Russian rock – Page 2 – Generation P: Edward Crabtree's blog.

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.

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

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

Russian bands SUNWALTER at the Alibi Club, Moscow, December 1st and DOLPHIN at Glavclub Green Concert, Moscow December 8th.

Up-and-coming Sci Fi metal act Sunwalter have forged a great rapport with their burgeoning fan base, while established groovers Dolphin put on a polished but aloof performance.

Sunwalter shots by Iain Rogers.

Sunwalter, a five piece now in their first decade, term their own brand of symphonic power rock `sci fi metal`.

The lyrics of these twenty-something’s compositions (sung in English) reside in an intergalactic reality of their own. This is a broth of Roswell speculation and cosmic adventure as shown in their most recent album – Alien Hazard – which they toured Eastern Europe with last year.

They sustain this theatricality in all their dealings: they wear costumes, have stage names (Alexio – vocals, Olga Sol- vocals, Myutel and St Odium on guitars and Miran on drums), their stage act constitutes masquerade and the music itself owes something to the pomp and circumstance of the `prog rock` of 40 odd years back.

Sunwalter form an upbeat (if escapist) counterblast to the dark and (often lazy) nihilism of all too many acts in the same genre. They are very much helped by the soprano like `clean` vocals of Olga, who gives an operatic edge to the whole enterprise.

When I interviewed them a few years back I was very much struck by their ambition. This was focused on the music itself, in getting it just right, but also in pushing themselves out there and becoming known.

So when I clambered in to the Alibi club, right next to a Lukoil building, it was with some proprietorial concern.

The event was another `battle of the bands` format of the kind that I had first met them in. That is, a coterie of camp followers congregating to compare notes and to cheer on their own teams. This time, however, Sunwalter were hosting and it was their name at the top of the list and their t-shirts and CDs on sale in the lobby.

The bands had to do their own sound checks before going on. This was why I had assumed that the portly, bespectacled lead singer of Schwarzkopf was a sound engineer.

He and his band went on to parody Rammstein with great competence. I think their songs were their own, but would have believed them to be by the band they so much model themselves on.

Likewise, the next act (Suicider?) – lead by a standardised hairy rock god – seemed to be referencing Metallica, up to an including the American accents.

When Sunwalter made their eventual appearance they brought with them a sense of relief. This lot, at least, represented more than mere acolytes.

Alexio from Sunwalter.
He may look like a stage hypnotist but
he can reverse the polarity of the neutron flow in your warp drive faster than you can say ` ““Flash Gordon`.

The attendance swelled to about 300 and it became clear that many of them had come just for Sunwalter, who, for their part seemed to relish every moment of their hour and a half set.

Sunwalter guitarist Myutel.
(He’s a nice boy really)

Alexio growled from behind a Sunwalter themed disc shaped lectern while Olga, resplendent in a shiny blue one piece costume and green eye shadow nodded to the beat.The drummer wore a death’s-head mask and at one point the guitarist leapt down from the stage and began playing from behind the audience. Olga kept up a lot of banter with her fans – she seems to have become the focus of attention – and one of them won a competition and received a gem stone.

After the curtain call the satisfied punters posed with Olga for selfies. It was then that I reflected that, for all the cheer this accomplished band spread around, they remain a hobby-band with day jobs. They deserve so much better.

Sunwalter’s site (English)

With the tickets going at 2, 200 roubles, this was the most that I had paid for a concert in Russia. This might explain the nature of the ticket holders. They were dressed as if for the theatre and a few men had ponytails but not many wore the usual faded black t-shirt with band logos on. I was amongst urban professionals. One of them even apologised to me when he almost knocked a glass out of my hand!

The Glav Club Green Concert venue is to be found in the industrial heart of the Leninsky Prospekt area. The place seemed well run as snazzy black suited young women took our coats in the wardrobe area and it proved spacious enough to house the two thousand or so punters in non-sardine like conditions.

Andrei Lysikov of Dolphin.
An icon of Russia’s post-Soviet rock-pop scene.
[spblife.info]

Dolphin (Delfin) represent one of the few signature Russian rock bands that I know little about. This owes to the fact that there is a strong lyrical content to their `rap rock`.

The lead singer, 47-year-old Andrei Lysikov, began life, after all,as a hip-hop rap artist. With Malchysnik – think a Russian Beastie Boys for the post-Soviet generation- made the Russia of the Yeltsin years both blush and wince.

Long since then he has mellowed (this concert was certificate 12+) and has been producing a more thoughtful type of techno-rock rap fusion in creative buddyship with the guitarist Pavel Dodonov.

Nobody seems quite sure how to categorise this fusion. Trip hop? Shoe gazer? British readers will know what I mean when I mention New Order and Depeche Mode. The ensemble also sometimes recall the more indigenous t.A.T.u at times.

Whatever the genre, many of their numbers, such as `Vyesna` (`Spring`) are known to pretty much all Russians.

The nondescript three-piece engineered a non-stop two-hour set shrouded in a purple and blue laser light show. Between sets they produced portentous electronic soundscapes.

This combination was often majestic and the drummer in particular fleshed out a pre-programmed bass with sharp percussion, sometimes incorporating wood blocks. A trumpeter and saxophonist came on for three songs too. The vocals, however, all seemed a bit the same, although it would have helped if I could have caught the content more.

In contrast to Sunwalter, though these heroes of Russian rock did little to reach out to the people who had bought tickets to see them. We might as well have been watching them on a screen. The audience responded in kind by not singing along and not calling for an encore.

What we did do, however, was jive. It is not so obvious from their recorded material that Dolphin constitute a great dance band – but, as the gyrating girl in dreadlocks and a satchel in front of me well knew – they can get you moving it.

LOUNA: Live at the Adrenaline Stadium, Moscow 17th November.

A state-of-the-art stadium metal act…fronted by an Armenian woman with oppositional views.

The Adrenaline Club, in the Northwest of Moscow, whilst not quite Earls Court Arena, drew a queue outside it which must have numbered well into the thousands, making this the biggest gig I have yet been to. Shivering in the first snow of the year we all looked – a few painted face fanatics aside – a bit the same, donned as we were in the same post-rock uniforms that almost everyone goes about in these days: black jeans, hoodies, desert boots, khaki and so on.

As we reached the massed ranks of door security awaiting us at the entrance to the stadium, they advised my Glaswegian colleague-cum-press-photographer that, as he had no press pass, he would have to leave his top of the range camera in their safe hands. At this my helpmate spat on the floor and rejoined the mid-November frost.

Having lost my hope of any decent visuals (sorry about that!) and a rare chance to bond with a fellow expat, I tried not to let this setback put a pall on the whole entertainment and consoled myself with a few overpriced Budweisers in the voluminous darkened auditorium.

Here’s what they REALLY look like!
[spb.gdechego.ru]

Nothing here but us.

At around quarter to Nine some members of the audience invaded the stage, or rather Louna appeared, for it seemed like the same thing. Tonight, showcasing their new offering `Polyoosa` (Poles) with the sponsorship of the sterling Russian rock outlet Nashe Radio, they were on their home turf and their sense of comfort seemed palpable.

Louna came about ten years back, whereas Lousine Gervorkyan, a 35 year old Kapan born Armenian who studied music and teaches singing, has been a vocalist for over twenty years. In a previous life she headed Traktor Bowling (and sometimes still does) before her bassist Vitaly Demidenko and her made a bid for a new band with a bolder sociopolitical thrust. With this aim they head hunted two guitarists – Ruben Kazariyan and Segei Ponkratiev and the rhythm wizard Leonid Kinzbursky. Enter Louna.

This outspoken band have been prepared to put their money where their mouth is too, having been involved in fundraising for Pussy Riot (a fact which may have explained why they came to be pulled from an MTV documentary called `Rebel Rock` following pressure from unknown Russian sources).

Set piece.

Gervorkyan, with her dark angular looks, trademark long hair shaven at the sides and jeans torn at the knees, is more of a tomboy skater icon than a sex siren and the many women in the crowd were the most excited to see her. (Her stage presence was lost on me a bit, stuck as I was behind a forest of raised mobiles and having to watch the TV screen to get a proper view).

Throughout their industrious two-hour long set the band must have taken us through every hard rock trend of the past thirty years – a bit of ska punk here, a bit of thrash there, then a bit of pomp rock…and so on. This was all mixed with care and not so ear-splitting that you were unable to appreciate, for example, the well coordinated interplay of the two lead guitarists. Louna constitute a song based act, however, and the vocals were placed at the forefront. For a comparison the most obvious choice would be Sandra Nasic and the Guano Apes (minus the inventive range of that singer and band) but Gervorkyan’s more baleful and operatic moments, however, put this old New Waver in mind of Hazel O’ Connor at times.

Louna are accomplished chant-along merchants and Russians in particular are always all to eager to oblige when it comes to joining in with the performance. I am not sure how that many of them shared the finer points of the band’s philosophy, however, even if they had memorised the lyrics well. The message of the medium – from the confetti and smoke being disgorged into the air, the lit mobiles and paper hearts held aloft for the slower numbers, to the tomfoolery with a huge balloon, and the onstage man on rollers filming it all this – might have been a set by the rather more conservative dad rockers Aria.

Reality check.

There remains one performance, however, that will stay with me after I have forgotten all that standardised pageantry. They did not treat us to their classic single `Divny Novi Mir` (`Brave New World`) – although I did recognise some numbers from the same titled album from which it comes. What they did do though was to play a tribute to another dystopian classic: 1984. With the rally like format of the show, and the way in which the chorus read out the numbers in the year as a list as they flashed on the display behind the band (`Adin! Devyat! Voysem! Chetyre!`) created a very poignant and eerie impact.

So while the downsides of impersonal stadium gigs hardly require to be itemised (I caught Traktor Bowling in the smaller Red Club a few years ago and could relate to it all a lot more) there were times when the medium and the message worked as one. `Adin! Devyat! Voysem! Chetyre!`….shudder.

1984 by Louna