Zariia makes records, and it holds residencies. People are invited one at a time, and there is no schedule and no cohort. A residency here is a span of time and a frame. There is no place and no money in it.
Most residencies offer a room, a stipend and a city. This one offers none of them, which is the first thing to say about it. What it does offer: a bounded stretch of time, a frame to work inside, the instruments the label has built, and somebody at the other end of the correspondence who reads what you send.
The shape is not modesty. A label with no releases and no money that announced a funded programme would be describing something it cannot do. What follows is what it can do.
The residency happens wherever you already are. Nothing is provided and nothing is travelled to, at any point, including at the end of it.
This is not about convenience. A residency that requires a place selects for whoever can leave their life for a month, which in practice filters by money, by care work, and by who is permitted to travel alone. Take the place away and most of that filter goes with it. It does not remove all of it. Uninterrupted hours and somewhere to work are unevenly distributed too, and claiming otherwise would repeat the error further in.
This is the part that decides the rest.
A training arrives with settled ideas about what performance is and what production is. Those ideas are useful, and they also set a limit on what gets tried. The odd work is likelier to come from a practice that never picked them up: someone who makes games, or writes, or builds things, with a sense of music but no training in the shape it is supposed to take.
A trained player is not a lesser one, and this is not a claim about people. It is a claim about what a training does to a practice, and it cuts the other way as often as not.
The residency is the long, quiet part. A session is a room; it lasts a day, and it is where a record comes from. They are two different things and they are meant to be — a session has its own invitation, made separately, and it is not the back end of a residency.
A residency is not a promise of a session. Some will lead to one. Most of a residency is somebody working alone, and that is what is being offered.
Unpaid work in the arts is usually a way of getting something for nothing. One rule keeps this from being that.
During the residency the label is not a patron and makes no claim to be. That is the trade.
No list, no page, no announcement, no roster. If your work becomes a record you are credited on it as a musician. That is what you did. Resident is only what you were called, and it does not go on the record.
There is no schedule and there are no groups. A residency starts when somebody is invited and runs its own span. People are invited one at a time, as I find them, and no two residencies need to line up.
Nothing to apply to, and no form to fill, now or later.
An application is a written performance of yourself, and choosing people by how well they describe themselves is what this label is trying not to do. The first residents will be people already close to the project. That has a cost: going by people already known is the mechanism that makes rooms narrow. Saying so does not fix it, and a form would not have fixed it either.
If you have read this far and think it is meant for you, the contact page exists. There is no process behind it, and a reply may take a while.