… Is a bit of a witch. And the latest album, Ya Molodaya, is magically good: a mixture of synthetic and organic materials that sinks its polished little claws inside your head and tortures you with its strange beauty.
You listen to her as you’re barreling down the dark streets of Kiev: Protasiv Yar down and down, turning left somewhere in the neighbourhood of Palats’ Ukraiina metro station, upward toward Leo Tolstoy Square. You see the lights of the city, the way civilization shivers like a sleepy child atop the bloody altar of time. This is how Ukraine makes me feel: the present day is like a fragile skin. Katya Chilly’s voice channels the heartbeat of memory pulsing underneath.
Ukrainian folk music, I think, is a bridge between the living and the dead. I see my cousin on the other side sometimes. It’s weird – the way she still alive for me in music, the way music, particularly Katya’s music, resurrects her. Or maybe not so weird – she was a musician too, after all.
Oh, and here’s a lovely video of the title song from the new album, as presented by M1, the music channel: