Issue 104 / October 2019

INTERSECTIO
Matt Hogarth of Eggy Records reflects on a cultural exchange
that saw a bit of Liverpool transplanted to Russia and a creative
community on the banks of the Volga.
If you told me last year that I would have accompanied three
bands for a state-sponsored trip to Russia, I would’ve said
that you were deluded. For almost two years I had been
trying to convince my previous girlfriend to go to Moscow
for a week of Communist history, ogling brutalist architecture
and visiting the resting place of Lenin, arguing how this was
time better spent than on a beach holiday. This was, somewhat
unsurprisingly, to no avail. So when I got a call out of the blue
from Kevin McManus (one of Liverpool’s soundest people and
mastermind of the Capital of Culture bid back in 2008) asking
if I wanted to pick some bands from my label, Eggy Records, to
go and play in Russia, I bit his hand off.
The thought of some of Eggy’s finest left unsupervised in
Russia was enough to fill my heart with dread – which is why
my presence as chaperone was justified. Having managed to
stow away with EYESORE & THE JINX, STORES (formed from
the ashes of Jo Mary and Hannah & The Wick Effect) and friend
of the eggs, ALI HORN, I’m soon lost in a swirl of forms and
passport details. The trip has been organised under the banner
of the UNESCO Creative Cities network. As a UNESCO City of
Music, Liverpool is committed to helping expand the reach of
the city’s musical identity around the world, showing that there’s
far more to it than The Beatles et al. While in Russia, the bands
will perform at two events in different cities – one of them in
Ulyanovsk, a UNESCO City of Literature – as representatives of
Liverpool’s current music scene.
The run up to the trip feels like a surreal fever dream. Russia
could perhaps be seen as one of the few enigmatic frontiers
in Europe. A vast landmass so large it’s home to almost 200
nationalities and races, both native and from bordering countries.
The Iron Curtain may have fallen over 30 years ago but its
shadow still hangs heavy, with a large number of westerners
not really knowing what Russia is actually like. From the
Novichok attacks, which were allegedly the work of Russian
secret services, to a regressive attitude towards LGBTQ+, British
perceptions of the country are still mixed.
The mood in the group is a little giddy. As our Aeroflot flight
touches down in Moscow, the hammer and sickle badges on the
stewards’ brilliant red blazers flicker golden in the light. We are
met at the airport by Alex, without whom we would probably
still be there today, lost among commemorative Vladimir Putin
plates and surviving on a diet harvested exclusively from vending
machines. “You all have such beautiful names,” Alex says once
we’ve introduced ourselves to him. “Samuel Paul Warren: it’s
perhaps the most beautiful name I’ve heard.”
Having educated Alex on how Liverpool is far better
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