yourself in 5–10 years?

The focus should be placed not on your personal brand and promotion method, but on what you actually create. So that it isn't a superficial product that you slapped together on the knee in five minutes trying to wring a profit out of it. Don't be afraid to dive into deep stories and grow as an artist with your own distinct signature.

Our market is quite young in terms of alternative creativity, so all of this is just beginning to emerge and bear some fruit. And to surprise people abroad, you need to offer something sufficiently deep.

— To be honest, when I got into Batyr Lab, “Roots” was already at the mixing stage. All that was left was to finish the mixing and mastering and send it to platforms. In Batyr Lab, of course, there was mentorship, and very versatile at that. The main lectures were dedicated not so much to working on the track itself, but to working with it after it is ready: how to promote it, pitch it, release it, what venues to perform at, and so on. Just what I needed.

As part of the residency, I received a grant, thanks to which I managed to finish the album and bring everything into a final presentable form. The mentors did not interfere with the idea itself under any circumstances, and they didn't say, “No, you need to change this, do that.” On the contrary, they supported us and our independence. Real mentors should behave that way to some extent.

For me, it was very refreshing, especially compared to Uzbekistan. Here, often even people who have nothing to do with the music industry start teaching you how to write music. For example, you go to videographers, ask them to help shoot something, and they say, “You need to fix the song like this so I can shoot it for you like that.” That's strange. I think everyone should focus on their own work. And in Kazakhstan, I liked the respect for your artistic vision.

It's great when mentors can give advice, but at the same time clearly define the boundary: there is advice, and there is the artist's idea. You don't have to change it just because the mentor has a different opinion. This was presented and voiced very beautifully. At that moment, I realized that in Kazakhstan, you don't necessarily have to constantly listen to what people tell you. In things you are truly confident about, you can stand your ground, and most likely, it will work.

That's what happened with the song “Half-Blood”. When I was making it, there were many doubts. I remember very well how one of our mentors, while I was sitting and working hard on the album, asked: “What will you do if it gives you nothing, if it doesn't blow up?” I looked at him and said: “It can't fail to blow up.” I was that confident specifically in “Half-Blood”. I wasn't even scared by the thought that it wouldn't blow up. What does that even mean? A billion views, getting onto the Billboard Chart?

I didn't need that kind of result.

I wanted to see that my idea — from the music to the video — works.

That the success of “Home” wasn't a fluke, and that I have a calculated system, which “Half-Blood” confirmed to me as an author. (After its release, the track instantly went viral on Yandex Music through Recommendations of My Wave, thanks to which Laylo got onto the UCHQUN playlist.)

— It just turns out that way. I can't say about myself: “No, I will only release songs about social issues.” There is no such intention. Apparently, it really is just such a period right now. At the same time, I don't believe that all art should be like that. There are wonderful works written about feelings, and they are still beautiful, in demand, etc.

I don't know myself what I will write about next. Unfortunately, creativity doesn't ask me what it should be like. Usually, something drops on you, and you have to figure out how to make the idea take material form. The idea comes regardless of your desire.

— Yes, of course, this is very close to me because of such a phenomenon as synesthesia. That's when your senses and perception organs are linked. In my case, it works like this: I see music in my head first, and only then can I voice it. Or vice versa: if I heard a melody first, then a picture comes that needs to be drawn. It works both ways, so I can't separate one from the other.

Although creating visuals takes me much more time than if I delegated everything to large production studios, when the idea is so clear in my head, I'd rather spend the time and do everything myself. Otherwise, you still have to wait, make compromises. It won't be my idea anymore, but a collaboration.

— When I encounter certain situations or see certain people, I can perceive them in a different form. Finding myself in certain places with their own atmosphere, I can interpret it into some physical phenomenon.

For example, we recently went to a Korean music festival in Tashkent, and there were so many people there that I got a feeling, right like a picture before my eyes, that I was standing on a pile of pearl beads. That's a rather atypical perception, most likely also connected somehow to synesthesia. It's just that on an everyday level, it's quite strange to feel if you don't create anything out of it afterward. It can be used as a cool metaphor.

— I won't lecture about artificial intelligence. Those who want to use it can use it.

In my case, if you start using AI to create art, you deprive yourself of the main thing — the pleasure of the process. Because AI gives a very fast result, easily and without obstacles. Unless, of course, you call the number of generations a complex path of creativity... It seems that the value of such creativity begins to decline.

Of course, there are generated works that seem cool, but however selfish it might sound, I make music because it brings me joy. Even creating the visual part also brings me pleasure. At the same time, there are moments when you really can resort to AI.

For example, to hand off boring tasks that only waste your creative resource on operational, organizational activities. I use AI plugins when I want to extract a sound I like from a track instead of doing it manually. Or to slightly change the sound of a track that already exists, but I need some more specific sound that I can't find. In that vein, I can involve AI, but not for it to generate ideas for me.

— At the moment, I can't say that I am deeply immersed in electronic music — on the contrary, I've been swept into the world of live music. And although my album is also partly recorded in an electronic key, my band and I are completely reworking the songs from it specifically for the live format. I like that every performance differs from the previous one, because you are no longer just working in software, but gathering at the venue, experimenting with musicians, changing the track, adapting it.

My performance is planned to be very live: there will be strings, a flute... In the original, these instruments aren't in the recording, but it's just fun for us to add new ones every time — depending on which musicians want to join our lineup.

As for future plans in electronic music, I don't know. If an idea is born in my head that sounds like electronic music, then it's quite likely that I'll jump into that world too.

I am a hostage to my own ideas. Until they come to me, I can't even start thinking in that direction.

— Yes, there are such artists. In fact, I've already recorded such a feat together with the group OnBr. It might not be long before we present something to the public. The guys remind me of twenty one pilots, but without the drama. OnBr are very kind, there is a lot of light in them, and at the same time they are very talented and original. Spiritually, they resonate with me most of all; we are made of the same stardust.

I really like Saya Musa. She is very original, unusual, and she has such a shamanic energy. That is also close to me, because I have always felt quite detached from the earth. I also like the recent direction of Rishat — with the appearance of a songwriter, very cool tracks started coming out. His performative qualities and strong songwriting base together spawned a powerful synergy that makes him a very strong artist.