FROM THE ARCHIVES: Missives from the Mosh-pit, 2015.

For obvious reasons, there is not a whole lot going on in live music in Russia right now. So, from the more carefree time of five years ago, here are two reviews of prominent Russian alt rock exponents – STIGMATA and TRAKTOR BOWLING – who played live at the Red Club in central Moscow in the winter of 2015. (I only wrote these for a very low circulation school newsletter – so I am not regurgitating anything too much by posting them here)

STIGMATA, AT RED, 21^ST NOVEMBER.

Burly, and bored, the security men manning the gates of Red nightclub seemed reluctant the let the crowd in. We had been hanging about in the dank November evening for too long, pacing around the arty boutiques and fancy restaurants, and it was past seven already. Most of the fans were buying their tickets –for the Stigmata Legion Tour – on the night. I had claimed mine a month or so earlier, and had needed to write the band’s name in both English and Russian before the sellers in the kiosk understood what I was asking for. (This is clearly a cult band therefore). Then, when the gatekeepers gave us the all-clear, they squinted at my ticket for some time as though they were worried that it might be for Elton John or something.

Young following.

Maybe they had a point: the three hundred or so Stigmata devotees must have still been in their cots when the band was launched at the turn of the century. Fresh-faced and flushed with expectation as they were, I caught myself hoping that the show would be good for them, as for some it may have been their first rock gig.

In the still chilly darkness of the club, the fans, anonymous in their indifferent denims and checked shirts, just kept on coming. We all stood about for a good hour gazing at the stylised `S` logo on the stage. Next to me a lanky guy in a Papa Roach t-shirt sucked on some kind of scented E-cigarette while a circle of baseball capped boys, their leader in a `666` sweatshirt, passed the time in the manner of ice-hockey team supporters by calling out the band’s name.

When the backstage screen lit up with Stigmata in black and white and they materialised, the walls and floor vibrated and the crowd began to jab the air with their fingers to the beat of the grinding noise.

Doomsayers from St Petersburg.

A five piece string and drum combo, Stigmata emerged from the rival town of St Petersburg. This fact, along with their occult laden moniker, would suggest a dark-wave Gothic type of music. Their actual sound though is a fast-paced and impassioned one: the sort that encourages a section of the audience to coalesce into a rugby-type scrum as the night progresses. You have to take a look at their translated lyrics to see the darker picture behind it all. What follows is lifted at random from some verses in – brace yourself- Psalms of Conscious Martyrdom (2010):

`Shield your skin for it shall peel/see the hungry jackals come and tear you limb by limb/ burn the day, darkened light`

(Er, no thanks! I’ve got a dentists appointment at five!)

Efficient.

Artyom Lotskih, the goatee bearded and paunchy lead singer, has one leg in a caste but gets on with the job without tiring. He belts out a bass growl and a rasp – signature clichés of the metal core genre which critics bracket the band in. Sometimes he sings melodies, and when he does he has a rather pleasant quavering voice. The person however, who introduces the songs and addresses the crowd is the rhythm guitarist, Taras Umansky.

Vladimir Zinovyev’s energetic drumming holds the whole performance together and the band, knowing this, have set him up on a raised platform. Then the guitarists provide some needed spectacle by goofing about: the bassist Denis Kichenko boasts a fret board with lights along it and the lead guitarist, who calls himself Duke, headbangs over a triangular guitar with his well-kept shoulder-length locks splayed about him. You get the impression that he rather wishes he were a member of the band Europe or something. Both twirl about like dervishes in the red and blue spotlights with their cordless instruments.

The songs came and went without much to distinguish them. Some were given a pensive aspect, such as the well-known Sentyabr by being introduced by a recorded piano motif. Then half way through their two hour set they incorporated some techno style interludes to their pieces which worked quite well.

This was a workman-like set from Stigmata. They left, without observing the convention of having introduced the band members, but after having their picture taken in front of the crowd – the same crowd who earlier had caught the bottles of half drunk water they tossed to them as though it were holy.

As we took our leave, I was pleased to see a lady, perhaps in her sixties, threading her way through the clusters of teens. `Whoa! ` I thought. `That’s cool! Someone here older than me! `

That was before I realised that she was most likely someone’s grandmother, here to pick one of the fans up and drive them home.

Tracktor Bowling – at Red, October 3^rd.

The bells of the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour chimed just as I darted out of Kropotkinskaya metro exit into a crisp early October evening.

I was headed to altogether different type of sonic distraction: no sooner had I clapped eyes on the poster in the metro – advertising a visit by Tracktor Bowling to showcase their new Byezkonechnost album -than I had snapped up a ticket.

Having appeared on a compilation CD of numetal legends from Russia, which also boasted the likes of Stigmata and Amatory, they were already known to me. Besides, I tell myself, seeing Russian rock acts keeps me in touch with the world some of my students inhabit – and, since the genre has remained in stasis since the nineties, does so without making me feel too much like an ancient interloper.

Enduring.

Tracktor Bowling themselves are hardly a baby band: by this time next year they will have been rocking for two decades – a fact alluded to in the title of their new album (which means, something like, `never ending`). Wikipedia has even dubbed the group `the leaders of Moscow alternative rock`. Indeed, for a comparison you would need to look at the British Skunk Anansie or the German band Guano Apes, although they lack the balls of the first band and the originality of the latter.

What pushed them ahead, however, was the addition of Louise Gevorkyan as the lead singer in the nearly noughties. This thirty two year old Kaplan born Armenian, whose photogenic aquiline looks are one of the band’s unique selling points, studied music and teaches singing herself. A busy woman, she divides her time between Traktoring and fronting another outfit called Louna who, with their punkish socially conscious stance, have been making waves in America.

The gathering.

A mixed sex stream of black t-shirt and hooded topped twenty-somethings began to fill up the Red club at Yakmanskaya Nab on the riverside. Anonymous thrash rock played in the background and people’s trainers glowed in the ultraviolet light and I was relieved to see that, among them, there were also some older, nondescript types who had turned up to see what all the fuss was about.

There was a stampede to the front as the lights dimmed and the band’s logo flashed up on the screen behind it. Then, as the fans chanted `Track-tor track-tor` a siren sounded and we were then treated to a slick series of slides showing the band through the ages: a sort of early anniversary celebration. Then: there they were.

Rock chick.

Lousine now sports-bottle blonde hair and cuts a chunky figure in her cut off black jeans and Rage Against The Machine T-shirt. The men –Mult, Vil and Prof, all tattoos and short hair, looked like the seasoned musicians they are, but did not muster the same kind of attention as the singer.

For all their `alternative` trappings what Tracktor Bowling trade in is Power Metal: hearty ballads which sometimes sit alongside more shouted numbers. They only sing in Russian and among the few songs I recognised was `Cherta` (`The Edge`) and another one which translates as `Walking on Glass`. The crowd, though, not only knew the songs but where belting out their own duets to them. Loiusine, with the engaging manner of a tomboy skater, knows her audience well. Her pogoing and the later slam dunking enlivened a self-punishing two and a half hour set. After the encore they did not wait to commune with their followers but disappeared as – and this custom is unique to Russian rock gigs – some of them called out `Spa-si-ba! Spa-s-ba! `. Soon the besuited security men set about shepherding us from the building. I walked out of the club infected with the energy of it all, and with the sense that I had witnessed something of a phenomenon.

VOT ETA DA!

Seven Significant Signposts of 2019.

In terms of publishing, it was cheering to see that Karo Publishers in St Petersburg have made ALEXANDER BELYAEV’S THE AMPHIBIAN available to the Anglophone world – a work of speculative fiction that speaks anew to our own age of biological engineering. Let us hope that this marks a new trend of reprinting works in English that are not just the routine Golden and Silver Age standard
In music, the band to watch out for next year must be SUNWALTER. They have spent much of 2019 working hard on tours of Eastern Europe making their distinctive brand of melodic science fiction themed pomp rock known to the world. I wish them the break they deserve. Meanwhile, IC3PEAK have become figureheads of youthful opposition with their innovative Witch House sound. Long may they keep this up! That the Russian Rock scene proper is not altogether extinct is evidenced by PILOT who still stage raucous but thoughtful alt rock commentaries on the 21st century to crowds of loyal follwers.
Cinema. Out of nowhere came the gem LOST ISLAND (Potteryanni Ostrov) – a dreamlike curio that, behind its apparent whimsy, had a point to make about Russian isolationism. In more mainstream releases, the thriller BREAKAWAY (OTRYV) demonstrated that Russia can produce a tense and effective edge-of-the seat affair to rival anything that comes from Hollywood. Then this was also the year in which the big screen shook its fist: the film adaptation of Dmitri Glukhovsky’s TEXT held up a mirror to present day Russian society and created an emblem for these times – and not just for Russia.

WISHING ALL MY READERS A PEACEFUL AND PROGRESSIVE NEW YEAR! From GENERATION P: The one-stop shop for all things of promise to come out of Modern Russia.

Remembrance of the past kills all present energy and deadens all hope for the future – Maxim Gorky.

TRAFFIC JAMS? WE KNOW A SONG ABOUT THAT, DON’T WE? GOROD 312 live at the Mumy Troll music bar, December 7th.

Kyrgyztan’s local heroes excite loyal fans in a routine concert.

Silhouetted against the red and purple floodlights Masha Illeeva, the modelesque lead guitarist of GOROD 312 sways and sings along to the robust pop-rock classics of her band, a picture of joyful absorption,infecting the audience with the same fleeting delirium….

Despite being more of a rocker than popper, I have followed GOROD 312 for over a decade in whilst in Russia. This merry band of talented Kyrgyz, with their distinctive act, represent something vital that has come out of the noughties.
GOROD 312 hail from Bishek, the picturesque capital of Kyrgyzstan – their very name references the dialling code of that city. Now based in Moscow they have, over the last 18 years conjured up five well received albums, featured on many films and TV soundtracks and become a household name throughout the C.I.S countries.

The band comprises of the 49-year-old songstress Sveltlana Nazarenko (Aya), Dmitir Pritula (Dima) the keyboardist and backing vocalist with the bassist Leonid Pritula. The main string merchant is Maria Illeeva (who, if you want the gossip, is married to Dima). Of late some newcomers have joined the retinue – such as Aleksander Il’Chuck (Alex).

They sing of traffic jams, the changing of the seasons, urban life and heartache and, brimming with exuberant chutzpah, offer a live act in which they seem to take genuine relish. With sheer musical aplomb they fuse rock, blues and dance music and deal very much is songs, which are led by Aya. I tend to view the gropu as an Eastern Blondie.
Conventional but rousing.
Despite the 3,000 rouble tickets – the most I have paid for a gig in Moscow -Mumy troll Music Bar soon filled up with unpretentious punters, most in their thirties.
The first sign of the band’s imminent arrival was the flashing up of a chic logo on the screen behind the stage. (The rest of the visual accompaniment turned out to be a disappointment, consisting of a rehash of their old music videos).

With an extra lead guitar they functioned as a six piece with a fuller and more detailed sound. Otherwise they look unaltered by time (they might have been the same people I saw live five or so years back) and deliver compositions which match the quality of their live recordings.

Festooned in silver necklaces, Aya is an engaging frontwoman. Sometimes she would appear to be singing to individual members of the audience. She also encouraged us to sing along – now the women, now the men. In fact, in this respect the band were poles apart from Delfin, who I saw this time last year and found to be somewhat remote. (The other musicians in the band did seem to be a little less involved though).

Later there would be a drum solo, another cosy routine and one which I quite enjoyed this time. Meanwhile, they strutted their stuff though a lot of cherished standards – Fonari, Pomaginye, Gipnos (a rare duet),the anthemic Devochka, Katorya Hotelya Schastya and of course that karaoke standard Ostanus. They showcased a few new numbers including a lachrymose one about friendship which had the people around me hugging each other. What was lacking was the ever catchy Nevidimka (Invisible Woman) as well as some of their edgier alt rock pieces.

It proved an average set but one which after an hour and a half of it had us wanting more. Their main trick – which constitutes the very stuff of effective pop – is to make cheeriness seem cool. They acknowledge some reality in their upbeat ditties, but as they play you want to step into their world.

Nevidimka (Invisible Woman)by Gorod 312.

ROARING TRADE: PILOT LIVE AT GLAV CLUB, MOSCOW NOVEMBER 9TH.

Is this much-loved band the saviour of the Russian rock genre?

This November Saturday night proved to be as grey as the preceding October and I hoped that this band, new to me, could buoy me up – in particular as those last two live gigs had left me unmoved.
They did.

Pilot [short /i/and beat on the second syllable] were recommended to me during a rare chance encounter with a self-confessed Russian rock fan who was also a Russian himself. This seemed a good enough omen in itself.

The Pied Piper’s of St Pete’s.
The second good omen came when I tried to get my ticket. For various reasons I buy my tickets in person over the counter. My trusty usual kiosk told me that all the tickets had already been pocketed. I got lucky at another place however.
Then at the Glav Green Club itself I encountered a queue on my way in and, along this, wideboys were pushing last-minute offers for anyone who had turned up on the off-chance.

The gig going community – and this night it did feel like a community – became so populous that we had to wait our turns to get in and out of the venue.

In the lobby meanwhile, the band’s merchandise – the lemon yellow wooly hats and scarves -were getting swallowed up faster than the stall holders could unbox new batches of them.
After twenty-two years of strumming and pounding, Pilot have the capacity to really pull the crowds.

Alt rock institution.

Conceived and organised in the rainy second capital of St Petersburg by Ilya `Chort`Knabengof in 1997, the band, first under the moniker Military Jane, have honed their own local strain of hard indie rock. This incorporates folkish and punkish influences but within an industrial sensibility.
What’s more, their Russian nationality seems to be encoded into these sonic emanations. Throughout their existence they have been transmorgifying into a unique brand, complete with a recognisable cartoon logo, numerous fan sites, endless photo shoots and so on.
In this tour they were revisiting an album called `Fish, Mole and Pig` which was first produced 15 years back.

Anthems for the 21st Century.
The doors of the concert venue were unlocked at 7 pm and the four piece materialised about an hour and a half later. There was no warm up act.
Following a shamanic sounding introductory soundtrack, the drummer, Nikita Belozyorov, arrived shirtless. The bass guitarist, Sergei Vyrvrich, a relaxed tall man with a floppy blonde fringe, came on next. Then Ilya himself appeared – wearing shades, which he never removed. The keyboardist was invisible (supplied by digital means, I presume).

They compensated for their nondescript appearance with much use of back projections to underscore the songs themes. Not that it was easy to see that much anyway, through the vineyard of raised phones, scarfs and girlfriends sat on shoulders.

Their opener was a declaration of intent just called `Rock`. Many in the audience seemed to have anticipated this as they held up pictures of the horned fist salute with the words `Rock` written beneath.
The next number spoke of their civic pride for their home city as the backdrop showcased it all with shots of the spires and waterways of that city. There were songs about the sex industry, the Hindu religion, psychopaths (`Nye Chelovek`) and one titled `Terrorism`.

Pilot, without offering leadership, could not be called escapist and do seem willing to confront the questions of the day.
That said, some of their compositions showed unashamed sentimentality. One involved a visual tour through old family albums and another, celebrating the band’s longevity, showcased children’s drawings from yesteryear as balloons dropped down from the ceiling.

Quite singular.
Like t.A.T.u, Pilot prove a more impressive experience live than in recorded format. Belozyorov’s tom -toms, put high in the mix, are a great boon in the upbeat ambience they create. In fact, Pilot dish out quite a detailed sound with keyboard melodies and guitar digressions aplenty.

I find it difficult to twin this outfit with any that I know in the West. Pilot owe a clear debt to the grunge of the Nineties. Otherwise they might be understood as a more slick version of their compatriots Posledni Tanki V Paris.

If `Russian rock` constitutes a genre in its own right, and many contend that it does, then Pilot might be said to be one of its last remaining popular exponents.
Sure, there are bands like Louna and IC3Peak, but the former seem to belong to an international nu metal trend and the latter to an international dark wave hip-hop tendency. Pilot are Russian-Russian.

My kind of crowd.
The feeling in the air of this enjoyable gig had a lot to do with the punters. In their thirties and forties and not dressed to impress, they exuded cheery bonhomie. For example, they offered to hold my beer for me as I tried to take pictures. I saw no fights break out.

We all downed quite a few Tuborg’s together with a lot of help from the – let me say – angelic bar staff. I got a real sense of this being an audience who were not just here to see the band, but here to say: Here we all are! Just look at us all!

`Osyen` by Pilot.

Main image:Flavara.com

Lullabies for Adults: MEGAPOLIS live at the Mumy Troll music bar in Moscow, October 26th.

Respected vintage soft rockers were just a little too tranquil for my satisfaction.

Whenever I set foot in the spick and span basement lounge that is Mumy Troll Music Bar, the question of just what I am doing there comes up.

In the male toilets there you come across the legend, painted on the wall -`Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll`. This has always struck me as ironic as, of all the venues I know in Moscow, this must be the least `rock and roll` of all of them, before we even mention the other two options on that list!

I was once asked by a polite doorman there to remove my leather jacket before entering. This was no bikers jacket, just an ordinary black leather affair. As it contained my money,I had to spend the evening with it slung over my arm.

This select establishment exists for the cocktail sipping and sea food chomping promising-career-and-smug-married set who like to be cosseted by upmarket pop tones.

So what am I doing here? Well,they do put on some significant acts. Julia Volkova, who I saw there some years ago laid one of the most enjoyable live events I have yet attended and Gorod 312, Russia’s finest pop act are due to play there soon.

Mock Halloween.

The dying embers of October had become lukewarm and moist and there was much sniffling all round and general listlessness among the punters.

The bar was pushing a Halloween pitch based around a tacky but pleasurable medical theme. The bar women were demonic nurses and the bar men had slashes and stitches across their faces. Above the bar blood transfusion bags hung and a skeleton sat in the corner on a wheelchair.

The honey trap gals touting American Whiskey were also out in force. All peroxide hair and suspenders, with shot glasses on the ready hanging on their belts, they made a beeline for me, knowing a lonely guy when they saw one. But I was waiting for Megapolis.

The clientelle, who seemed a notch more salubrious than usual this evening, seemed nonchalant with little evidence of excitement, however.

Success Story.

Megapolis have been in business for 33 years, headed by Oleg Nesterov, and with 10 albums to their credit they are a Soviet born rock band who have been granted a `charmed life` according to All Music. Com. Thus they appeared in a key film of the 1990s – (Nash Chelovek V Samreno with Tatyana Skerodhadova ) and sang a song for Boris Yeltsin. Some of their pieces have become a part of Russian folk culture such as the KarlMarxSchdat – with its gentle mockery of a communist utopia.

The band also enjoy a unique German following and visit that country often and translate some of their songs into the German tongue.

A recent pet project of Nesterov’s -and one which this gig was showcasing – constitutes The Life of Planets. This double album attempts to provide soundtracks to those Soviet films that never got screened or completed when The Thaw came to an abrupt end. This bright scheme is even receiving some coverage in the West.

Scenes From Provincial Life.

The four piece strolled onto the stage at about half nine. Nesterov sported an acoustic guitar and – sorry if I’ve got this wrong – I think the lead guitarist was Dmitri Chervyakov and the bassist was Mikhail Gabolayev. Dressed in dark clothing and players more than performers they lacked any visual impact.

Nesterov, however, does radiate benevolence like some sort of lean, tanned and well-preserved amiable wizard.

They also had a back projections and these depicted shots of Sixties era town life in Russia – forest picnics and such like.

Guitar orchestra.

The well-rehearsed accompanying music was folk-soft rock complete with that husky and comatose vocal delivery style which is the hallmark of Russian songs of this genre.

Still, some real power emerged from this small string and drum outfit, particularly in the crescendos. Chervyakov (if it was he) had a good line in ethereal slide guitar and I found myself paying attention to the actual music rather than just abandoning my body to the rhythmic flow as is my usual wont.

At one point Nesterov took to conducting as though for an orchetra – as if to underscore the unique selling point of this band, which is its musical virtuosity. Megapolis are Serious About Pop and devoted craftsmen within the genre. In this regard they remind me a tad of the British band XTC.

In fact the very name Megapolis, with its futuristic high-rise overtones, seems like a strange mismatch. Megapolis may be modern and urbane – but they are not moderne and not urban!

Despite all of Nesterov’s intimate chats between songs the audience response remained lukewarm, or perhaps they were just chilling. For myself, I was finding the mellowness of it all a bit cloying and the implied nostalgia for Soviet times a bit suspect. Gimme some sex, drugs and rock and roll!

I have no idea if the rest of the audience agreed. They were giving nothing away.

WHAT’S ALL THIS THEN!? AUKTYON LIVE AT THE GLAV CLUB, MOSCOW ON OCTOBER 6TH.

Perhaps I should have split the scene when I spied the tuba on-stage….

If I had to name the most lugubrious song that I can think of then it would have to be The House of the Rising Son by The Animals which they released in Britain in the sixties.

This soul-sapping song was the one being played by a warm up DJ as I made my way into the Glav Club in south Moscow to find out about AUKTYON.

As I shuffled through the security checkpoint, having had to divest myself of all my valuables and then graduated to the garderobe area were the process was repeated, I was, for some reason, reminded of a time I had gone to visit an inmate at Strangeways prison many years ago. Perhaps it was just that baleful ballad, with its sense of entrapment, that had put me in this frame of mind. Yet it was fitting.

Tuba.

The DJ responsible for this soundtrack, however, was something of a discrepancy. As the 800 or so audience of hipsters of all, ages piled into the auditorium he span a string of sixties Western classics – all of which were in contrast to what was to ensue.

After treating us to The Doors he exited to polite applause and then we had a chance to look at the stage. The backdrop was an old-fashioned curtain rather than the now mandatory projection. Nor was there any evidence of dry ice to get us ready. Then I spied a tuba on the stage among other brass instruments. A tuba! Hmmm…

The Munsters.

I counted about nine members of AUKTYON including three brass horn worriers, a willowy keyboardist, the bassist, the lead guitarist and the man leading the parade…who, well we’ll come to that.

None of these personnel were screen idol material – unless you include the likes of Lon Chaney in that definition.

Leonid Fyodorov, a shapeless and bespectacled man, could have been a software developer as he crouched over his guitar facing sideways to the audience.

Oleg Garkusha, a thick-set hunchback in a spangled jacket and white gloves,put me in mind of Barry Humphries’s alter ego Les Patterson. He functioned as the frontman and I kept expecting him to burst into song. Instead he tottered about the stage shaking some kind of tubular rattle like a man in the grip of delirium tremens. Once in a while bark something into the microphone or declaim something between sets.

It seems that Garkusha constitutes one of those band members who, like Andrew Ridgeley from Wham, just `provide a presence`. But at least Ridgeley was beach-body ready….

Their own creation.

AUKTYON began in 1978 after being initiated by two college kids in St Petersburg – Fyodorov and Garkusha. They soon became a fixture of the influential Leningrad Rock club with their brand of art rock.

After all these years they can still draw an audience even though their sound has mutated from theatrical post-punk to central Asian tinged big band quasi-Jazz compositions, albeit retaining the thread of theatricality.

Mindless boogie.

Tonight they churned out a series of horn-heavy rhythmical numbers, most of which were quite long and many of which displayed false endings. At best they resembled some of the early excursions of Talking Heads and at other times I was reminded of the ska-punk of Distemper who I had seen live in Kazan a few years back. Their song `Doroga`, which I recognised, is an obvious classic but many others seemed indistinguishable from each other.

The Fyodorov’s crooning, whilst it may have been the blues voice of the perestroika era, only succeeded in reminding me that I would soon be on the screeching metro going home alone to an empty flat and with nothing but duties facing me the next wet day….

Mixed reception.

After each piece Garkusha did one of those circus performer bows where you cross and uncross your hands in front of your chest while bowing three times. The applause came, but the audience seemed to have divided into three camps. The true believers were the ones engaging in some energetic jiving. Then some looked just bored and the third camp was more tolerant and expectant yet a bit lost.

I do appreciate that AUKTYON have their very own late Soviet/post-Soviet jazz-ska-folk-dance-soundtrack which is by no means a copycat of anything Western that I can think of.

However, I was in the latter two camps. Call me superficial but I could have liked them more had they not been so unprepossessing in appearance; nor, as much as I embrace a lot of `dark` music, could I relate to their doleful tone.

Perhaps I just needed to knock back more of the 350 roubles a throw Tuborg’s, or become more of a jazzer….

They continued to honk and jitter about as I took my leave at quarter to eleven. On the way out I noticed that pamphlets by Colonel Gaddafi were being sold alongside tha band’s merchandise and then I became enveloped in the sleet of the October night….

Auktyon: `Moya Lyubov` (Live in St Petersburg, 2011

RABBLE ROUSERS: BRIGADNI PODRYAD AT 16 TONS.

They came all the way from St Pete’s to prove that Punk’s Not Dead (in Russia at least).

Nearing the end of a murky summer, I found myself, for the first time, in the much vaunted 16 Tons music bar. The season had offered slim pickings in terms of live music, so I had come to witness the re-appearance of an old act. This was an act that had been forged in the stagnation of the U.S.S.R. Would they still have something to say now?

Polished bar – Gritty band.
16 Tons functions as a mock-up of a British pub of the kind anathema to me. The exterior features a facade of olde-worlde curtained windows making the place resemble some kind of fun fair attraction. Upstairs, on the inside, the place is all gleaming dark mahogany, fake shelves of books and art nouveau style lamps. In fact, it is just the sort of place that was erupting all over Britain in the nineties. Indeed, 16 Tons has been in business since 1996 and has gained a reputation for both decent live music and beer.
Brigadni Podryad – their name gets translated as `Team Contract` but carries the sense of `mercenaries` -have been torchbearers of `77 style garage punk since their Soviet baiting school days and might seem to be out-of-place in such a venue. Then again the band can claim responsibility for some 15 studio albums which contain some cherished classics the appeal of which extends beyond the punk rock cognoscenti.

All the old dudes.
People say that 16 Tons provides great beers, which are brewed on site. However, after around two hundred punters had rolled up I had to forget about following up my passable glass of white ale. Those who spent the gig propping up the bar were not going to budge an inch!

The online blurb for the band made something of the fact that they can still speak to Youth. In fact few of the audience members looked below thirty. I did see a hipster type donned in a `No Gods – Nor Masters` t-shirt but there were more portly old gents with silver hair. Some people – and this is a real sign that a band has become established – had brought their kids.

A more unusual posse of exhibitionists pushed their way to the front of the throng. They represented Tula – a fan club from 190 odd kilometers south of Moscow. They waved a big flag to announce this fact.

No nonsense rockers.
We stood around as electronic disco music played expectant tunes. When the group arrived they launched straight into an aggressive number beneath red and orange lights and with the lead singer sporting a foot long Mohican. They seemed meaner than their jolly japish videos suggest – but they would soon loosen up.
Maxim Koldaev wielded the sticks in an AC/DC t-shirt, the bearded Evgeni Hulpin was on bass guitar, Anatoly Sktyarenko was the lead guitarist and Alexander Lukyanov fronted as the lead verbalist but also guitar.

Adapted Punk.
Brigadni Podryad specialise in Sex Pistol’s style fast and heavy rock: they are to `77 what Primal Scream are to `66. The assorted rabble got what they had come for – a chance to let rip with some `in yer face` but melodic choruses. The ethos was that of fans at an ice hockey match chanting and singing in unison.
Realising, however, that you cannot base an entire set around `1-2-3-crash-bang-crash` the band do allow other musical genres into the punk party. Much of what they play might be called Power Pop. Otherwise there can be found traces of rap and folk and even, in one song, a bit of funk.

Talented performers.
Lukyanov has a versatile voice which he sometimes wastes on doing good impressions of Pistol’s era John Lydon, but sounds far better as himself. He also supplements this with clear and confident melodies picked out on his guitar which serve to enrich the grinding clatter.
The band worked the audience with merry banter between songs and the guitarist gurned at them as he crouched over his instrument in a baseball cap and small shades.
Then, to the side of the stage, in a cordoned of V.I.P area the bottle blondes cavorted in a practised way to the beat. I took these to be the band members loyal wives.

Only rock and roll.
They strummed and hollered their way through an hour and a half worth of anthems and ballads without so much as stopping for a sip of water.
Their songs included the well-known `Gitari`, the goofy `Punk Rock Uroki` (`Punk rock Lesson`) and `St Pete’s Rock and Roll`. Then there was the edifying ditty entitled `Ivan Fuck off` which the crowd relished singing along to. We also got treated to a piece in praise of Krasnodar.
Unless there is something I am missing, Brigadni Podryad, these days at least, are not so much concerned with affairs of state. They tell of everyday impatience, family life, towns and…rock and roll. Rock and Roll in particular.

I am not unused to rock gig scrums. Nevertheless, as I stumbled in a daze back to the Metro, I felt like some sort of Woody Allen character who had been corralled into a jolly knees up with a bunch of Hell’s Angels.
If only I had been able to get to the bar more often, it could have been so much different!

`Gitari` by Brigadni Podryad.

RITE OF SPRING: IC3PEAK LIVE AT THE GLAV CLUB, MOSCOW, 12TH MAY.

Hot and edgy, these young Halloween trick-or-treaters are on the cusp of a Dark Wave.

After six years the two twenty somethings called IC3PEAK have been drawing in a devoted young following, touring countries as diverse as China and Brazil and making conservative authorities break out in a cold sweat with their fresh recordings.

Discovering that they were to manifest and the prestigious Glav Club I made my way to Leninsky Prospekt on a Sunday evening populated with relaxed people on bicycles and scooters.

Demonic upstarts.

IC3PEAK comprise Nikolai Kostylev on synths, samples, sequencers and percussion and the 24-year-old Nastya Kreslina who provides the verbals and vocals. They have produced some four albums and `Witch House` is what commentators have dubbed their brand of vaporous and baleful lounge music and dance grooves, thus linking them with other bands from hip-hop traditions who toy with crepuscular iconography.

This duo, however, like some sort of cross between the bands Otto Dix and Pussy Riot seem willing to take a stand on important issues in spite of having had some brushes with the law. Some of their gigs were cancelled following interventions from the Politsia last year but, later on. they still played at an event protesting the new government laws allowing for the restriction of the internet.

Buzz.

More than any other concert I have been to, this one exuded a feeling of being an occasion.

Most of the thousand or so punters seemed to consist of grungy teens (the ticket stipulated 16+ age limit but I think some were stretching this a tad). Some Emo/Goth tribe members were here for the `Witch` and other townie tribalists were here for the `House`, others for Witchever. Myself, in a Gary Numan T-shirt from 1993, took my place among the chin stroking elders who were here to see `what all this Witch House malarkey was about`.

A one man faux-avant garde noise merchant provided the warm up act. The audience, chanting the name of their heroes with impatience, were churlish enough to cheer when he left the stage – but he had provided a context for what was to follow.

What followed was more noise – as an aural curtain raiser for the main act. A spacey ever rising crescendo shook the hall so that when IC3Peak arrived – silhouetted in the magnesium flare of white light – the fans were at fever pitch.

Bewitched.

Kostylev, sometimes crisscrossed by beams of red light, was busy behind his techno-deck but would sometimes add a bit of needed visual stimulus by pounding on electronic drums.

Kreslina, meanwhile, strutted back and forth along the stage, now with a dignified straight-back, then all of a sudden falling into a crouch.

Her malleable voice came to us as a percussive shriek, a witches cackle, a vituperative nagging, a girlish fawning and an angelic serenade. She can hit the high notes in a way that would put Julia Volkova to shame. Sometimes her warblings bring to mind Lalo Schifin’s score to the 1979 The Amityville Horror.

The pieces were introduced by a backdrop that featured the title written out as an electrical storm and were blasted out at a fair volume. Many of these came from their last two – more confident and coherent albums – Sladkaya Zhisn (`Sweet Life`) and Skazka (`Fairytale`) but I did recognise Quartz from the Substances album too.

The band has made the commendable decision to start singing in their native tongue and some of their recent videos, particularly the one for Skazal make a point of throwing a whole load of Russianisms into the air.

That said there does appear to be a notable Japanese manga influence working behind their whole act. Just look at Kreslina’s ponytail and kimonos and listen to those Eastern melodies and observe the digital focus of it all.

Another clear ingredient to IC3Peak’s impact comprises the erotic presence of Kreslina which is all the more alluring for not seeming to be forced.

Traditional.

The masses raved. They chanted and sang along. They took snaps with their phones and waved their hands in the air. They cheered whenever Kreslina said `Preevyet Moskva!`. They let the band toy with them by returning for an unexpected second encore. All in all, genre trappings aside, this could have been a rock gig by Aria.

In the face of such adulation, and corresponding new income, it remains to be seen how much the sociopolitical significance of IC3Peak can survive….

Ringstone round.

So I was ushered out of the club following the hour and a half set and found myself, still with a beer in my hand, at the entrance to the club just happy to soak in the early summer evening. Next to me a group of teens had formed a circle. They began a playground chant based on IC3PEAK’s Smerti Bolshi Nyet (`Death Noe More`):

`In my gold chains/ I’m drowning in the swamp…`

Skazka (Fairytale)` by IC3PEAK.

NICE GUYS FINISH LATE: Russian rock band KREMATORI live.

Moscow Dad rocker’s can still lead the dance.

Photography by Iain Rodgers.

You insidious sister of Pluto/Open mouth, icon eyes/Your ears are bliss/I know where to buy noodles for them/To touch your heart….Hey, beauty, who will pay for all this?/Life is short and can’t be stretched/ for the deaf there’s no forgiveness/Love is just a supermarket` (Translated from `Supermarket` by Krematori.)

I cannot claim to be a huge fan of Krematori but I do own one of their albums – Lyudi Nevidimski (`Invisible People`). This, within its Rocky Horror Show packaging, features a few pleasant old school rock-and-roll type numbers which put me in mind of a Craft beer bar live event, so much so that I can almost smell the whiff of yeast and wood shavings in the tracks.

Which is all very lovely, but in Russia this band signify much more than just a competent jive act.

Venerable.

Krematori’s manifestation in their home turf of Moscow only warranted a brief mention on a flyer on the window of the Mumy Troll music bar – but their many devotees would have known all about it well in advance.

Headed by Armen Grigoryan, 59, of Armenian descent, this doughty cult band has seen thirty-six years of business. Throughout the trials and tribulations of the Andropov, Gorbachev and Yeltsin eras this five piece has been a good-tempered eye of the storm. They have knocked out some fifteen studio albums each with a trademark philosophical take on life. In a way they remind me of the British band Hawkwind, even though their sound is more redolent of someone like Lindisfarne.

So I felt that I would be failing this blog not to skip over to the venue, just a stone’s throw from Red Square, on the 9th March.

Mixed crowd.

The three hundred or so punters that filed into that basement bar were the types to have proper jobs, perhaps with babysitters looking after their first borns at home. Their sap was rising with the false promise of spring in the air of this holiday weekend. The faithful gathered at the stage to await the arrival while others sat down to chomp on lobster while the wouldn’t-say-no waitresses scraped the foam off the tops of their beer glasses.

Hearing us speak English, an earnest schoolmistressy type accosted us at the bar. We were in for a treat, she informed us. She herself lived in Holland now, but made a point of catching this band live whenever she returned to Moscow. She had with her a potted tulip to deliver to the stars. However she advised us that the complex Russian lyrics formed the main point of it all.

Barn dance.

At quarter to nine the band at last showed their faces. A mock self-glorifying video backdrop announced each member as they came onto the stage.

Grigoryan hides behind raybans and a wide-brimmed hat, which does give him a certain presence whereas Nikolai Korshunov, the extroverted bassist is an identikit metal band member with his goatee beard, bald head and chunky build.Vladimir Kulikov, the lead guitarist, looks like a man who would buy you another pint if you spilled it.

Their sound – folk and blues tinged rock and roll, but enlivened with unexpected mid-sections, chugged along in an upbeat fashion.

Krematori’s principal innovation – and U.S.P – is the violin work of Maxim Guselchikov which lends a seductive hoe down feel to the proceedings.

They waded through an array of themes around consumerism, spirituality, men and women, and aliens. One of their songs was called `Bezoomni Mooshina` (`Mad Man`) and another `Hare Krishna` but the one that I recognised – as well as could most relate to – was `Supermarket` – some of the lyrics of which I have attempted to render in English above (with much help from my Russian teacher).

So we gulped down our pricey German ales and the band played on and the men, as if some primal instinct had been unearthed, did the twist with their ladies, and the band played on, and we began to look at our watches as it neared eleven and the band played on….

A cheeky townie girl, en route to a night club, peered in from a window looking out on the street above us. With satirical intent she began to twitch to the country rhythm but then she danced on and on like a mannequin whose strings were being jerked, and the band played on….

Katmandu by Krematori

Their Official site (Russian).

First Barbarians at the Gates: the film LETO (SUMMER).

Precious but eye-brow raising: the celebrated glimpse of a time when Soviet Youth was toying with Western decadence.

Welcome to the Leningrad of the early Eighties and the bands of the Rock Club that emerged there. Part biopic/docudrama and part musical, this monochrome film which opened in Cannes last May to much fanfare, concerns the (fictionalised) life and times of Viktor Tsoi, lead singer of Kino and Mike Naumenko the vocalist with blue-rock band Zoo Park.

These `U.S.S.R punks` were smitten with Western rock and so, uniformed in denim and shades, tried to live for the moment, swigging wine and puffing cigs in the way they imagined their Western counterparts had done 15 years earlier.We see them haggling over Western rock posters in markets and getting hassled by old-timers on train journeys.

Many of their elders indulged them, however, and the Soviet authorities let them play their stuff – most of it on acoustic guitars and recorded on reel-to-reel tape recorders –provided it was their own work. We can be thankful for this edict because the music of Tsoi’s Kino is as timeless as it is Russian, even though nudged a bit by the likes of Joy Division.

It seems somehow fitting that many of these artisans, Tsoi and Naumenko included, were to die young just before the Soviet period, which they had chaffed against, drew to a close.

The brainchild of this innovative movie is the outspoken Putin critic Kirill Serebrinnikov who is notorious for being under house arrest for supposed `embezzlement` – a situation which came into force during the making of this film.

He has brought the Russian rock star’s restricted milieu to life by use of quasi-avant garde flourishes. Leto features hand painted graphics, on screen lyrics, and abrupt vaudevillian rock turns the songs of Talking Heads, Bowie, and Iggy Pop.

Real life rock vocalist Roman Bilyk (of power-pop group Zveri) takes the role of Mika Naumanko and does so with able nonchalance. The difficult task of becoming the iconic Viktor Tsoi fell to the Korean-German actor Teo Yoo who had to say his lines in Russian despite not having any of that language!

However not even the addition of Irina Starshenbaum (Attraction) as the object of a love mix-up involving Tsoi and Naumenko, can disguise the fact that Leto is formless and overlong, (in particular if one is not fluent in Russian).

What saves Leto is its stylistic playfulness some of which even startled me, and of course the music proves enlivening, although I would like to have heard less of the old Western party pieces and more from Kino.

This film resembles Aleksey German’s film Dovlatov from earlier the same year.Both films brood over the well-known problems of earlier times. Perhaps it is time for Russian film makers to look forward.

The trailer.

`Leto` by Kino