moscow clublife news 2008
Original text translated by Claude
Chuck Berry might not be the king of rock and roll, but he's without question its senior statesman. And if you go strictly by race, he's the undisputed king of rock and roll among Black musicians — the one who came right after Elvis and Jerry Lee.
Everyone else was just a rock-and-roll footnote to those three names. So, since Elvis is alive but nobody knows where — Presley's out — and Jerry Lee Lewis, rock and roll's king number two, has already done more than his share of touring in Russia, so we'll leave him out too. That leaves Chuck Berry and his hit "Johnny B. Goode," the same song Marty McFly played across two "Back to the Future" films. A bit of history: Charles Edward Anderson Berry was born in 1926 in St. Louis, into a large, middle-class Black family. His father was a deacon at a Baptist church, his mother a school principal — which is exactly why Chuck was required to finish school before turning seriously to music.
Right after graduating, he entered a ten-year run playing the blues, over the course of which he made it clear to the whole neighborhood that the blues were entirely within his command. In 1955, Berry decided to experiment with his sound and blended Black blues with white country music, and the result was something close to rock and roll — carving out a niche he's occupied ever since, becoming one of the very few founding fathers of rock and roll to live long enough to see the third millennium. Berry's biography includes more than one run-in with the law.
He's a genuine repeat offender: as a teenager he was convicted of car theft, and later, once he owned his own club, several women sued him for installing hidden cameras in the women's restroom. He also served an 18-month prison sentence handed down in 1961 for transporting "a minor across state lines for immoral purposes." Every rock-and-roller of the mid-20th century got hit with accusations of immorality at some point, but in Berry's case, every one of those scandals carried an unmistakably racist undertone.
And he's still playing! Every new song of his is a well-forgotten old one — antiques can't afford to look fresh, or they lose their value. So what do we actually want out of a Chuck Berry show? We want to figure out how to live to 82 and still be in that kind of shape.
Everyone else was just a rock-and-roll footnote to those three names. So, since Elvis is alive but nobody knows where — Presley's out — and Jerry Lee Lewis, rock and roll's king number two, has already done more than his share of touring in Russia, so we'll leave him out too. That leaves Chuck Berry and his hit "Johnny B. Goode," the same song Marty McFly played across two "Back to the Future" films. A bit of history: Charles Edward Anderson Berry was born in 1926 in St. Louis, into a large, middle-class Black family. His father was a deacon at a Baptist church, his mother a school principal — which is exactly why Chuck was required to finish school before turning seriously to music.
Right after graduating, he entered a ten-year run playing the blues, over the course of which he made it clear to the whole neighborhood that the blues were entirely within his command. In 1955, Berry decided to experiment with his sound and blended Black blues with white country music, and the result was something close to rock and roll — carving out a niche he's occupied ever since, becoming one of the very few founding fathers of rock and roll to live long enough to see the third millennium. Berry's biography includes more than one run-in with the law.
He's a genuine repeat offender: as a teenager he was convicted of car theft, and later, once he owned his own club, several women sued him for installing hidden cameras in the women's restroom. He also served an 18-month prison sentence handed down in 1961 for transporting "a minor across state lines for immoral purposes." Every rock-and-roller of the mid-20th century got hit with accusations of immorality at some point, but in Berry's case, every one of those scandals carried an unmistakably racist undertone.
And he's still playing! Every new song of his is a well-forgotten old one — antiques can't afford to look fresh, or they lose their value. So what do we actually want out of a Chuck Berry show? We want to figure out how to live to 82 and still be in that kind of shape.
CHUCK BERRY
What's this month got in store for us? What is the citrus-themed club Apelsin serving up on March 15? Nothing less than a concert by Auktyon. First, a word on the venue itself: Apelsin has a solid reputation, if only because the giant bowling pin hanging over the entrance signals, first, that there's a bowling alley inside, and second, that there's still plenty of room left over for other kinds of events. And it's true — the space is huge, 1,500 square meters, and every major show held here so far has left nobody complaining. There's just one architectural quirk: two big columns flanking the hall that tend to block the view of the stage whenever an event draws a proper crowd.
Now, about Auktyon: the current lineup is Leonid Fyodorov (vocals, guitar), Pavel Bondarik (bass), Nikolai Rubanov (saxophone), Mikhail Kolovsky (tuba), Dmitry Ozerny (keyboards), Pavel Litvinov (percussion), Boris Shaveinikov (drums), and, of course, Oleg Garkusha (you know exactly what he does). The March 15 show is something of a warm-up before the band's upcoming American tour behind "Girls Sing." Critics went wild over the record when it dropped last year — and what else could they do, given that the St. Petersburg ska-avant-gardists had spent nearly a decade putting it together. It happens. And as a rule, when an album's this long-awaited, it tends to live up to the hype. Every glowing word the press has thrown at "Girls Sing" is fully earned. This is genuinely one of ours — explosive, kaleidoscopic ska, made to bring joy to anyone who wants to feel joyful alongside Auktyon. And now you can put all of that to the test yourself, in person, at the venue mentioned above. So if you head to Apelsin, you'll get a decent preview of what's about to hit the States starting the 20th — and you'll once again appreciate the old line: when it's daytime here, it's nighttime in America. Serves the capitalists right!
Now, about Auktyon: the current lineup is Leonid Fyodorov (vocals, guitar), Pavel Bondarik (bass), Nikolai Rubanov (saxophone), Mikhail Kolovsky (tuba), Dmitry Ozerny (keyboards), Pavel Litvinov (percussion), Boris Shaveinikov (drums), and, of course, Oleg Garkusha (you know exactly what he does). The March 15 show is something of a warm-up before the band's upcoming American tour behind "Girls Sing." Critics went wild over the record when it dropped last year — and what else could they do, given that the St. Petersburg ska-avant-gardists had spent nearly a decade putting it together. It happens. And as a rule, when an album's this long-awaited, it tends to live up to the hype. Every glowing word the press has thrown at "Girls Sing" is fully earned. This is genuinely one of ours — explosive, kaleidoscopic ska, made to bring joy to anyone who wants to feel joyful alongside Auktyon. And now you can put all of that to the test yourself, in person, at the venue mentioned above. So if you head to Apelsin, you'll get a decent preview of what's about to hit the States starting the 20th — and you'll once again appreciate the old line: when it's daytime here, it's nighttime in America. Serves the capitalists right!
АУКЦЫОН
A project that fuses two cultural poles — hot-blooded American and no-nonsense, precision-tuned Swedish. The trio met around six years ago on neutral ground — Berlin — where all three ended up entirely by accident and without so much as registering their address. Pretty much everything about them, including their success, has been accidental — and since counting on luck is a costly habit, the guys make a point of never doing more than necessary. The trio doesn't spend much time analyzing its own creative path: their website has exactly four tabs — photos, releases, contact, video. The story goes that in Berlin, the three of them spent their time hunting for places that would pour them good drinks and let them play their own music — ideally with both things lining up at once, for their own pleasure and, if possible, everyone else's in the room.
But Berlin, in that respect, turned out to be pretty one-note. The DJ experiments Thieves Like Us liked to run — blending different styles inside a single set — didn't sit well with the locals, who'd start waving their arms and snapping sharp phrases in already-sharp German. So the guys gathered up their scattered Iggy Pop and New Order records, paid their respects to Europe, and got on a plane to New York, where they still sit today, writing warm indie-pop cinched tight with quality European club sound.
Broadly speaking, everything Thieves Like Us do is a wink at Daft Punk, a generous nod to '80s new wave, and a punk-style, irresponsible fixation on the present moment. A voice that calls you along and then, once you're there, asks you to stay out of the way — after all, the band's latest release is called "Drugs in My Body," and they record for the currently fashionable label Kitsune. Tickets run 500 rubles, and pray you look older than 18.
But Berlin, in that respect, turned out to be pretty one-note. The DJ experiments Thieves Like Us liked to run — blending different styles inside a single set — didn't sit well with the locals, who'd start waving their arms and snapping sharp phrases in already-sharp German. So the guys gathered up their scattered Iggy Pop and New Order records, paid their respects to Europe, and got on a plane to New York, where they still sit today, writing warm indie-pop cinched tight with quality European club sound.
Broadly speaking, everything Thieves Like Us do is a wink at Daft Punk, a generous nod to '80s new wave, and a punk-style, irresponsible fixation on the present moment. A voice that calls you along and then, once you're there, asks you to stay out of the way — after all, the band's latest release is called "Drugs in My Body," and they record for the currently fashionable label Kitsune. Tickets run 500 rubles, and pray you look older than 18.
Thieves like us
On February 22, the group Pepsee plans to work the crowd at Gogol Club. This genuine St. Petersburg female vocal trio is set to light up the room once again with their combustible retro-pop. And the band, incidentally, is a full 16 years old — it was back in 1992 that three singers, Anya Kipyatkova, Inessa Mikhailova, and Masha Volkova, teamed up with two St. Petersburg men, Kesha Spichinsky and Denis Sladkevich, to form the wild, unserious, entirely singular outfit Pepsee, whose unique concept boils down to this: the three women sing beautifully, and everyone else plays beautifully. You'd think, with vocal and instrumental chops like that, they could be headlining Sopot — but that's beside the point. All the romance and charisma in this music lives in us, the listeners: the ones who grew up at the turn of an era and know exactly what a skier in a red hat with a green pom-pom means to a certain generation.
Sergei Kuryokhin discovered these young talents back in 1992, while working as sound producer on a film then shooting at Lenfilm Studio — the first entry in Pepsee's history books was landing a song on that soundtrack. The '90s turned out to be Pepsee's real moment of stardom, and in those relatively harsh times, their music reminded people in both capitals of what made them unique, kept boredom at bay, and made the point that the era we were all living through could, with the right attitude, count as carefree.
On top of that, their video for "Vovochka," directed by Grigory Konstantinopolsky, unexpectedly took the Grand Prix at the 1997 Generation Festival. The jury really had no choice — everyone knows the new generation makes its own choices. The work kept coming after that: alongside their existing discography of two albums, "Three Stars in the Sky" and "Make Way, Skier," the group added the most anticipated album of 2001, "The Dances." Anya, Masha, and Inessa themselves call their style "extra-turbo-disco-hip": a woman with a lovely, bright, faintly indifferent voice singing lyrics that are just a little bit absurd.
That woman inevitably becomes the center of attention, though men in suits and ties tend to feel shy around girls like that — especially since they'll occasionally show up in white latex while acting like seventh-graders who just joined the Komsomol. Now, every grown-up Vovochka out there finally has a chance to shake off his hang-ups and get moving to music built precisely for that. After all, Pepsee's first big hit laid all of these lively misfits' soft spots bare: boys, music, and folk cats — what else does a well-adjusted soul really need?
Sergei Kuryokhin discovered these young talents back in 1992, while working as sound producer on a film then shooting at Lenfilm Studio — the first entry in Pepsee's history books was landing a song on that soundtrack. The '90s turned out to be Pepsee's real moment of stardom, and in those relatively harsh times, their music reminded people in both capitals of what made them unique, kept boredom at bay, and made the point that the era we were all living through could, with the right attitude, count as carefree.
On top of that, their video for "Vovochka," directed by Grigory Konstantinopolsky, unexpectedly took the Grand Prix at the 1997 Generation Festival. The jury really had no choice — everyone knows the new generation makes its own choices. The work kept coming after that: alongside their existing discography of two albums, "Three Stars in the Sky" and "Make Way, Skier," the group added the most anticipated album of 2001, "The Dances." Anya, Masha, and Inessa themselves call their style "extra-turbo-disco-hip": a woman with a lovely, bright, faintly indifferent voice singing lyrics that are just a little bit absurd.
That woman inevitably becomes the center of attention, though men in suits and ties tend to feel shy around girls like that — especially since they'll occasionally show up in white latex while acting like seventh-graders who just joined the Komsomol. Now, every grown-up Vovochka out there finally has a chance to shake off his hang-ups and get moving to music built precisely for that. After all, Pepsee's first big hit laid all of these lively misfits' soft spots bare: boys, music, and folk cats — what else does a well-adjusted soul really need?
PEPSEE
It's rare for a concert to get a journalist writing the preview a full month ahead of the actual date. But when it comes to monsters of the genre, a month's notice is exactly right — case in point, this very item: Mark Knopfler plays Olimpiysky on April 27. Expect warm weather, and plenty of people from the '70s generation bringing their grandkids along to soak up another spring and appreciate that Russians actually lived to see songs once bootlegged "on bones" performed live, in the flesh, by their original foreign creator.
A bit of history: Mark Knopfler, through and through a citizen of Britain, was born August 12, 1949, in Glasgow. At 28 he formed Dire Straits, a band whose contribution to global pop music is hard to overstate. The group was active until 1995, and once Mark and his bandmates had earned enough to comfortably go their separate ways, Knopfler disbanded Dire Straits and quietly, tastefully, launched a solo career. Right in 1996, his first solo record, "Golden Heart," showed the world just how sensitive and musical his heart really was.
Of course, Knopfler had already spent half his life training on Dire Straits and producing equally big names and voices — Tina Turner, Chris Rea, Bob Dylan — so producing himself as Dire Straits' former solo frontman was hardly a challenge. Another record, "Sailing to Philadelphia," followed in 2000. A lot has happened in the musician's life since, but last summer Knopfler received an honorary doctorate in music from the University of Sunderland, in northeast England — not his first honorary degree, either; the universities of Leeds and Newcastle had already recognized his contributions in '93 and '95, respectively.
This year, the virtuoso is out promoting his latest record, "Shangri-La," named after the studio in Malibu where it was apparently recorded, sandwiched between sessions from Bob Dylan and Neil Young. Interestingly, Knopfler never uses a pick, pulling the sound from his instrument by lightly touching the strings with his fingertips — which is apparently why his rider for the upcoming Olimpiysky show specifically requires all cell phones within range of the venue to be switched off during the concert, so interference can't drown out Knopfler's delicate, fragile guitar work. So think twice before deciding whether to even bring your phone.
A bit of history: Mark Knopfler, through and through a citizen of Britain, was born August 12, 1949, in Glasgow. At 28 he formed Dire Straits, a band whose contribution to global pop music is hard to overstate. The group was active until 1995, and once Mark and his bandmates had earned enough to comfortably go their separate ways, Knopfler disbanded Dire Straits and quietly, tastefully, launched a solo career. Right in 1996, his first solo record, "Golden Heart," showed the world just how sensitive and musical his heart really was.
Of course, Knopfler had already spent half his life training on Dire Straits and producing equally big names and voices — Tina Turner, Chris Rea, Bob Dylan — so producing himself as Dire Straits' former solo frontman was hardly a challenge. Another record, "Sailing to Philadelphia," followed in 2000. A lot has happened in the musician's life since, but last summer Knopfler received an honorary doctorate in music from the University of Sunderland, in northeast England — not his first honorary degree, either; the universities of Leeds and Newcastle had already recognized his contributions in '93 and '95, respectively.
This year, the virtuoso is out promoting his latest record, "Shangri-La," named after the studio in Malibu where it was apparently recorded, sandwiched between sessions from Bob Dylan and Neil Young. Interestingly, Knopfler never uses a pick, pulling the sound from his instrument by lightly touching the strings with his fingertips — which is apparently why his rider for the upcoming Olimpiysky show specifically requires all cell phones within range of the venue to be switched off during the concert, so interference can't drown out Knopfler's delicate, fragile guitar work. So think twice before deciding whether to even bring your phone.
MARK KNOPFLER
Supergrass is a special breed of turf used to seed football pitches. Its practical value lies precisely in that superlative practicality: it's supposed to be green, even, and generally the kind of nice little grass that even walking on barefoot feels a bit off, let alone kicking a ball around it.
Look that clean and well-tended, and the sensation-hungry public will treat you as untouchable in no time. And yes — supergrass is protected while it's growing, but history shows that the moment it's fully grown, enormous, muscle-bound men start trampling it without a second thought for its green constitution. And that's exactly where the roles fall into place: Supergrass, a bit out of view lately but very much back, an unmistakably English outfit straight out of Oxford, arrives in the capital to shake the Moscow crowd into some idol-worship dancing. And that's not all. The whole event, landing on the grounds of everyone's favorite Winzavod Center for Contemporary Art on the first day of summer, goes by the name Blast Fest.
Alongside Supergrass, another thoroughly British headliner is on the bill — Britpop's founding father, Brett Anderson, formerly of Suede, whose logical pivot to a solo career is exactly what we'll get to see on the first, near Kurskaya metro station. Having covered the main event, we can't skip the supporting cast, which includes a few more foreigners: at the very least, the UK's own Vinny Vinny — good lads who, back in the '90s, were still too young for a stage career of their own. They were the ones going to shows by the older acts named above, only to burst onto the scene in the 21st century with a new indie sound, demonstrating the evolution of British music firsthand. Now we finally get to compare what Britpop used to be, what it's become, and — fittingly — what it might yet turn into.
Next up is a little band called My Silver Revolver, whose nationality field lists two countries, the UK and the USA, while their registered address modestly and proudly reads Moscow. Word has it these strange Anglo-American hard rockers liked Moscow so much they still haven't found a better place to settle down permanently. The lineup also swells with a whole run of homegrown acts: Moi Rakety Vverkh, Bajinda Behind the Enemy Lines, and Punk TV. Let's see what these young rockers have cooked up for us. The organizers did, after all, put them on to warm up for the real monsters — which means they must have something going for them. Let's find out.
Look that clean and well-tended, and the sensation-hungry public will treat you as untouchable in no time. And yes — supergrass is protected while it's growing, but history shows that the moment it's fully grown, enormous, muscle-bound men start trampling it without a second thought for its green constitution. And that's exactly where the roles fall into place: Supergrass, a bit out of view lately but very much back, an unmistakably English outfit straight out of Oxford, arrives in the capital to shake the Moscow crowd into some idol-worship dancing. And that's not all. The whole event, landing on the grounds of everyone's favorite Winzavod Center for Contemporary Art on the first day of summer, goes by the name Blast Fest.
Alongside Supergrass, another thoroughly British headliner is on the bill — Britpop's founding father, Brett Anderson, formerly of Suede, whose logical pivot to a solo career is exactly what we'll get to see on the first, near Kurskaya metro station. Having covered the main event, we can't skip the supporting cast, which includes a few more foreigners: at the very least, the UK's own Vinny Vinny — good lads who, back in the '90s, were still too young for a stage career of their own. They were the ones going to shows by the older acts named above, only to burst onto the scene in the 21st century with a new indie sound, demonstrating the evolution of British music firsthand. Now we finally get to compare what Britpop used to be, what it's become, and — fittingly — what it might yet turn into.
Next up is a little band called My Silver Revolver, whose nationality field lists two countries, the UK and the USA, while their registered address modestly and proudly reads Moscow. Word has it these strange Anglo-American hard rockers liked Moscow so much they still haven't found a better place to settle down permanently. The lineup also swells with a whole run of homegrown acts: Moi Rakety Vverkh, Bajinda Behind the Enemy Lines, and Punk TV. Let's see what these young rockers have cooked up for us. The organizers did, after all, put them on to warm up for the real monsters — which means they must have something going for them. Let's find out.
SUPERGRASS
The second-to-last day of a tough winter brings two happy occasions at once: the second anniversary of Ikra Club, and a concert by the French rockers Hushpuppies. Even though all five members of the band have thought in French since birth, their rowdy songs are sung exclusively in English — a stylistic necessity, given that their sound could best be summed up as "raucous mayhem," and refined French simply couldn't capture that kind of overflowing emotion in full color. This isn't chanson — it's real rock and roll, the kind that makes you dance. Leaving one of their shows sober is practically impossible, because these are the real deal — young, drunk, melodic, independent, and God knows what else — Hushpuppies (made in France), no strangers to Moscow, back once again to help us greet this long-awaited spring with a cheerful hangover.
HUSHPUPPIES
Coming up soon: a visit from one of Warp Records' founding pioneers, Red Snapper, a trio built around live jazz playing dressed up with electronic touches, plus genuine deep Black male or sultry white female vocals wherever the moment calls for it.
The band spent the early 2000s being fickle: riding high on their success, they broke up right after their sixth album, "Our Aim Is to Satisfy," came out in 2002 — only to reunite a few times, five years on, just to play for the fun of it. Eventually it became clear you can't outrun yourself forever, and a new album had to happen.
And once that ball was rolling, a European tour made perfect sense too. B1 Maximum has a genuinely tasteful gift lined up for all the Defenders of the Fatherland out there: a concert by the reunited Red Snapper on February 22.
The band spent the early 2000s being fickle: riding high on their success, they broke up right after their sixth album, "Our Aim Is to Satisfy," came out in 2002 — only to reunite a few times, five years on, just to play for the fun of it. Eventually it became clear you can't outrun yourself forever, and a new album had to happen.
And once that ball was rolling, a European tour made perfect sense too. B1 Maximum has a genuinely tasteful gift lined up for all the Defenders of the Fatherland out there: a concert by the reunited Red Snapper on February 22.
RED SNAPPER
April 5th will be, among other things, a special day for all of us. On this unusual Saturday we get a rare chance to catch a genuine, timeless bunch of misfits — a concert by Н.О.М. at the Apelsin bowling alley, at 8:00 PM sharp.
A quick bit of history: the band was formed in February 1987 in the northern capital. At the time, its members were Andrei Kagadeev (aka Hafizulla Ulsanbairovich Sagitdulov) on bass and vocals; Sergei Kagadeev (aka Hafizulla Edinbekovich Sagitdulov, aka Kaban) on vocals; Yuri Saltykov (aka Ivan Nikolayevich Turist) on vocals and stage antics; Vladimir Postnichenko (aka Gottlieb Tuzeast, aka Starikan) on drums; and guitarist Vitaly Lapin. All of them, together, are Н.О.М. Another permanent misfit, Alexander Liver, joined the group later.
Ten years after forming, in 1997, internal circumstances led the group to split into two offshoots — НОМ Жир and НОМ Евро — while continuing to compactly operate as НОМ overall; the split didn't last long, and by 2001 НОМ Евро had ceased to exist as a separate entity. Last spring, on April 20, 2007, a celebratory concert marked the New Informal Union of Youth, once again bringing together the original lineup — and this upcoming show is bright proof that Н.О.М. remains as creatively active as ever.
Music isn't the only thing waiting for Н.О.М. fans who show up to Apelsin on April 5th: after the concert, there's a screening of the group's seventh and final feature film, "Fantomas Takes Off His Mask." It's hard to summarize what the film is actually about, even though it's already out on DVD — films like this are meant to be watched, not described. In short, it's Н.О.М.'s new take on Fantomas, who shows up in the story as a man in a rubber mask, periodically taking it off and putting it back on. The role of "F." went to Alexander Liver; the role of Commissioner Juve went to Turist. The film was directed by Andrei Kagadeev and Nikolai Kopeikin, who also appears in it as the commissioner's hapless nephew.
The score, performed by Н.О.М., is fantastic — ironic retro, but ironic within reasonable limits: whatever's supposed to sound solid and foundational sounds exactly that way. There's plenty of VST work in the mix too, which gives the sound both the loud echo of the past and a mysterious hint of the future. A quick rundown of the band's recent output: their second-to-last album, from 2004, was titled "The Album of Real Art," followed in 2005 by its sequel, "More Powerful." Apparently real art gets more powerful and more real with every passing year — so brace yourselves for some power coming your way.
A quick bit of history: the band was formed in February 1987 in the northern capital. At the time, its members were Andrei Kagadeev (aka Hafizulla Ulsanbairovich Sagitdulov) on bass and vocals; Sergei Kagadeev (aka Hafizulla Edinbekovich Sagitdulov, aka Kaban) on vocals; Yuri Saltykov (aka Ivan Nikolayevich Turist) on vocals and stage antics; Vladimir Postnichenko (aka Gottlieb Tuzeast, aka Starikan) on drums; and guitarist Vitaly Lapin. All of them, together, are Н.О.М. Another permanent misfit, Alexander Liver, joined the group later.
Ten years after forming, in 1997, internal circumstances led the group to split into two offshoots — НОМ Жир and НОМ Евро — while continuing to compactly operate as НОМ overall; the split didn't last long, and by 2001 НОМ Евро had ceased to exist as a separate entity. Last spring, on April 20, 2007, a celebratory concert marked the New Informal Union of Youth, once again bringing together the original lineup — and this upcoming show is bright proof that Н.О.М. remains as creatively active as ever.
Music isn't the only thing waiting for Н.О.М. fans who show up to Apelsin on April 5th: after the concert, there's a screening of the group's seventh and final feature film, "Fantomas Takes Off His Mask." It's hard to summarize what the film is actually about, even though it's already out on DVD — films like this are meant to be watched, not described. In short, it's Н.О.М.'s new take on Fantomas, who shows up in the story as a man in a rubber mask, periodically taking it off and putting it back on. The role of "F." went to Alexander Liver; the role of Commissioner Juve went to Turist. The film was directed by Andrei Kagadeev and Nikolai Kopeikin, who also appears in it as the commissioner's hapless nephew.
The score, performed by Н.О.М., is fantastic — ironic retro, but ironic within reasonable limits: whatever's supposed to sound solid and foundational sounds exactly that way. There's plenty of VST work in the mix too, which gives the sound both the loud echo of the past and a mysterious hint of the future. A quick rundown of the band's recent output: their second-to-last album, from 2004, was titled "The Album of Real Art," followed in 2005 by its sequel, "More Powerful." Apparently real art gets more powerful and more real with every passing year — so brace yourselves for some power coming your way.
Н.О.М.КЛУБ АПЕЛЬСИН
Winter's practically over, so 120 Days coming to Solyanka on February 16th is likely, above all, an attempt to drag back a bit of wintery gloom for anyone who finds it more comfortable to be sad and complain about life than, say, to laugh and feel good. But you can't fight style, and everyone capable of self-expression does it exactly the way they want to.
So here's a quick primer on the number 120: their sound could be called minor-key synth-pop, or post-punk, whichever you prefer. It's not the most original thing you'll ever hear — a lot of it sounds like something you've caught somewhere before — but well-tuned Norwegian gear does its job, and overall the 120 Days sound reads as fresh club material. The lineup: Aedne Meisfjord (vocals, guitar, keys), Katie Ovesen (synths), Arne Stu Kvalvik (drum machine, effects), Jonas Dahl (bass). This quartet of young Norwegians has built its music around such cheerful subjects as botched suicide attempts (the kind that didn't quite pan out), the side effects of intense emotion, various tiers of drug use, and the general fragility of life. Vocalist Aedne's voice bears a strong resemblance to Robert Smith's, and honestly, 120 Days could fairly be described as a late-2000s version of The Cure.
As it turns out, the faint sickliness in their sound and their outpourings of raw feeling aren't purely a stylistic choice — they reflect genuine circumstances in these four young men's lives. In response to glowing coverage from major music outlets like NME and Pitchfork, the band doesn't share in the enthusiasm — in interview after interview they lament that human life is simply too complicated and exhausting an institution. And sometimes there's nothing left to do but cry along to a solid club beat while minor-key chord changes carry their bleak, unhappy-ending stories. Hooray!
So here's a quick primer on the number 120: their sound could be called minor-key synth-pop, or post-punk, whichever you prefer. It's not the most original thing you'll ever hear — a lot of it sounds like something you've caught somewhere before — but well-tuned Norwegian gear does its job, and overall the 120 Days sound reads as fresh club material. The lineup: Aedne Meisfjord (vocals, guitar, keys), Katie Ovesen (synths), Arne Stu Kvalvik (drum machine, effects), Jonas Dahl (bass). This quartet of young Norwegians has built its music around such cheerful subjects as botched suicide attempts (the kind that didn't quite pan out), the side effects of intense emotion, various tiers of drug use, and the general fragility of life. Vocalist Aedne's voice bears a strong resemblance to Robert Smith's, and honestly, 120 Days could fairly be described as a late-2000s version of The Cure.
As it turns out, the faint sickliness in their sound and their outpourings of raw feeling aren't purely a stylistic choice — they reflect genuine circumstances in these four young men's lives. In response to glowing coverage from major music outlets like NME and Pitchfork, the band doesn't share in the enthusiasm — in interview after interview they lament that human life is simply too complicated and exhausting an institution. And sometimes there's nothing left to do but cry along to a solid club beat while minor-key chord changes carry their bleak, unhappy-ending stories. Hooray!
120 Days
When Peter Kruder plays, everyone listens. As one half of Kruder & Dorfmeister, a third of the Voom:Voom project, and the creator of Peace Orchestra, Peter Kruder deserves the highest praise for the beautiful electronic music he's been making for the past 15 years. Kruder is a DJ, producer, and musician who refuses to look left or right, and certainly never looks back. Peter Kruder is a forward gaze, an act of imagining what the future might bring. Self-sufficient, precise, and thoroughly professional in his work, it's hard to find anyone else quite as focused on what they do, whether in the studio or behind the decks at a club. His DJ sets are legendary and full of surprises — Kruder always delivers more than even his most devoted fans expect.
One could go on at length about Kruder's past — about how legendary all those K&D "sessions" and remixes were, how vast and boundless his musical journey has been, and list off the countless milestones that shaped this extraordinary man's career. But for someone who lives entirely in the present and future, that would honestly feel out of place. Peter himself certainly wouldn't approve. Better, probably, to try writing a biography that looks forward instead, one that still explains exactly where our hero stands right now.
As a producer, Peter remains unmatched. His grasp of music, and of how music actually gets made, explains perfectly why he keeps turning out masterpiece after masterpiece. Peter simply adores music, and that love affair has only deepened with the years. Another admirable fact: Peter only ever releases music he actually wants to release. He's never put out anything mediocre or half-baked, never turned himself into a content factory just to please other people or keep his name in circulation. Peter Kruder isn't a jukebox — he's a man devoted to music, with firm convictions and an unshakable belief that only the very best is worth putting out into the world.
In his recently refitted studio, G-Stone, now packed with vintage analog gear, a happy Peter keeps making strange, wonderful new music, destined to become classic and keep delighting us for a long time yet. His new records always sound remarkably fresh — that's arguably their defining trait. Future releases from Voom:Voom and Peace Orchestra will once again prove just how wide his musical horizons really are. Expect diversity and layering on the grandest possible scale.
The same goes for his DJ sets. He can play it hard and fast when the room calls for it. He can go warm and mellow when he senses the crowd needs to catch its breath. One of the most intelligent DJs on the scene, Kruder always understands and respects the boys and girls who came out to dance and let loose. His close friends Rainer Trüby and Gilles Peterson know full well just how powerful a Kruder set can be — matching his level is no easy feat. You could fairly call him a DJ's DJ. As we said at the start: when Kruder plays, everyone listens.
One could go on at length about Kruder's past — about how legendary all those K&D "sessions" and remixes were, how vast and boundless his musical journey has been, and list off the countless milestones that shaped this extraordinary man's career. But for someone who lives entirely in the present and future, that would honestly feel out of place. Peter himself certainly wouldn't approve. Better, probably, to try writing a biography that looks forward instead, one that still explains exactly where our hero stands right now.
As a producer, Peter remains unmatched. His grasp of music, and of how music actually gets made, explains perfectly why he keeps turning out masterpiece after masterpiece. Peter simply adores music, and that love affair has only deepened with the years. Another admirable fact: Peter only ever releases music he actually wants to release. He's never put out anything mediocre or half-baked, never turned himself into a content factory just to please other people or keep his name in circulation. Peter Kruder isn't a jukebox — he's a man devoted to music, with firm convictions and an unshakable belief that only the very best is worth putting out into the world.
In his recently refitted studio, G-Stone, now packed with vintage analog gear, a happy Peter keeps making strange, wonderful new music, destined to become classic and keep delighting us for a long time yet. His new records always sound remarkably fresh — that's arguably their defining trait. Future releases from Voom:Voom and Peace Orchestra will once again prove just how wide his musical horizons really are. Expect diversity and layering on the grandest possible scale.
The same goes for his DJ sets. He can play it hard and fast when the room calls for it. He can go warm and mellow when he senses the crowd needs to catch its breath. One of the most intelligent DJs on the scene, Kruder always understands and respects the boys and girls who came out to dance and let loose. His close friends Rainer Trüby and Gilles Peterson know full well just how powerful a Kruder set can be — matching his level is no easy feat. You could fairly call him a DJ's DJ. As we said at the start: when Kruder plays, everyone listens.
PETER KRUDER
Peace. Labor. May. — that's just a small slice of what's waiting for us on Moscow's cultural map. It's really just the outer, sort of justifying shell wrapped around a sudden long weekend, officially routed through the calendar as Workers' Solidarity Days in Moscow. Given the lofty purpose behind this weekend, let's be in solidarity ourselves and try to hit every event listed below simultaneously, give or take an hour or two.
So — May 1st.
Gogol Club. Its fried potatoes with mushrooms, little carafes of vodka, and some kind of wildly alive musical happening. Right on the nose — Nikolai Vasilyevich himself would smirk reading this: at exactly 8:00 PM, a showcase from the promo group SOUND SQUAT kicks off on Gogol's stage. Not many people know who they are yet, which is exactly why these words exist. Sound Squat is the banner under which the best independent homegrown bands march. First up, BAJINDA BEHIND THE ENEMY LINES — a crew from Samara playing something close to Manchester-style indie rock, who'll turn every 200 grams you've had into 300. Then comes the Moscow band MANICURE, a gloomy quartet — two women, two men — who, by their own account, never sleep at all. How is that even possible? Everyone to Gogol! Because besides the sleepless and the independent, Sound Squat will also be represented by a third act, Lost Weekend, whose style is shoegaze — a rare thing to find in May these days. Discount at the door for anyone who shows up in a red tie, since it is, after all, the first of May. Everything above board, no lies — the lying will come pouring out of the speakers at B2 the next day, May 2nd. Ever driven down Sadovaya past B2 and been horrified by the length of the line outside that enormous concert hall? I have. So expect May 2nd to follow that exact tradition — get there early.
The trio Liars defy any tidy genre box. Liars are a mix of dark humor, minimalist maximalism, and post-punk dance-rock.
Honestly, you're welcome to slap whatever label you like on them — call them a pot and stick them in the oven, it won't hurt anything. They've already got four albums under their belt, each with its own backstory and its own epilogue. And these guys — named Julian, Aaron, and, dare I say it, Angus — are 100% American, yet non-conformist enough to record all their work in the capital of Germany. For what it's worth, if you find David Lynch films funny, this band will be playing just for you. The night is only getting started, and closer to midnight on May 2nd you'll be able to declare, loudly: in our era of advanced technology, the word "technology" splits into two halves — techno and logic. The techno will be at Ikra, and here's the logic: if techno is international, then as a citizen of Russia you might as well favor the domestic producer — specifically, the Russian-speaking one.
And if you're under the impression that Russian techno, unlike its European counterpart, is old news — the Elektroshik Volume Two party will set you straight. The event marks the release of the compilation of the same name. The hosts of the weekly Ikra Elektroshik nights, Artem Arshanitsa and Yulia Yudenich, put their money on homegrown techno producers back in 2006, and are only now starting to reap what they sowed. Plenty of the provincial talent they nurtured now hold contracts with major labels and are rightfully idols to younger fans — Suokas, Mujuice, DJ Spell, and others. The main draw of the night is a 180-minute DJ set from Artem Arshanitsa, built entirely from Russian producers, meant to make the uninitiated wonder: is Russia really the mother of these sounds? Absolutely. These sounds have Russian roots.
Next up in the lineup, back to American acts despite the name — Telefon Tel Aviv. Just so you know, the bridge in Kutaisi did get built, though you won't actually need to call Tel Aviv. What you will need to do is listen to a genuinely feminine techno-live set, laced with calm and stillness, plenty of vocals, and the occasional chill down your spine. The Telefon Tel Aviv duo consists of two college-educated musicians (University of New Orleans), Joshua Eustis and Charles Cooper, and to strike up a cultural connection with these tattooed musicians, you won't need to dial an international code — just swing back by Ikra, this time on May 3rd. By then the club should have cooled off after the night before, swept clean and ready — because the music waiting for us on May 3rd calls for a much clearer state of mind.
So — May 1st.
Gogol Club. Its fried potatoes with mushrooms, little carafes of vodka, and some kind of wildly alive musical happening. Right on the nose — Nikolai Vasilyevich himself would smirk reading this: at exactly 8:00 PM, a showcase from the promo group SOUND SQUAT kicks off on Gogol's stage. Not many people know who they are yet, which is exactly why these words exist. Sound Squat is the banner under which the best independent homegrown bands march. First up, BAJINDA BEHIND THE ENEMY LINES — a crew from Samara playing something close to Manchester-style indie rock, who'll turn every 200 grams you've had into 300. Then comes the Moscow band MANICURE, a gloomy quartet — two women, two men — who, by their own account, never sleep at all. How is that even possible? Everyone to Gogol! Because besides the sleepless and the independent, Sound Squat will also be represented by a third act, Lost Weekend, whose style is shoegaze — a rare thing to find in May these days. Discount at the door for anyone who shows up in a red tie, since it is, after all, the first of May. Everything above board, no lies — the lying will come pouring out of the speakers at B2 the next day, May 2nd. Ever driven down Sadovaya past B2 and been horrified by the length of the line outside that enormous concert hall? I have. So expect May 2nd to follow that exact tradition — get there early.
The trio Liars defy any tidy genre box. Liars are a mix of dark humor, minimalist maximalism, and post-punk dance-rock.
Honestly, you're welcome to slap whatever label you like on them — call them a pot and stick them in the oven, it won't hurt anything. They've already got four albums under their belt, each with its own backstory and its own epilogue. And these guys — named Julian, Aaron, and, dare I say it, Angus — are 100% American, yet non-conformist enough to record all their work in the capital of Germany. For what it's worth, if you find David Lynch films funny, this band will be playing just for you. The night is only getting started, and closer to midnight on May 2nd you'll be able to declare, loudly: in our era of advanced technology, the word "technology" splits into two halves — techno and logic. The techno will be at Ikra, and here's the logic: if techno is international, then as a citizen of Russia you might as well favor the domestic producer — specifically, the Russian-speaking one.
And if you're under the impression that Russian techno, unlike its European counterpart, is old news — the Elektroshik Volume Two party will set you straight. The event marks the release of the compilation of the same name. The hosts of the weekly Ikra Elektroshik nights, Artem Arshanitsa and Yulia Yudenich, put their money on homegrown techno producers back in 2006, and are only now starting to reap what they sowed. Plenty of the provincial talent they nurtured now hold contracts with major labels and are rightfully idols to younger fans — Suokas, Mujuice, DJ Spell, and others. The main draw of the night is a 180-minute DJ set from Artem Arshanitsa, built entirely from Russian producers, meant to make the uninitiated wonder: is Russia really the mother of these sounds? Absolutely. These sounds have Russian roots.
Next up in the lineup, back to American acts despite the name — Telefon Tel Aviv. Just so you know, the bridge in Kutaisi did get built, though you won't actually need to call Tel Aviv. What you will need to do is listen to a genuinely feminine techno-live set, laced with calm and stillness, plenty of vocals, and the occasional chill down your spine. The Telefon Tel Aviv duo consists of two college-educated musicians (University of New Orleans), Joshua Eustis and Charles Cooper, and to strike up a cultural connection with these tattooed musicians, you won't need to dial an international code — just swing back by Ikra, this time on May 3rd. By then the club should have cooled off after the night before, swept clean and ready — because the music waiting for us on May 3rd calls for a much clearer state of mind.
МОСКВА
30.04 - 03.05.08
Выходные
I know these club previews are my weekly job, and they're supposed to go up starting Thursday evening so everyone can properly plan their weekend. A weekend is like the third course at lunch: it's good to know what's for dessert so you can eat your soup and pasta with some self-respect, before starting the slow, grueling game of chasing down the fruit jelly. The main thing is not letting that jelly melt before it makes it into your beautiful stomach.
So, if you're reading this, Thursday's already here. The question is whether you'll actually make it to the show. It might be May 15th, but the tons you need to get to urgently number 16. Don't mix that up, because the Ambidextrous project is turning 10, and to mark the occasion, Nick Zavriev — its longtime frontman — has put together a new album, "Rocket Mind." The whole appeal of this show is that every track from the album will be performed live, so that everyone, as they say, gets it: gets that electronic music is exactly as alive as the emotions it stirs up. And we already know the best sound in Moscow is at 16 Tons.
Not a bad start for a true connoisseur of contemporary club culture. But a start with no follow-through is just a finish line, and we can't afford to stop here. Two more bright evenings and at least three worthwhile events lie ahead. In fact, no need to even leave 16 Tons: the very next evening, May 16, Andrei "Dolphin" Lysikov slips in through the service entrance to play songs from his latest record, "Youth." Everything kicks off at that youthful hour — 9:00 PM.
Lysikov's newest work, as a lyricist, comes from his close collaboration with guitarist Pavel Dodonov. Where Dodonov merely contributed to the last album, "Star," on "Youth" he's the author of every musical part, and Lysikov didn't touch a single note of it. Everyone's welcome. Come on in!... though somehow those standard phrases don't quite fit the event being announced. That's probably because Dolphin's real talent lies in his remarkable ability to present his own outlook on the truth with such modesty — nothing extra, no wasted words needed. We all come from childhood, which means youth was, at some point, listed on every one of our registration papers too.
The moment the show wraps up, dig up every ounce of athletic ability you've got. And run. Run. Run to "Gorod" so you don't miss the start of a proper Saturday night. Dolphin's music should help keep you from tipping over into whatever heavier indulgences the next event has in store — because it's practically designed to tempt you toward exactly that. Right at 11:00 PM, the party kicks off, headlined by French star and Kompakt-label artist Tom Pooks, a French DJ who's recently fallen hard for Russia — hard enough to sign with the Russian vinyl label Highway Records. Nobody expected that kind of hustle from a Frenchman, but really, what choice did he have? If the freeloader wants to come our way, he can earn his keep. And earn it he will, spinning tech-house — the genre of the moment, guaranteed to get the girls jumping and laughing while the guys glance excitedly at the clock. The party's called Tom Pooks@Highway — just tack on ".ru" and the whole pro-Russia subtext of the event becomes clear, turning the whole phrase into a ready-made email address. Even so, the night promises to be in high demand, and even if you run a little late after the Dolphin show, no harm done: our own tech-house drummers — Vladimir Trapeznikov, Mario, and Mike Spirit — will warm the crowd up for the visiting Frenchman first.
If you've played by the rules, you should wake up on Sunday feeling bright, rosy, and exactly the way you'd want to. Knowing that winning the slow, grueling game against fruit jelly takes exactly one final sprint — and once again, that sprint happens at 16 Tons. What can you do when literally all the important club events keep happening at the same venue? Probably time to rent an apartment somewhere nearby... May 17th. 16 Tons. 11:00 PM. A DJ set from the Belgian act Goose (not to be confused with GusGus) — a project so significant in the history of the global club scene that I personally know at least fifty people with two advanced degrees who have a Goose tattoo somewhere on their body. Doesn't matter where. All of them, and plenty of others, are simply too scared of missing this show, knowing full well they'd deeply regret sleeping through a Sunday evening for nothing. Only after dancing through a full set from this crew of indie-club-electro-pop heartthrobs can you collapse into bed with a genuine sense of accomplishment. By that point it might not even matter whose bed. (Possibly even a bed at the tattoo parlor.)
So, if you're reading this, Thursday's already here. The question is whether you'll actually make it to the show. It might be May 15th, but the tons you need to get to urgently number 16. Don't mix that up, because the Ambidextrous project is turning 10, and to mark the occasion, Nick Zavriev — its longtime frontman — has put together a new album, "Rocket Mind." The whole appeal of this show is that every track from the album will be performed live, so that everyone, as they say, gets it: gets that electronic music is exactly as alive as the emotions it stirs up. And we already know the best sound in Moscow is at 16 Tons.
Not a bad start for a true connoisseur of contemporary club culture. But a start with no follow-through is just a finish line, and we can't afford to stop here. Two more bright evenings and at least three worthwhile events lie ahead. In fact, no need to even leave 16 Tons: the very next evening, May 16, Andrei "Dolphin" Lysikov slips in through the service entrance to play songs from his latest record, "Youth." Everything kicks off at that youthful hour — 9:00 PM.
Lysikov's newest work, as a lyricist, comes from his close collaboration with guitarist Pavel Dodonov. Where Dodonov merely contributed to the last album, "Star," on "Youth" he's the author of every musical part, and Lysikov didn't touch a single note of it. Everyone's welcome. Come on in!... though somehow those standard phrases don't quite fit the event being announced. That's probably because Dolphin's real talent lies in his remarkable ability to present his own outlook on the truth with such modesty — nothing extra, no wasted words needed. We all come from childhood, which means youth was, at some point, listed on every one of our registration papers too.
The moment the show wraps up, dig up every ounce of athletic ability you've got. And run. Run. Run to "Gorod" so you don't miss the start of a proper Saturday night. Dolphin's music should help keep you from tipping over into whatever heavier indulgences the next event has in store — because it's practically designed to tempt you toward exactly that. Right at 11:00 PM, the party kicks off, headlined by French star and Kompakt-label artist Tom Pooks, a French DJ who's recently fallen hard for Russia — hard enough to sign with the Russian vinyl label Highway Records. Nobody expected that kind of hustle from a Frenchman, but really, what choice did he have? If the freeloader wants to come our way, he can earn his keep. And earn it he will, spinning tech-house — the genre of the moment, guaranteed to get the girls jumping and laughing while the guys glance excitedly at the clock. The party's called Tom Pooks@Highway — just tack on ".ru" and the whole pro-Russia subtext of the event becomes clear, turning the whole phrase into a ready-made email address. Even so, the night promises to be in high demand, and even if you run a little late after the Dolphin show, no harm done: our own tech-house drummers — Vladimir Trapeznikov, Mario, and Mike Spirit — will warm the crowd up for the visiting Frenchman first.
If you've played by the rules, you should wake up on Sunday feeling bright, rosy, and exactly the way you'd want to. Knowing that winning the slow, grueling game against fruit jelly takes exactly one final sprint — and once again, that sprint happens at 16 Tons. What can you do when literally all the important club events keep happening at the same venue? Probably time to rent an apartment somewhere nearby... May 17th. 16 Tons. 11:00 PM. A DJ set from the Belgian act Goose (not to be confused with GusGus) — a project so significant in the history of the global club scene that I personally know at least fifty people with two advanced degrees who have a Goose tattoo somewhere on their body. Doesn't matter where. All of them, and plenty of others, are simply too scared of missing this show, knowing full well they'd deeply regret sleeping through a Sunday evening for nothing. Only after dancing through a full set from this crew of indie-club-electro-pop heartthrobs can you collapse into bed with a genuine sense of accomplishment. By that point it might not even matter whose bed. (Possibly even a bed at the tattoo parlor.)
МОСКВА
15 - 16 - 17 мая 2008
Выходные
SDK MAI
One of the capital's most storied concert venues is SDK MAI. Rumor has it the whole cultural complex owes its existence to the first human spaceflight, which is why MAI's roots trace all the way back to the Khrushchev era.
The red ribbon at the entrance of the freshly built House of Culture was cut back in 1968. And off it went. Throughout the '70s, the venue's Grand Hall hosted the stars of that era's stage — from young Alla Pugacheva to Vladimir Vysotsky and Arkady Raikin. In the '80s, alongside other icons of the youth scene, Kino and Aria whipped crowds into a frenzy here. The place has always carried a certain respectability, and its main cultural cachet always came from feeling connected to the boundlessness of outer space — which is still exactly why people walk out into the fresh air afterward feeling like they've fulfilled some sort of cultural duty.
The venue's name changed several times throughout the '80s. Back then, especially near the weekend, you'd hear phrases like "Let's go to the MAI disco," then "Let's head to Sokol!", then "Come to the disco at Navigator tonight." Until finally, in 1997, the club settled on its simple, lasting name: Disco Club SDK MAI.
Today, MAI is a massive entertainment complex, with a two-tier stage and dance floor for 1,500 people, a separate seated hall for another 1,200, a party bar, a café-bar with a whole spread of cuisines, five-table billiards, and even a movie theater — basically, everything's covered, and mostly included. This club has never once fallen behind the shifting moods of young people; every current genre of electronic music has had its night here, and what guests remember most is that rotating dance floor, unmatched anywhere else in Moscow for a long time. Club nights with visiting and local DJs still happen here, but the main stage now belongs to live bands — the kind you'd hear on Nashe Radio.
TOCHKA (the POINT)
Step into Tochka and the first thing you'll notice is a massive hall. You're standing dead center, with the bar just off to the side of the stage. Given the size, you'd guess capacity is at least 1,500. Makes you wonder what kind of crowd this place actually draws, given how often famous — and sometimes rarely touring — acts play here.
Check the menu and you'll realize Tochka welcomes both the well-off and the average hungry student — the bar sells cigars anywhere from 180 to 1,200 rubles. A big venue exists to make sure nobody feels shortchanged, leaving only warm memories and the urge to come back. This is where Red Snapper once played a genuinely landmark show, and it's where the club scene from the film "Antikiller" was shot that very same night. Back in 2001, Tochka firmly established itself as a venue that knows how to book the right events. These days it houses a two-tier, 200-seat restaurant with reasonable prices and solid food, a VIP room, and, when it comes to sound and lighting output, a respectable 25 and 20 kilowatts respectively.
There's plenty of room, so the shows here tend to be big ones. In February 2008 alone, Neprikasaemye with Garik Sukachev, Leningrad with Sergei Shnurov, and Tantsy Minus with Petkun all played — the kind of acts that would feel crowded anywhere smaller. And in just a few days, the venue will host a multi-day festival of up-and-coming, unsigned bands and artists called "Popast v Tochku." A good cause, that!
On top of it all, February 1st brings out Vladimir Kuzmin's fans, and a couple of days later the English band Bring Me the Horizon crash through with their deathcore sound. And of course, February 8th sees the annual reggae festival marking Bob Marley's birthday. Smell that? That's the smell of real stylistic range — something for every taste, every mood, every kind of night — which is precisely what a venue this size is here to deliver. Full stop. Oh, and it's also at 6 Leninsky Prospekt. Now, that's Tochka.
IKRA (ROE)
Tucked into one of the quietest corners near the Garden Ring, at 8 Kazakova Street, Ikra has been running for over two years now as a bar-restaurant hybrid. Worth clarifying right away: not black caviar, which has gotten far too pricey and elusive these days; not zucchini "caviar," despite the fact that Ikra is, after all, quite the tavern; but the most democratic and widespread kind — red. This is the most orange-toned Ikra in mood.
Last year the venue was named Moscow's best music club at the Nite Life Awards, and its commitment to European booking standards has clearly paid off. Ikra's management keeps making music lovers' dreams come true — the ones already eyeing a trip abroad to catch their favorite artist live.
The moment word gets out about an upcoming show, they cancel the plane ticket and buy an Ikra ticket instead, which naturally costs a lot less. For two years now, artists people would otherwise travel far to see have been coming here — drawing crowds far larger than the venue can technically hold. So, what's inside? Step through the door and polite security will greet you.
Grab a zine on your way in — a little booklet covering what's happening at the club this month. From there you've got a few options. First: head straight upstairs to the café-bar, with a mellow DJ in the evenings, 50 grams of Red Label for just 220 rubles, and a standard European menu.
A hearty meal around 750 rubles will set you up nicely for the next step — likely heading up to the third floor, past the box office and face control. That's where the Main Hall lives, the room where Amon Tobin and Roisin Murphy have both worked the crowd, and — no need to be modest about it — Pyotr Mamonov himself has played unannounced shows here.
A full sound-system rundown is on the club's site, nobullshit.ru, for anyone who wants to geek out over the venue's audio and lighting capabilities. And once the concert's over, there's a third step waiting: down one floor to the disco level, home to the weekly Friday ElectroShik nights, which genuinely reflect the current state of techno music in Russia and beyond. All in all, Ikra is a real launchpad for artists across genres — exhibitions, festivals, charity events, and shows by both major domestic and international names all happen here, not just concerts. Plenty of acts who got their start here now record on Western labels, effectively Ikra alumni. Plenty of Western acts who've played here once keep coming back. And plenty more are just waiting for their chance, because no matter the season, this place has its own distinct orange atmosphere. Ikra, like a good strong drink, doesn't spoil with age — it just gets better.
CHINESE PILOT ZHAO DA
One of Moscow's genuinely storied venues is Chinese Pilot Zhao Da — conservative in its musical outlook. If you're firmly in the mood for something homegrown, current, and alive, there's really only one choice: Chinese Pilot.
This small room, holding around 200 to 250 people, has hosted plenty of real rockers, in the broadest sense of the word, over its long history. No glamour here, no rave scene to speak of, no white Lincolns parked outside — but there is a warm atmosphere, and I mean that sincerely, one you could practically recognize by smell. The place is steeped in romance, and there's something in these shows and cheap business lunches that recalls the kitchen gatherings of the '80s, when Joanna Stingray slept on a fold-out cot and, upon waking, barely had time to swap tapes in her video camera.
A regular crowd has long since formed here, though it's not as if the lineup ever stays the same. It's the kind of place whose performers see their audience from the stage as apples from the same tree — apples that, even if they fall, can't roll too far. That's an easy thing to say now, but back in the wild '90s, this little venue was the voice of the era — drunk, tender, inviting, alive and kind, a little smoke-stained, but true and real. Early in the decade, Sergei Shnurov once played a solo show here with nothing but an acoustic guitar run through an amp, and the place was packed. It felt like nothing more was needed for happiness — a living example of a truly live performance.
In the opposite wing of the building sits a little island of Russian calm and good American food — Kuker's Trading House. There you can watch a movie in a dedicated screening room called Kuker's House Cinema, or, right next door, grab a meal for no more than 20–30 dollars and chat with a stranger about the venue's history. "You know," they say, "Zhao Da was supposedly the son of a Chinese shoemaker, who, seeing how badly his son wanted to fly using some homemade flying contraption, sent him off to flight school with a clear conscience — and so Chinese Pilot Zhao Da flew all over the world in every direction imaginable, started a family, and had a son named Bernard, who grew up and opened this cozy little basement club in Moscow." If you're into Pepsee, Alexei Papernyi, or, say, Cabernet Deneuve — this is your spot, 25/12 Lubyansky Proyezd, building 1.
One of the capital's most storied concert venues is SDK MAI. Rumor has it the whole cultural complex owes its existence to the first human spaceflight, which is why MAI's roots trace all the way back to the Khrushchev era.
The red ribbon at the entrance of the freshly built House of Culture was cut back in 1968. And off it went. Throughout the '70s, the venue's Grand Hall hosted the stars of that era's stage — from young Alla Pugacheva to Vladimir Vysotsky and Arkady Raikin. In the '80s, alongside other icons of the youth scene, Kino and Aria whipped crowds into a frenzy here. The place has always carried a certain respectability, and its main cultural cachet always came from feeling connected to the boundlessness of outer space — which is still exactly why people walk out into the fresh air afterward feeling like they've fulfilled some sort of cultural duty.
The venue's name changed several times throughout the '80s. Back then, especially near the weekend, you'd hear phrases like "Let's go to the MAI disco," then "Let's head to Sokol!", then "Come to the disco at Navigator tonight." Until finally, in 1997, the club settled on its simple, lasting name: Disco Club SDK MAI.
Today, MAI is a massive entertainment complex, with a two-tier stage and dance floor for 1,500 people, a separate seated hall for another 1,200, a party bar, a café-bar with a whole spread of cuisines, five-table billiards, and even a movie theater — basically, everything's covered, and mostly included. This club has never once fallen behind the shifting moods of young people; every current genre of electronic music has had its night here, and what guests remember most is that rotating dance floor, unmatched anywhere else in Moscow for a long time. Club nights with visiting and local DJs still happen here, but the main stage now belongs to live bands — the kind you'd hear on Nashe Radio.
TOCHKA (the POINT)
Step into Tochka and the first thing you'll notice is a massive hall. You're standing dead center, with the bar just off to the side of the stage. Given the size, you'd guess capacity is at least 1,500. Makes you wonder what kind of crowd this place actually draws, given how often famous — and sometimes rarely touring — acts play here.
Check the menu and you'll realize Tochka welcomes both the well-off and the average hungry student — the bar sells cigars anywhere from 180 to 1,200 rubles. A big venue exists to make sure nobody feels shortchanged, leaving only warm memories and the urge to come back. This is where Red Snapper once played a genuinely landmark show, and it's where the club scene from the film "Antikiller" was shot that very same night. Back in 2001, Tochka firmly established itself as a venue that knows how to book the right events. These days it houses a two-tier, 200-seat restaurant with reasonable prices and solid food, a VIP room, and, when it comes to sound and lighting output, a respectable 25 and 20 kilowatts respectively.
There's plenty of room, so the shows here tend to be big ones. In February 2008 alone, Neprikasaemye with Garik Sukachev, Leningrad with Sergei Shnurov, and Tantsy Minus with Petkun all played — the kind of acts that would feel crowded anywhere smaller. And in just a few days, the venue will host a multi-day festival of up-and-coming, unsigned bands and artists called "Popast v Tochku." A good cause, that!
On top of it all, February 1st brings out Vladimir Kuzmin's fans, and a couple of days later the English band Bring Me the Horizon crash through with their deathcore sound. And of course, February 8th sees the annual reggae festival marking Bob Marley's birthday. Smell that? That's the smell of real stylistic range — something for every taste, every mood, every kind of night — which is precisely what a venue this size is here to deliver. Full stop. Oh, and it's also at 6 Leninsky Prospekt. Now, that's Tochka.
IKRA (ROE)
Tucked into one of the quietest corners near the Garden Ring, at 8 Kazakova Street, Ikra has been running for over two years now as a bar-restaurant hybrid. Worth clarifying right away: not black caviar, which has gotten far too pricey and elusive these days; not zucchini "caviar," despite the fact that Ikra is, after all, quite the tavern; but the most democratic and widespread kind — red. This is the most orange-toned Ikra in mood.
Last year the venue was named Moscow's best music club at the Nite Life Awards, and its commitment to European booking standards has clearly paid off. Ikra's management keeps making music lovers' dreams come true — the ones already eyeing a trip abroad to catch their favorite artist live.
The moment word gets out about an upcoming show, they cancel the plane ticket and buy an Ikra ticket instead, which naturally costs a lot less. For two years now, artists people would otherwise travel far to see have been coming here — drawing crowds far larger than the venue can technically hold. So, what's inside? Step through the door and polite security will greet you.
Grab a zine on your way in — a little booklet covering what's happening at the club this month. From there you've got a few options. First: head straight upstairs to the café-bar, with a mellow DJ in the evenings, 50 grams of Red Label for just 220 rubles, and a standard European menu.
A hearty meal around 750 rubles will set you up nicely for the next step — likely heading up to the third floor, past the box office and face control. That's where the Main Hall lives, the room where Amon Tobin and Roisin Murphy have both worked the crowd, and — no need to be modest about it — Pyotr Mamonov himself has played unannounced shows here.
A full sound-system rundown is on the club's site, nobullshit.ru, for anyone who wants to geek out over the venue's audio and lighting capabilities. And once the concert's over, there's a third step waiting: down one floor to the disco level, home to the weekly Friday ElectroShik nights, which genuinely reflect the current state of techno music in Russia and beyond. All in all, Ikra is a real launchpad for artists across genres — exhibitions, festivals, charity events, and shows by both major domestic and international names all happen here, not just concerts. Plenty of acts who got their start here now record on Western labels, effectively Ikra alumni. Plenty of Western acts who've played here once keep coming back. And plenty more are just waiting for their chance, because no matter the season, this place has its own distinct orange atmosphere. Ikra, like a good strong drink, doesn't spoil with age — it just gets better.
CHINESE PILOT ZHAO DA
One of Moscow's genuinely storied venues is Chinese Pilot Zhao Da — conservative in its musical outlook. If you're firmly in the mood for something homegrown, current, and alive, there's really only one choice: Chinese Pilot.
This small room, holding around 200 to 250 people, has hosted plenty of real rockers, in the broadest sense of the word, over its long history. No glamour here, no rave scene to speak of, no white Lincolns parked outside — but there is a warm atmosphere, and I mean that sincerely, one you could practically recognize by smell. The place is steeped in romance, and there's something in these shows and cheap business lunches that recalls the kitchen gatherings of the '80s, when Joanna Stingray slept on a fold-out cot and, upon waking, barely had time to swap tapes in her video camera.
A regular crowd has long since formed here, though it's not as if the lineup ever stays the same. It's the kind of place whose performers see their audience from the stage as apples from the same tree — apples that, even if they fall, can't roll too far. That's an easy thing to say now, but back in the wild '90s, this little venue was the voice of the era — drunk, tender, inviting, alive and kind, a little smoke-stained, but true and real. Early in the decade, Sergei Shnurov once played a solo show here with nothing but an acoustic guitar run through an amp, and the place was packed. It felt like nothing more was needed for happiness — a living example of a truly live performance.
In the opposite wing of the building sits a little island of Russian calm and good American food — Kuker's Trading House. There you can watch a movie in a dedicated screening room called Kuker's House Cinema, or, right next door, grab a meal for no more than 20–30 dollars and chat with a stranger about the venue's history. "You know," they say, "Zhao Da was supposedly the son of a Chinese shoemaker, who, seeing how badly his son wanted to fly using some homemade flying contraption, sent him off to flight school with a clear conscience — and so Chinese Pilot Zhao Da flew all over the world in every direction imaginable, started a family, and had a son named Bernard, who grew up and opened this cozy little basement club in Moscow." If you're into Pepsee, Alexei Papernyi, or, say, Cabernet Deneuve — this is your spot, 25/12 Lubyansky Proyezd, building 1.
ДКМАИ/16ТОНН/ ИКРА/КИТАЙСКИЙ ЛЕТЧИК/ТОЧКА