Right now, AI is stirring up fierce debates — careers are being derailed, games are being banned or stripped of awards… in short, all hell seems to be breaking loose. This will eventually calm down, though, because AI really does help get many things done faster and better. No, it won’t replace a living human being — but it can be a powerful aid.
And riding this very wave, animator Oleg Kuvaev, the creator of the legendary Masyanya, has started making videos using artificial intelligence. He has even shared behind-the-scenes fragments showing that AI is just a tool — and that there’s still a tremendous amount of work involved. But what Oleg has managed to demonstrate is how this tool, in the hands of a talented creator, can help bring yet another series of wonderful works to life.
Disclaimer: this post is mainly for those familiar with the work of legendary Soviet rock musicians. But even without understanding the words, you can still see here how songs are already being created with the help of neural networks. Of course, without the ability to compare with the original works, the perception of these songs will be quite different.
After Ozzy’s death, a wonderful picture like one above began circulating on the internet. I think if Ozzy had known who Tsoi was, he would have appreciated such a posthumous joke about himself. The text over it is says:
— And where is Tsoi? — But Tsoi lives!
Because for my generation, the phrase “Tsoi Lives” was never a meme. Viktor Tsoi is a legend — ours, our own.
And in memory of Viktor, new works keep coming out. His already famous song “Peremen!” became one of the anthems of the 2020 protests in Belarus. Viktor’s son brought together former band members and created a remarkable project with modern arrangements of the songs, over which his father’s cleaned-up voice was laid.
And with the development of artificial intelligence, people have gone even further. I once stumbled across one such song, listened to it, and forgot about it. But the other day I was shown another one — and suddenly the puzzle came together.
A few weeks ago, I posted about one album of the band Plateau and their appearance on Vyacheslav Butusov’s program. Since the band members kindly gave me permission to upload all of their albums to YouTube, I’ve been gradually doing just that. Now, you can find everything I’ve ever had from them online (including some songs that, as it turns out, hadn’t even been preserved by the musicians themselves).
Below are links to all the playlists, along with a few of my personal comments. And as an illustration for this post, I’ve chosen a studio photo of the band taken in 1998 in Berlin. What makes this session special is that I’m not sure the band ever had another studio shoot like it—and by pure chance, I ended up in the photo too. On that trip, I was filling in for the band’s manager and percussionist, Denis Sikorsky, who unfortunately wasn’t able to go.
And now, the playlists:
Альбом “Tabula Rasa” 1996 года, отреставрированный ребятами в 1998 году. В качестве бонусов в нём есть несколько треков в изначальной версии.
Альбом “Нити жизней” 1998 года, им я уже делился в прошлом посте
Концертная запись 1998 года, где прозвучали все песни альбома “Нити жизней”, а также большинство более ранних
Все синглы группы, выходившие отдельно после альбома “Нити жизней”. Часть из них вошла позднее в альбом “Точка”. Здесь я отдельно выделю несколько песен:
В той самой поездке в Германию в августе 1998 года группу записала сингл совместно с немецким музыкантом Sherman Noir, которому очень понравилась их песня “Он не уснул” из последнего альбома. Он буквально на месте написал свои слова к той же мелодии, и в одну ночь был сделан совместный сингл “Он не уснул / Turn Back the Time“, который позднее ротировался на немецком радио, насколько мне известно. Нежно люблю до сих пор.
“Нова радасць” — это не собственная песня группы, а аранжировка. Но я её очень люблю. Тем более, что именно её ребята пели акапельно в качестве подарка на нашей свадьбе
Album “Tabula Rasa” (1996) – restored by the band in 1998. Includes several tracks in their original versions as bonus material.
Album “Niti Zhizney” (Threads of Lives) (1998) – already shared in a previous post.
Live recording from 1998, featuring the full Niti Zhizney album, along with most of the earlier songs.
All singles released after Niti Zhizney – some of them were later included in the Tochka album. I’d like to highlight a few tracks in particular:
During that same trip to Germany in August 1998, the band recorded a single with German musician Sherman Noir, who was deeply impressed by their song “On ne usnul” (“He Didn’t Fall Asleep”) from their latest album. He immediately wrote his own lyrics to the same melody, and overnight they recorded a bilingual single, “On ne usnul / Turn Back the Time“, which—so I’ve heard—even got airplay on German radio. I still have a soft spot for it.
“Nova radasts“ (New Joy) – not an original song by the band, but an arrangement. I love it dearly, especially because the guys sang it a cappella as a gift at our wedding.
Recently, I was unexpectedly asked several times if I had any materials or songs from the band “Plateau.” This interest is likely due to the fact that some time ago, I wrote about my friendship with the band and later published a whole album of studio photos of them on Facebook, where I even sneaked into a few shots myself.
The thing is, the band existed from the mid-90s and effectively ceased its activities in the early 2000s. It was a very distinctive group, blending folk with ethnic motifs, and sometimes just playing cheerful and romantic songs.
In 2000, the band caught the attention of Vyacheslav Butusov, the former vocalist of the band “Nautilus Pompilius.” Together with the members of Plateau and the theater troupe “Licedei,” Butusov performed three acoustic concerts based on his album “Ovals” (one of which, by the way, took place in Minsk). These were not just concerts — they were theatrical performances under the title “Bibigonia.”
On Vyacheslav’s official channel, you can find a TV version of one of these concerts, which took place on February 25, 2000, in Saint Petersburg:
Not long ago, my wife and I watched another episode of Leonid Parfyonov’s brilliant show Namedni—this time dedicated to one of the years from the 1960s. One of the topics covered was the dance “Letkajenkka,” which gained massive popularity in the USSR during that era. Interestingly enough, as a dance it was incredibly simple—so simple, in fact, that it felt more suited for kindergarteners than adults, at least in my view.
The melody was originally created in Finland and very quickly evolved into a dance. From there, it swept across the globe, even slipping past the Iron Curtain. Variations with locally adapted lyrics were performed in 92 countries. In the USSR, the dance likely spread so freely because it was completely innocent in nature—simple, cheerful, and definitely lacking any hint of bourgeois undertone. (Though, to be fair, neither rock’n’roll nor the twist had such undertones either—but that didn’t make them welcome in Soviet leadership’s eyes.)
Disclaimer: Some meanings in this post, unfortunately, get lost for those who don’t speak Russian. However, I hope it will still be interesting for English-speaking readers. Thank you for reading!
Today, my wife and I went to a solo concert by Artur Smolyaninov. Artur is an incredible actor whom I first saw in one of the lead roles in 9th Company, a film about the war in Afghanistan, where his character is the only survivor after a brutal battle. Later, I remembered him from the series 9 Months, where he played almost the exact opposite—a young man who desperately wants to avoid military service and is instead assigned to alternative civilian service as a maternity nurse man in a maternity hospital.
Since then, I’ve seen him in many roles, and I’ve always enjoyed his performances. In 2022, when the war started, Artur was one of those who couldn’t stay silent. He spoke honestly about his views, and as a result, he was forced to leave his homeland—a decision that, of course, impacted his acting career. But for him, staying true to himself as a human being was far more important.
At the same time, beyond acting, Artur had also been writing songs. He never considered himself a professional songwriter, musician, or singer. But it’s clear that sharing this part of himself with the audience matters deeply to him.
Even before the war, in 2020, he formed a band called Smola (there’s a play on words here, as the Russian word “smola” (resin) sounds similar to the beginning of the actor’s last name). With this band he recorded several songs. But after leaving Russia, he had to start over from scratch in his musical journey. And in Riga, he put together a new band, which he named cheLovek (‘chelovek’ in Russian means ‘human’).
Armenia has given the world many famous figures, and one of them was composer Arno Babajanian. He wrote numerous works, including songs for Soviet pop music (for example, “The Best City in the World” and “The Queen of Beauty,” performed by Muslim Magomayev). But there’s one melody of his that I’ve always loved, even though I didn’t know its author for a long time.
It’s simply called “Nocturne.” Originally, Arno Babajanian composed it as a musical piece that didn’t need any lyrics. This happened in 1980. According to the composer’s son, Joseph Kobzon had asked Babajanian for permission to have lyrics written for this beautiful melody, turning it into a song, but Arno Harutyunovich wanted to keep it purely as music.
At the same time, he reportedly “bequeathed” the idea, saying, “After my death, do whatever you want.” And when the composer passed away in 1983, Joseph Kobzon again pursued the idea of creating a song, this time turning to one of Arno Babajanian’s frequent collaborators, lyricist Robert Rozhdestvensky. Thus, the music gained lyrics. Moreover, Robert Rozhdestvensky managed to capture the melancholy of the melody perfectly in the text.
In my previous post, where I discussed the TV series The King and the Jester (Korol i Shut), I mentioned that the show largely adheres to the real history of the band. I was able to compare the fiction with real-life events thanks to the memoir of one of the band’s creators and long-time members—Alexander Balunov, known by the nickname “Balu.”
Balu has written several books, and I decided to read his very first one, published in 2016: Korol i Shut: Between Kupchino and Rzhevka…
The book is a collection of memories about the creation of each of the band’s albums, various episodes from their lives, the members of the golden lineup, and, of course, the two main leaders—Mikhail “Gorshok” Gorshenev and Andrey “Knyaz” Knyazev. Although Balu is the primary narrator, for many chapters he brought in other contributors, including Knyaz, violinist Maria Nefyodova, Alexey Gorshenev (Gorshok’s brother), and even their mother.
Balu made the book interactive from the start. The print version includes numerous links (in the form of QR codes) to audio fragments he references throughout the narrative. These links were intended to direct readers to Balu’s personal website—kroogi.com. However, the site is no longer functional, meaning these links now lead nowhere. But Balu also created an audiobook version, which he narrates for the most part, occasionally enlisting actors to help. This audiobook is completely free and available on the author’s YouTube channel. There, you can either listen to the entire book (though without the photographs included in the text version) or access the mentioned audio fragments directly: the audiobook on YouTube (with audio fragments matching the book chapters exactly).
I don’t think I’ve written long, thoughtful posts about TV series before. But it’s been months now, and I’m still under the impression of this one—so that must be a sign: I need to speak up.
The story of the band Korol i Shut (The King and the Jester) officially begins in 1988 in the city of Leningrad (now Saint Petersburg) when three classmates—Mikhail “Gorshok” Gorshenev (“Gorshok” in Russian means “pot”), Alexander “Poruchik” Shchigolev (“Poruchik” means “lieutenant”), and Alexander “Balu” Balunov—decided to form a band, initially naming it Kontora (it can be translated as The Office but mostly refers to KGB, I think). However, in 1989, Gorshok met Andrey “Knyaz” Knyazev (“Knyaz” is “Duke”) at a restoration school where they later interned together. They became friends, and Gorshok was deeply impressed by Knyaz’s drawings and lyrics in the style of dark fairy tales. This led to Knyaz joining the band, which a year later adopted its final name, Korol i Shut (The King and the Jester). Knyaz’s depiction of a jester became the band’s iconic emblem, and over the years, the jester in the logo began to resemble Gorshok more and more.
I’m not an expert in music genres, but the band’s work has been described as horror punk, folk punk, and rock. I discovered them around 1998, when their music video Yeli Myaso Muzhiki (Men Were Eating Meat) started airing on various music TV channels. It was a blend of horror, dark humor, and memorable punk rock riffs:
I am very bad at keeping track of new music releases, even from bands I love. Perhaps there is a service that notifies you when a “new album from a band on your list has been released” — that would be wonderful.
As a result, I usually check for new releases only occasionally, especially before a trip, because I enjoy sitting on a plane, putting on my headphones, closing my eyes, and detaching myself from all the hustle and bustle around me.
This time, for the trip, I decided to load the latest albums of the band Tantsy Minus, which I have loved since their mega-success in 1999. Since then, a few of their songs have remained in my playlist, including my favorite Polovinka from their very first studio album. Vyacheslav Petkun, the band’s leader, has a very unique, raspy voice. But as his career has shown, he is also an extremely talented singer. After all, it was his voice, with its raspiness, that was chosen for the role in the musical Notre Dame de Paris, where the legendary Garou performs in the original. Yet Petkun sang wonderfully in the Russian version too, which I did not expect from him at all.
But let us return to the new albums. At first, I was not particularly impressed by what I heard; some lyrics even left me puzzled. However, I finally got to the last two songs from the album 8. And this is where it truly struck a chord with me.
