daily life behind the Iron Curtain

[ChrisD(RJ)]

It's amazing for someone who grew up hearing the most hysterical cold 
war propaganda to read these tales from Woj of daily life in Poland 
and from ChrisD of the kids in Komsomol drinking, flirting, and 
listening to Pink Floyd. 
---
What Rock Music Tells Us About the Soviet Union
Author: Beth Flanagan
Source: Scholastic Update
Date: March 7, 1986
Sitting at the kitchen table in his tiny Leningrad apartment, Boris
Grebenshikov recalls "the best concert I never got to play." 
Grebenshikov heads the popular Leningrad rock group, Aquarium. He had taken
the Red Arrow overnight express train to Moscow for a solo concert—only to
find, when he arrived, that Moscow authorities had cancelled his permission
to play. His music, they said, was a bad influence on young people.
Grebenshikov smiles broadly as he tells what happened next.
"All the ticket-holders came, plus hundreds more who were hoping to squeeze
in," he says. "I was mobbed. I signed autographs and answered questions
about my music, and I couldn't get out of the building. It was great! The
poet Andrei Voznesensky [considered perhaps his nation's greatest living
poet] was there, and he said he loved my songs. Incredible! I've had
concerts get canceled before, but this was the best!"
Grebenshikov, 32, is well-known in the Soviet Union's big cities. But he has
never had a record produced, or a song played on the radio. That's because,
as far as the government is concerned, he is not a musician at all. He is a
night watchman.
Grebenshikov belongs to a generation of younger Soviet musicians, artists,
and writers who pursue their arts without official approval. For artistic
freedom, most have given up the chance for a secure place in the cultural
establishment. Many look to the West, and the U.S., for inspiration. 
A Giant Fishbowl
"I called my band Aquarium, " he explains, "because here in the Soviet Union
we are in a giant fishbowl. Since we can't travel freely to other countries,
we are like fish in a tank who swim up and press our noses against the
glass, trying to see out at the rest of the world."
Since 1979, Grebenshikov and his band have taped seven albums in a Leningrad
recording studio. Their cassettes are copied and passed from city to city
and fan to fan. Aquarium earns no money from its recordings.
"We're the biggest little label in the world," Grebenshikov jokes as he
pastes photos of his band onto cassette boxes. Next to him, an artist friend
neatly letters the word AQUARIUM above each picture.
Grebenshikov used to travel around the Soviet Union, performing in smaller
towns and distributing tapes. He couldn't afford to continue. He paid his
own way, receiving no money except when, sometimes, someone passed a hat for
donations.
In the Soviet Union, musicians must gain professional status before they're
allowed to earn money. The Leningrad branch of the State Concert Agency
wouldn't accept Aquarium, however, and the Musicians' Union denied
membership to the band's members. So, they all make their livings doing
other things.
Like Grebenshikov, they have chosen jobs that allow lots of free time for
music. His cello player cuts weeds along the railroad tracks outside
Leningrad. The lead guitarist stokes a furnace, and the flute player sells
watermelons from an outdoor stand.
Neither Grebenshikov nor his band members ever have much money. But they and
other musician friends have a strong sense of mutual support. They share
food and drink, records and tapes, even strollers for each others' children.
Despite their poverty, they insist they're not suffering for their art.
They're having too much fun.
There are many such amateur groups in Leningrad and other large Soviet
cities. Some of the best known go by such names as Strange Games, Animal
Noises [Zvuki Mu], The Movies [Kino], and The Zoo [Zoopark]. They can't
perform in the concert halls reserved for approved Soviet groups. Still,
amateur groups can play at private parties, in school halls, and in
trade-union clubs. Usually, the auditoriums are strung with red banners
proclaiming Communist Party slogans, such as, "Work Hard, Study Hard, In The
Manner Of Lenin," or "The Party Is The Honor and Conscience Of The People."
Many Soviet rock musicians, both amateur and official, are trained as
classical musicians. Typically, they graduate from conservatories or music
academies, then find themselves drawn to rock and jazz. So, the quality of
the music is quite high.
Glitter and Masks
When performing, Grebenshikov—slim, blonde, and intense—resembles David
Bowie. Dressed in a white jumpsuit, he dances around on the small drab
stages under the red banners. He wears glitter on his face and sometimes
dons a mask.
Grebenshikov has been performing since he was 17, and he has been influenced
by many Western styles. His band plays them all with ease, from reggae to
punk. But Aquarium's usual style is upbeat folk-rock, with classical licks
thrown in by the cellist or flutist. It's a rich sound, with pretty
melodies. Sometimes odd sound effects, like short-wave radio transmissions
or bird calls, are added. The band also plays some American songs, including
"Johnny Be Good."
Like many Soviet amateur groups, Aquarium is made up of a motley arrangement
of whatever musicians happen to drop by when Grebenshikov is trying out a
new song. At various times, the band has included a bassoonist, a
saxophonist, a keyboard player, and a female vocalist, in addition to its
four regular members.
Some rock groups, unlike Aquarium, are officially approved and allowed to
perform abroad and on television. Last year, a Soviet group called Autograph
joined, by satellite, the LIVE-AID concert that raised money for African
famine victims. Approved groups get their instruments and equipment from the
government. The state-run record label, Melodiya ("melody"), produces their
records.
However, Soviet music buffs say that because the official groups' music has
won the censors' okay, it's not as interesting as what the unofficial groups
play. Their lyrics tend to be bland and sidestep sensitive issues.
A fairly typical song of the official type, by the group Stas Namin's
People, is called "Be Glad": Be glad for the sun! There's still hope for
children of the earth, when adults stop shooting. Be glad for the sun, for
the first snows of winter, For the bold searching of spring's first buds! Be
glad! Be glad for life itself!
In the Soviet Union, the big newspapers print charts of the most popular
songs that are based on write-in votes by readers. Aquarium has had top
songs on the Leningrad charts several years in a row—even though the band
doesn't officially exist. A verse from "Snow Has Fallen All Morning," a
number one hit, shows a daring edge that official songs lack: 

		Let's tiptoe past the open door, 

		We'll make it look as if we're not home, 

		Let's go where it's quiet and light. 

		Oh, you can be as haughty as steel, 

		And you can pretend 

		This Is only a movie you're in, 

		About people who live under high tension. 

		But, love, snow has fallen all morning, 

		All morning long, 

		And there is nothing you can't do, 

		If you want to enough.
Queen of Rock
The undisputed queen of official Soviet rock and pop music is a singer named
Alla Pugacheva. She performs love ballads and story-songs in a husky,
powerful voice, often accompanied by an orchestra. She has a very dramatic
presence on stage, reaching out to the audience, then clasping her arms
around herself.
Whatever the music, Soviets love to dance. The Soviet Union reportedly has
over 10,000 discos. They all play some Western records in addition to Soviet
ones. Admission is cheap, and there are no age restrictions. Concerts,
however, are another matter. Tickets are impossible to get, and dancing is
not permitted. The most emotion fans can show is to sway and clap.
Soviets who are curious about trends in Western music often buy records and
tapes from the steady stream of foreign tourists and exchange students.
Melodiya puts out a few records every year of famous foreign artists, such
as the Beatles. There are also TV programs devoted to music from other
countries. One show is "Foreign Jazz Tunes and Rhythms."
Michael Who?
Still, most current Western music stars are unknown in the Soviet Union,
because the Soviet government considers them unworthy. One Moscow newspaper
criticized Michael Jackson for being indecent onstage, but most Soviets had
never heard him.
Even official groups must watch their steps. One of Grebenshikov's close
friends is Andrei Makarevich, the leader of an official group, The Time
Machine. His band, praised in 1981 as a trendsetter that dealt with urgent
questions, was denounced the next year as "un-Russian." The Time Machine
apparently has corrected its "mistakes," for Makarevich still enjoys the
special privileges of a star. On tour, he stays at the best hotels, with a
car and driver at his disposal.
When Grebenshikov travels, he goes by train, or he hitchhikes. He sleeps on
the floors of friends' apartments and worries that the local artistic
committees may cancel his concerts. But he insists that he doesn't envy
Makarevich's success.
"When Andrei and The Time Machine are visiting Leningrad, they come over
sometimes after their big concerts in the Palace of Culture," Grebenshikov
says. "Sitting around my kitchen, they play some of their best songs, songs
they couldn't play in public because the censors didn't like them. When I
play in public, even though I am broke and have an old guitar and lousy
amps, everything I play is my best and from my heart. I am freer than
Andrei, with his limousine and his prestige, and I prefer it this way."