Русское зазеркалье (двуязычная версия)

It is very wrong, however, to reduce rock music in Russia to the vitalistic outpourings of Yegor Letov or Mikhail Gorsheniov. Russian rock is a very complex musical movement whose contributors often transcend the boundaries of the genre. It is especially true for the so-called founding fathers of Russian rock. They are (or were) extraordinary personalities combining musical and poetic talents with intelligence, vast general erudition, and a broad range of spiritual interests. (One of them, namely Victor Tsoi, is said to normally enjoy the reading of Plato’s dialogues while waiting for the beginning of a rehearsal: the type of behaviour not many contemporary rock or pop celebrities can boast of.) Such Russian singer-songwriters as Victor Tsoi, Boris Grebenshchikov, Igor Talkov, and (to a lesser extent) Vyacheslav Butusov can be seen as cultural phenomena deserving—each of them—a separate lecture. To say the truth, I do not know how far my intention to give a talk on each of these outstanding musicians still can be carried out, but we do come to look closer at Boris Grebenshchikov’s Russian Album during the rest of today’s lesson.

A couple of words should be said about ethnic, or folkloric, music in Russia. You wouldn’t find much of it in the Russian musical landscape of today. True enough, Russia has some (perhaps lots of) musical collectives that perform traditional folk songs—or, rather, their more or less skillful imitations. Their members invariably wear sarafans and kokoshniks—you are welcome to look up on Wikipedia these two terms each of which stands for a part of a traditional village costume—and perform their monotonous songs in a manner that normally repels any true music lover. Their songs are neither up-to-date nor authentically ethnic, and this is why this sort of music upsettingly fails to give you any thrill. I believe these collectives are only remembered when, say, a municipal functionary suddenly realises that he or she needs to invite some (half)professional artists to celebrate ‘the day of the city’ or another such public event a part of which must be an open-air music performance.

Pelageya Telegina, artistically known by her first name only, is an example of a far more devoted artist who creatively explores the genre. She is never afraid of musical experiments that try to put traditional folk melodies in the context of techno, rap, or other such contemporary genres. She is capable of starting her composition with an old peasant tune and finishing it with Casta Diva, a cultic Italian aria from Vincenzo Bellini’s Norma, thus discovering musical parallels between the two. Somehow, she never takes the next step: I mean that her interesting and bold combinations of different musical genres never bring her as far as to create truly new songs that would still have a reference to the tradition of Russian folk music. (I dread the idea to express something that looks even remotely like a critical opinion on such a talented personality as she is, to be absolutely honest.)