St Petersburg

Despite the official attacks (or thanks to them) the influence of rock on Leningrad’s youth spread like wildfire. This phenomenon, which eluded state control almost completely, was largely due to magnitizdat, homemade tapes circulated like manuscripts in samizdat. Leningrad became the center of Russian magnitizdat, perhaps because of the city’s desire to register its achievements promptly and reflect upon them intensely.

The roar of local rock bands deafened almost every courtyard in Leningrad, scaring away the ghosts of Dostoyevsky’s Petersburg novels. What the rocker Yuri Shevchuk had promised had come to pass: “The star of Russian rock will rise over our Northern Palmyra!”

One of the brightest stars was Boris Grebenshikov. When the tall, slim Grebenshikov, who resembled David Bowie, ran out on stage in his white suit, the audience would roar with delight.

When he was eleven, Grebenshikov first heard the Beatles and “understood the point of living.” He organized his rock band Aquarium in the early 1970s, becoming its guitarist, lead vocal, poet, composer, and driving force. Grebenshikov’s lyrics show the influence of the acmeist poets of the start of the century (Innokenty Annensky, Gumilyov). The official cultural ideologists noted the influence quickly, and their reaction to Aquarium’s early performances was, “This is some sort of symbolism! Akhmatovism!”

This odd connection between the rocker Grebenshikov and the classical Petersburg tradition was further expressed in his preference for sophisticated melodies arranged in the style of folk rock; he also made his performances seem like absurdist rituals. In his Bob Dylanlike tenor Grebenshikov would sing,

I have nothing left

That I would want to save.

We are in full flight on this strange path

And there are no doors along the way.

They used to say in Leningrad that Aquarium wasn’t simply a rock band but a way of life. Members of the group and fans close to them lived as a family, sharing Grebenshikov’s literary, philosophical and religious interests, including American sci-fi, the writings of Lao Tzu, and Zen Buddhism. A meeting with Mitki, important for both groups, increased the nationalist tendencies in Aquarium’s music and led to a democratization of the band’s image.

In the late 1980s Grebenshikov’s popularity in Leningrad had reached enormous proportions and became the subject of a dadaesque prose by Shinkarev, one of the Mitki, who were also gaining a large following in the city.

Oh, yes, dear brothers, there’s nobody poorer than Boris Grebenshikov.

He’s even afraid to go outside—can you imagine!

The family says: go get some milk and take out the garbage. Just try to get past the fans with the garbage pail! Nobody’s going to offer, “Boris, I love your music, so let me take out your garbage.” No way! “Here,” they say, “here’s a glass, have a drink with me, and I’ll tell everybody that I got high with Grebenshikov.”

But Grebenshikov’s face is red enough to light a butt with already from all that expensive cognac he’s had, his hands shake so hard he can’t hold a guitar. He can’t stand the sight of those glasses, it makes him puke.

So he comes to the door with the garbage and listens: it’s quiet. He peeks out: nobody there.

Grebenshikov quick slips out the door, but as soon as he steps on the landing, someone grabs him from behind and forces his head back. The garbage pail spills, he falls, his feet in the slops, and before he can call for help, they force his teeth open with a knife and pour in a glass of moonshine.

Boris lies there gasping, half-blind, battered—while his fans grin and go down the stairs satisfied: they had a drink with Grebenshikov!

Mocking the idol-worshiping young and the cult of the “mysterious Slavic soul,” this narrative reflected, nevertheless, the dark side of Leningrad rock, with its major presence of alcohol and drugs. Rekshan posed a rhetorical question, “And who can explain why it’s easier to get drugs in Leningrad than toilet paper?”116 He recalled how one of his musician friends, high on drugs, decided to commit suicide: he fastened two scalpels point up on a table and then dropped his face onto them, trying to get them into his eyes. He lost one eye and went completely mad. Life on the edge led to early death for some stars of Leningrad’s rock movement: “Mike” Naumenko, Viktor Tsoy, and Alexander Bashlachev.

Grebenshikov liked to say, “Rock is subversive by definition. If it’s not subversive, it’s not rock.” The energy and ferocity of Leningrad rock shook up the stagnant city that Grebenshikov described in song:

The courtyards are like wells here, but there’s nothing to drink.

If you want to live here, rein yourself in,

Learn to run and then to slow down,