TOWN ZERO: A year in Karaganda – a model (post) Soviet province.

`And you may find yourself living in another part of the world/And you may ask yourself: `How did I get here? ` (Talking Heads `One in a Lifetime’).

Should you ever visit Kazakhstan there are three cities worth getting to know. Astana, the capital, seems still very much under construction with building works on every corner. The place does showcase some singular contemporary architecture, but the busy highways barging through it, the spaced-out topography and the absence of hustle-and bustle lend it an air of a Zamyatin type dystopia. The former capital, Almaty does still feel like the capital but with it radiates a strange kind of comatose gentrified hipsterism.

For me Kazakhstan’s Jewel-in-the-Crown is to be found in the far south near the border with Uzbekistan. The historic city of Shymkent is buoyant, full of character and even a bit eccentric.

Poor relation.

But…oh, there is one more city to mention. It is little visited by tourists and perhaps for a reason. This is Karaganda (the name is pronounced with the stress on the last syllable). People even exist who imagine Karaganda to be a fictional location owing to its close association with a well-known saying – but more of that later. I have been here for over a year now and can assure you that it is for real.

How Karaganda got its name seems something that none can agree on. Does it derive from a Turkic word meaning `dark place`? Is it a Kazakh word for `black blood` (referencing coal)? Or does the word derive from a yellow flower said to be common in the region? Whatever, Karaganda represents the prototypical medium sized Soviet city. Furthermore, it is to be found bang in the middle of Eurasia in the midst of interminable steppes.

Having become an official city in 1934, Karaganda is the outcome of coal getting found in the local strata. Much of the population came here as slave labourers working in the mines. Many of these were Volga Germans (that is, a part of the ethnic German community in Russia) but a great many of them left when the Soviet Union collapsed. Now the population consists of 45.8% ethnic Kazakhs and 40% Russians with the remaining 15% per cent being evenly divided between Volga Germans, Ukrainians, Tartars, Koreans and others.

A view of Karaganda central park.

Karaganda’s main industry was put on the map a few years ago – and for all the wrong reasons. One cold day in October two years ago a blaze broke out at Kostenko coal mine. This ensured that 45 mine workers would never see the light of day again. Unions had been complaining about lax safety standards at ArcalarMittal – the global steel company overseeing the mining operations – for some time. This was not the first, just the worst mining accident in Kazakhstan. The mines have now been taken up into government hands.

City of distinction?

For those into misery-tourism, or just history, the site of the former Soviet labour camp, KarLag, is a half hour bus ride from the city and is the must-see `attraction` of the area. One Alexander Solhenitsyn spent time there and it is even said that `A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich` was based on KarLag.

Gone but not forgotten: a view inside the KarLag museum.

In the centre of this centreless city lies a statue of a Second World War pilot. This is Nurken Abdirov and the street which the statue welcomes us to, is also named after him. This Kazakh pilot, aged 23, became a `Hero of the Soviet Union` after ending his own life by becoming a sort of bespoke kamikaze pilot. Finding his plane engulfed in flames after having been shot at, he aimed his doomed craft at a column of German tanks. This serves as a grisly reminder, if one were needed, that the Kazakhs too made sacrifices in battles on the side of the Allies in that war.

The Nurken Abdirov statue.

Other luminaries with a Karagandinian connection include Gennady Golovkin, the boxer and Katia Ivanova, the former `Big Brother` reality TV show contestant and girlfriend of Ronnie Woods.

Karaganda has also functioned as a rest stop for cosmonauts on their way to being fired into outer space. Baikonur Cosmo drome is the launchpad closest to the city and the Cosmonaut Hotel was constructed just to cater for cosmonauts. . For a price, you can now stay in a room once inhabited by a space explorer. As well as that, an imposing monument to Yuri Gargarin himself can be admired in the central part of the city.

Indeed, for devotees of `Soviet core` Karaganda functions as a big open -air gallery. Here you will be met by mosaics and tapestries galore alongside other paraphernalia from that era.

One of the many public art works that enrich the city.

A Soviet period sign advertising bread.

Monument to an idiom.

The unique statue toWhere? Where? In Karaganda!

However, the signature statue of Karaganda is more up-to-the-minute. Tucked away in a garden outside a restaurant one can find a polymer statue called Where? Where? In Karaganda!' Constructed in 2011 by Marat Mansurov and Vikenty Komkov, it has a place in the Guinness Book of Records for being the first statue erected in honour of an idiomatic phrase. The saying can be traced back to a time when Russians who had served time at KarLag, needed to account for gaps in their employment history. As well as implying that Karaganda is a place `in the middle of nowhere`, there is also (to a Russophone) a bit of untranslatable wordplay in the phrase.

Inhabited island.

This dismissive saying about Karaganda does become palpable after a year spent in the city. The total lack of any kind of `expat community’ here is something I can live with. In the right frame of mind this can even be framed as a part of the place’s charm. However, there are only two small museums here and one small art gallery and the biggest bookshop devotes but a quarter of a shelf to books in English and many of those are graded.

A bit of late Soviet Modernism.

I have had three tickets to see Russian bands play live cancelled in advance. My guess is that a combination of an expected low turnout and the relative inaccessibility of the place encouraged bands to strike Karaganda off their list of tour destinations. Likewise, if I want to visit my home country, Britain, I have to get to Astana, stay the night there and then arrange transport to the airport there which is some way out of the city.

The climate is something most Normies would add as another reason to spurn Karaganda. The four-month long gusty deep freeze whiteout of a winter is a challenge to those of us from gentler climes, but for me the existence of recognizable seasons here is a plus and in particular, the sparkling trees and cool breezes during the slow arrival of spring.

Hidden nuggets.

The snug retreat of a beer-bar is essential to survive such an environment. If I had to pick out one of my most loved it would be Wurst Depot Grill Bar on 25 Nurken Abdirov. This faux-German beer hall is lit in a cunning way with soft amber lamps and the attentive, no-nonsense staff serve you Praga beer (a Czech style non-hop beer produced by EFES-Kazakhstan). It is the buzzing but calming townie atmosphere that is the real draw though.

Wurst bar and grill.

The eateries consist of, for the most part, unpretentious `greasy spoon` places dealing in low priced and nutritious fare. However, Langzhou – the central Asian food chain -is also to be found here so that you can fill up on lagman – a scrumptious Uygur dish consisting of noodles, beef and lightly fried vegetables.

As for street food, samsa take-aways are ubiquitous. (Samsa being a puff pastry pasty). However, if you look around you can find Shawarma and Chibureki joints too (Shawarma being a sort of kebab and Chibureki meat or cheese within fried dough). None of this is healthy eating to be sure, but the city does boast one vegetarian restaurant.

The four cinemas here do provide a good service. Whilst none of them could be called `Art house`, they do all roll out a range of films from different countries above and beyond the routine Hollywood fare.

The cultural focal point of the city must be the Eco Museum. Set up in 1995 to gather information for study and research, this distinctive initiative is the brainchild of Dima Kalmykov, a geologist who had partaken in the clean-up operation following the Chernobyl disaster. Here, in a hall stuffed with a random load of industrial and military junk you can pick your way through displays from radar stations and mines (complete with sounds) and – their piece de resistance a used Proton rocket which, when activated, rises up from the floorboards.

Exhibit in the Ecomuseum.

When Karagandinians wish to breathe some actual air all they need to do is to climb aboard a bus which, within three hours, whisks them away to Karkaralinsk. This functions as the local beauty spot, resembling a more wooded version of the Lake District in the U.K.

Karaganda then. This is no tourist destination, but the city is anything but snooty and is peaceful in every sense of the word. In particular one of its achievements is to create an amity between so many different ethnic groups.

Catholic church constructed on behalf of the Volga German population in Karaganda.

 [EC1]

 [EC2]

SHAM ROCK TO SOME: YULIA SEMINA LIVE AT HARRAT’S PUB KARAGANDA KAZAKHSTAN.

I went to an Irish pub to watch an acoustic performer: what was I thinking of?

On this slushy and already inky end of November I amble up Nurken Abdirov Ulitsa. This is sort of Karaganda’s Oxford Street and I pass the coloured lights of pizza houses, Georgian and Korean restaurants and various shopfronts on the way to my destination.

`Are you here for the kvis?` a young lady asks me as I enter. After a double take I tell here that I am here early for the Yulia Semina concert and fumble around for my ticket. However, she just directs me to the bar.

Harrat’s Irish Pub in Karaganda offers a wide range of corporate beers but, as it is my first time here, I decide on the on the Harrat’s own house beer. At 2,000 tenge this is of average price and turns out to be a so-so lager-beer. I make a mental note to graduate to Starapromen next time.

I sense a lived-in feel to this pub even though it only threw its doors open last April. No doubt this impression is given with studious care. There are many joke memes, film posters, beer mats and so on arranged about the place and mostly in the English language, as well as the regulation paper currencies from around the world pinned on the wall behind the bar.

Global outreach.

`Immerse yourself in the unforgettable atmosphere of a real Irish pub` promises the Harrat’s Irish Pub website of their own venues. This pub, spacious, pristine and somehow solid has more of a feel of the sort of establishment that sprung up in the cities of Britain in the early Nineties. Nevertheless `Irish-pub` has now become such a familiar collocation – like `Italian restaurant` say – that it seems a bit churlish to questions its meaning.

Harrat’s Irish Pubs – the largest Irish Pub chain in the world -are very far from being British. Igor Kokourov first set one up in Irkutsk, Russia, of all places in 2009. Now its venues have spread out to the rest of Russia (there are several in Moscow), Kazakhstan (there was also one in Almaty, which I avoided when I was there), Kyrgystan, Hungary, Belarus, Cyprus, and even America – but none in Ireland, of course.

Kokourov chose the `Irish` theme because it suggested something `classical`. He aimed to project an ethos of `cosy chaos` and to reach out to ` 20 to 40-year-olds who like quality music, quality products, are cheerful, not aggressive, understand jokes and don’t wear Adidas`. (Cia. Ru, February 26th 2020) No gopniks, then.

We create happiness`. [nnKassir.ru]

Perhaps it was such a demographic which was immersed in the slick quiz which had pop music related questions projected onto the TV screens dotted around the place.

As I sit at the bar killing time this pub quiz crowd is replaced bit by bit by slightly older and more sober groups of people, all pushing forty or older. Numbering about a hundred, these are my fellow spectators and amongst them I see no children, nor college kids.

Not the target market.

Confession time: I am only here because an advert for it appeared on my social media feed, nothing else was happening and I needed some copy.

The fact is that unplugged music, solo acoustic in particular, leaves me cold. When it comes to rock and pop, I really relish in the orchestral mash up of mingled and treated and amplified strings, drums and keyboards. Without that, the sound is altogether too spartan and sequestered for me. So, I had no high expectations as to what about to transpire..

Local heroes.

Yulia Semina consists of the lead vocalist and songwriter of the Kazakh band Anomaliya.  Formed in Astana 21-years-ago this pop-rock four piece have two albums to their name and numerous singles. Quite early in their career they built up a fanbase in their own country, so much so that the entertainment store corporation Meloman became their sponsors. Appearances at Russian festivals followed and punters came to know them there too. By 2006 they even found themselves touring with the legendary Noiche Snapeiri (the Night Snipers).

ANOMALIYA back in their heyday {Genius.com]

Like Gorod 312 before them, and many a band for that matter, they have since relocated to the big apple of Moscow.

Their output could be placed in the same broad pigeonhole as Zemfira, albeit without the spiky brilliance of that Russian artist.

Pleasant host.

Semina finally arrives at around 7:30. She looks fresh-faced and relaxed, is about the same age bracket as her audience and donned in the new nondescript global casual style. She sits cross legged on a stool on the floor level stage before us.

She begins with a remark about having found the streets of Karaganda to be pretty as she strolled around them earlier then starts.

There are fast paced robust rocky numbers and some more reflective downbeat ones. Without doubt she has a fine voice: penetrating, clear and with quite a range. Yet to me it’s all strum-strum-strum – warble in a high register strum-strum-strum – warble on a low register and repeat.

I have to say that the prejudices that I took with me about acoustic solo sets remain not just intact but are reinforced. I find myself weaving my way through the onlookers back to the comfort of the bar.

There is some variety when a technical hitch stops the show. A rather nervous guy in a regulation pony tail arrives onstage to reverse the polarity of the neutron flow and then it all begins again.

The food scoffing, inebriated crowd are getting what they came for however and join in some of the songs. Her set lasts about an hour twenty minutes, which is a long time to play solo without so much as a bottle of Borjomi water at hand so respect to her for that. I just wait for the conclusion, when the crowd will chant `Spasiba! Spasiba! `

This comes after a significant sign off from Semina when she plays a – fittingly Irish – cover of a famous Cranberries song. The song is `Zombies`, known for its antiwar content with its mention of `with their guns and their bombs`. I also realise then that the vocal style here, that moody sincerity, is very much the one that Semina seems to be aiming at, but not fully reaching.

The beer has not worked and I make my way out into the night to be ready for the first day of winter tomorrow. Nobody has asked to see my ticket.

Lead image: ticketon.kz

BACK FOR MORE.

A tribute band revists a collection of Russian rock standards to big audiences in Kazakhstan.

Russian rock, as a national genre, seems less current than it once was. Most devotees of this part of the world-rock quilt refer back to the last four decades for evidence of its greatness.

In the Russia of now many of the big names, if they haven’t decamped to Georgia or Central Asia, are keeping their heads down and just retreading old glories.

As far as recognizable brands go, the twin poles of contemporary Russian rock consist of, in one corner, the mock-dissolute rock-and-rolliness of the girls of Kis-Kis (known for chanting `Fuck the war!` at their live gigs) and, in the other corner, the Z-friendly corporate pomp rock of Shamen. The beauties and the Beast. Take your pick….

The Silver Age of Russian rock now gets packaged as a commodity. It was so for this tribute band performing a medley of Russian rock oldies in Karaganda in Kazakhstan, as the promotional blurb for the show makes clear:

`This is a unique opportunity to immerse yourself in the atmosphere` it says of `songs that have become symbols of an entire era`.

The band responsible – Jazi Orchestra – hardly seem to cast a shadow in the Anglophone interweb. All I can tell you of this six-piece is that they seem to be ethnic Kazakhs for the most part and are known for offering retrospective covers of Western and Russian rock. For this they appear to be as famous as you can be, short of having household name status.

Illustrious location.

Shalkyma Hall, Karaganda.

On a sunny but already nippy early September I weaved my way to Shalkyma Concert Hall in central Karaganda. Named after a symphonic poem by Almas Serkebaev, this concert hall, better known for hosting operas, represents a sample of late Constructivist architecture. Throughout the building’s 85 years existence it has been the `Oktyabr` cinema and, during the Second World War, a military depot. In more recent days the interior of the place has been renovated by a local architect called Sergey Soshnikov. In particular, the installation of flexible gypsum boards on the ceiling has given rise to a much-vaunted reputation for good acoustics in the building.

Plaque on the wall of Shalkyma Hall dedicated to Bulat Syzdykov, the legendary Kazakh guitarist.

However, it is a seated venue and this was a rock concert. Being recumbent reduced the audience to passive spectators and the lighting banished the nocturnal quality needed for such events and the lack of a bar made the necessary abandon of a rock gig out of reach.

Mellow gathering.

The hall, with its capacityof about 200 people, was soon filled. The punters were Slavic in the main. There were few, if any, blue-haired boot wearing engineering students and many expanding waistlines and receding hairlines and some had their children in tow.

Full house.

The band looked a decade or more younger than their fans. The mop-haired lead guitarist, Sultan Muratov, resembled a refugee from a Nineties slacker band and the deadlocked bassist one from a grunge band. The keyboardist was a studious looking Raikhat Muratali and providing the rhythm section (as well as trumpet at one point) was Kaset Nurpeisova.

The two warblers consisted of Alan Salpagaron, with an acoustic guitar on hand, and Roza Nurpeisova (the wife of the drummer, we were told). A statuesque Kazakh in leather trousers, it was she who provided much of the visual focus of this gig – for this ticket holder, at least.

Roza Nurpeisova.

Also eye-catching was the projected backdrop behind the band, courtesy of an `artistic director`. Sometimes this was all psychedelic mindscapes and at others we got clips from films and TV shows which the songs had some connection to.

Alan Salpagarov – before a projected backdrop.

Exhibition.

Over the next hour and a half, the personable half-a-dozen would lead us through a roll call of fourteen or so iconic Russian rock numbers. So well established were these that I recognized most of them even if I couldn’t put a name to them all.

Included were B-2 (`Varvara`), Kino (`Peremen`), Zveri, Total, Gorod 312 (`Ostanus`), Time Machine, Alyans, tATu (`Not Gonna Get Us`), Slot, Korol ii Shut, Spleen, Yulia Sachayeva and…whew!…beyond caring.

Something that I had not foreseen was the heartfelt delivery on the part of the band. Between the pogoing of the bassist, the excursions into spontaneity of the drummer and the smiles of the singers one might almost have thought that they were doing this for fun.

The medley was rounded off with a sort of lottery. With predictable sentimentalism, little ones were cajoled into coming on stage to read out from some random lists and from this a winner was decided. Someone on a balcony seat won a holiday in Turkey!

Memory lane trip.

In the row in front of me, a husband and wife sat with their ten-year-old son perched between them. Throughout the performance they both fixed him with questioning gazes. Would he appreciate this part of their youth that was being unscrolled before him? The event was a foray into the lost youths of the audience.

However, at no time did I feel bored by this gig. It was pleasant pure and simple. On the way out I saw queues of people waiting to come in. The same concert was due to be repeated in half an hour. A hard-working band – that’s Jazi Orchestra.