by David Wilikofsky
Svitlana Nianio is a bit of enigma. Her Wikipedia biography begins “little is known about Svitlana Nianio’s background”, and internet searches turn up little more. Nianio (whose real name is Svitlana Okhrimenko) was a key player in the underground scene in Kyiv in the late 1980s and 1990s, recording solo and as part of a number of groups, before largely disappearing from the public eye in the early 2000s. There’s been a recent resurgence of interest in her work, fueled by a series of reissues and Nianio’s return to music making and live performance. Transilvania Smile, 1994, the latest, documents some of her earliest solo work. Written as the accompaniment for a theater performance and left sitting in the artist’s archives for decades, it’s a stunning piece of work from a singular artist.
The story of Transilvania Smile began in Germany. Nianio visited the country multiple times in 1994, gigging throughout the city and meeting members of the local arts scene. She began working with Pentamonia, a theatrical and musical troupe based in Cologne. They created a show together, one where the group used flashlights to cast shadows on the walls as Nianio’s compositions and improvisations accompanied them. After the performances, Nianio received an offer to record the show’s music. Though the recording sessions happened, the results were never released in their entirely. A stray track or two found their way onto a compilation; other tracks were later rerecorded for Nianio’s future solo endeavors.
Hearing the music itself, it’s baffling that it never saw the light of day. The album consists of seven “episodes”, each featuring Nianio’s voice accompanied by either piano or harmonium. Opener “Episode III” is Nianio at her most mysterious, a halting minor key piano melody accompanying her soaring vocals; squint and you might hear hints of contemporary legends like Grouper or Laurel Halo. The rest of the tracks lean heavier on the harmonium, the music feeling more rooted in Eastern European folk tradition. “Episode I” features Nianio’s voice darting between accordion-like runs of notes; “Episode VI” features a lilting waltz melody. The music easily stands on its own, but I have no doubt it worked perfectly with Pentamonia’s choreography. Some tracks seem to rush forward with abandon, others flicker like shadows on the wall; Nianio composed this music with motion in mind. Even though those original performances are lost to the sands of time, this music itself will paint a million pictures in your mind.