Music for Everybody

In the world of Russian rock, as in so many spheres of post-Soviet culture, the prevailing trend is to mimic things Western, or American. Yet one musical group, Lyube, has been bucking this trend since the early days of perestroika. With a style rooted in Russian folk traditions, Lyube strives for a uniquely Russian sound, one heavily infused with military themes.

And, as Executive Editor Mikhail Ivanov found,

their formula is working.

In January 1989, as Russian teenagers were reveling in the flood of Western pop-rockers spinning sugary-sweet tales of love and loss, Igor Matviyenko teamed up with an unknown singer, Nikolai Rastorguyev, from an infamous Moscow suburb, Lyubertsy, to form Lyube and record their first album, Dusya (diminutive for Yevdokiya).

You are a machine Dusya,

come on, Dusya, do your exercises,

push, Dusya, pump up...

Dressed in the popular, late 1980s style of the working class, the stocky Rastorguyev treated his listeners to a sly parody of the nation’s craze for body building. Back then, most enthusiasts, or, kachki,  from the Russian word ‘kachat ‘( to pump up), were from the Moscow suburb of Lyubertsy.

“Igor Matviyenko, took into account my physical traits and vocal abilities,” Rastorguyev recalls. “Plus, at the time, I was living in Lyubertsy and this area, mind you, enjoyed, well, shall I say a certain reputation — it was kind of like a gangster neighborhood. So, we became associated with these guys, though we had nothing whatsoever to do with them.”

And so, a public relations legend was born — about a group Lyube from Lyubertsy. The familiar name of the infamous suburb worked in the group’s favor (though Luybe also means ‘everybody’ in Ukrainian).

“But it was all spontaneous,” recalls Matviyenko. “It wasn’t like we conducted some kind of a marketing research and said: ‘OK,  so much for sweet and sappy stuff, let’s do something macho-style now.’”

No matter how  they know, Lyube always seems to know what’s hot and what’s not. Their instinct for social moods is almost perfect.

When Gorbachev’s economic reforms began bogging down, they created a nebulous environment full of shady success stories alongside deep poverty. Criminals ran rampant, both in the streets and the government, and the average Russian longed for a bygone time when most Russians were not necessarily rich but at least well-fed, and life made sense. This era of radical change was ripe for Lyube’s hit, Watch out! (Atas!), which took advantage of new freedoms to speak out, glasnost, to offer up shocking lyrics and daring imagery.

There is no bread but there is plenty of shoeshine cream

and the hunchbacked boss (Gorbaty glavar) is humiliating us.

What exactly did the song mean? Was it, as it appeared to be, a mockery of Gorbachev’s reforms? Or was the song simply referring to the heroes of the popular, Soviet TV movie ‘The Meeting Place Cannot be Changed’ — MVD officers Gleb Zheglov and Vladimir Sharapov, who during the first years of the post-World War II era, chased down the famous Black Cat gang, headed by a bandit nicknamed Gorbaty (hunchback).

And yet, the allusion to Soviet leader Gorbachev and his disastrous economic reforms was too obvious to be ignored.  “Of course, one can regard this as some form of criticisms of the period of perestroika,” admitted Matviyenko. “But on the other hand, we could also argue that it is just about the movie. None of us wanted to offend Mikhail Sergeyevich; I personally like him. The politician and the man.”

Whether or not they meant to, Lyube had once again touched a nerve, and as the ship of state foundered in the dangerous waters of perestroika, even those who supported Gorbachev relished the song because of the popular series it was based upon.

In 1992,  again capitalizing on nostalgia, the group issued their third album, Who Said That We Lived Badly? in which the musicians anticipated Russia’s inevitable cultural backlash.  “Inevitable” is a debatable term, since at first sight nothing augured it: only one year had passed since the disintegration of the Soviet Union, and Russia remained locked in what was assumed to be an everlasting bear-hug with the West. At the same time, Russia’s senior heads of state were at pains to expiate Soviet sins vis-a-vis former East-European allies. All in all, a triumphant future of democracy seemed poised on the horizon.

It was in precisely this political atmosphere that Lyube issued a remix of popular post-war Soviet songs. The disc’s theme was reflected on the cover design, which pictured a soldier sitting on a bench with his accordion, next to a German trophy car. The album’s hero is a young city dweller, a proletarian, whose girlfriend lives in the Moscow district of Cheryomushki. LAter, this theme was developed in a retro duet Talk to Me, featuring Rastorguyev and the Russian folk music queen Lyudmila Zykina (for many young Russians, Zykina embodies state-endorsed entertainment figures who hogged the airwaves during the Soviet era).

No doubt it was songs like these, and the sweet memories they inspire, which led current Communist Party leader Gennady Zyuganov to name Rastorguyev one of his favorite singers in a recent poll published by Ogonyok magazine. But, Lyube did not return the favor. In the recent presidential elections the group supported Boris Yeltsin, taking part in a series of pre-electoral summer concerts: “Vote or Lose.”

“No, by singing Who Said That We Lived Badly?, we’re not  calling for a return to the past. It’s just some light nostalgia for our rowdy youth. But we’re not implying in any sense a return to the old socio-political system,” said Rastorguyev. “We had nothing to compare [our lives] with, hence this nostalgic mood. We just meant that nobody has the right to, excuse me, s—- on our past. After all, it was my youth, I was also a pioneer just like anybody else, I was happy.... I didn’t give a damn about the political system we lived under back then.”

Rastorguyev, who admits to earning decent money, though not as much as his Western counterparts, said he thinks that Russia “crept into capitalism in a matter of a few days. And it is very tough to come to grips with, because our people have always been expecting something from the authorities and now, all of a sudden, Russian people just have to do things for themselves.”

But what exactly is Lyube’s appeal? How, by  recording 50-year old duets with aging Russian folk divas, do they manage to mesh to well with the contemporary Russian music scene?

Lyube’s secret to success is that they deliberately do what everyone else tries so hard to avoid — that is, to sound and look Russian. To that end, Lyube ‘s choice of music, lyrics and on-stage image leaves none indifferent — the audience either loves or hates them. Most teenagers tend not to like them and Rastorguyev admits that teens do not make up the bulk of their fans.

“I think it’s just a cheap speculation on the military-patriotic theme — the stuff my folks at home keep feeding me with,” said 17 year-old Kostya Saltykov while pointing out a poster announcing  Lyube’s a concert at Moscow’s Varshava cinema. “So, what’s the point of listening to this old stuff? They are not as simple as they look, they just make good money on that.”

Lyubov Sirotina, 19, said, “No, I don’t listen to that cheap kitsch - I kind of prefer more intellectual stuff like DDT [a well renowned rock group from St. Petersburg] or Nautilus Pompilius [a rock group from Yekaterinburg].”

While some listeners call the group kitschy, banal or cheap, none of those adjectives change the fact that Lyube sells. “No, it’s not kitsch, and even if it is, it’s not cheap,” argued Ilya Legostayev, host of  a popular TV rock & pop talk show Akuly Pera (Sharks of the plumes). “This is a purely national phenomenon, embodying the notion of what the Germans used to call ‘a national hit,’  which attracts the mass audience.  Whatever they sing is linked to a national theme.”

Kapitolina Delovaya, youth observer of the popular daily, Moskovsky Komsomolets, doesn’t listen to Lyube’s music herself, but she does admit that “ it’s a people’s group. They play what the suburban dweller wants to hear, it’s something taxi drivers listen to on their radio, something some working stiff would listen to after his 25th shot of vodka.”

The Russianness of the group is definitely one of their strongest marketing hooks. “At  least they don’t utter ‘C’mon’ or ‘let’s go,’ like the king of popsa (junk pop)  Bogdan Titomir or Sergei Lemokh,” said Sergei Trofimov, a Muscovite in his late twenties standing in line at the Varshava cinema. “Lyube are Russians, they sing Russian songs and they dress and behave like Russians — and I like it.”

Still, in the grand old tradition of Russian music by and for Russians, Lyube has often resorted to tunes imbued with jingoism and nostalgia for territorial expansion: a fondness for the bad old days of Soviet policy.

America, stop fooling around,

we won’t hurt you, just give us back Alaska....

Catherine the Great, you were damn wrong

But Rastorguyev, who in 1995 did a bit of touring in America with his group, playing for the emigre community, is quick to deny any charges of anti-Americanism. “No, it doesn’t reflect the general mood in Russian society. In fact, our people regard Americans in a  normal way. We met some Americans who came here — normal, open guys who also like to have a drink — very much like us. Russian people are very peaceful-minded. A Russian is so undemanding and goodhearted in everyday life. If you simply sit down with him, there is nobody more simple, more accessible and more trusting in my view. Our songs simply poke fun at those guys who say — hey, they [Americans] are robbing us, making their money while you [Russians] sit in deep s—.”

But, some music critics do take Lyube’s songs at face value, regarding them with deep skepticism. Two years ago in France, Lyube was the first Russian group to be nominated for the Grand Prix at the Medem festival for the video for their song, America, Stop Fooling Around. But after two jury members pointed out ‘elements of chauvinism’ in the song, Lyube saw their chances fade away. “They were  categorically opposed to giving it to us because they saw some tanks in this computerized video, so  we ended up just receiving the jury’s special prize,” said Matviyenko. 

Such ‘elements of chauvinism,’ probably go a long way toward explaining Lyube’s current popularity among adults, the elderly and especially, the army. And nowhere are such elements more in evidence than in their latest, and most popular disc to date, Kombat, which was Russia’s top-selling CD in 1996 for several months in a row.

In 1995-1996, as one and all blamed the Chechnya debacle on a mediocre military command, citing, as a prime example, Defense Minister Pavel Grachev’s stupidity, venality and cowardice — he cynically said that young soldiers were dying in Grozny with smiles on their faces — Russians found a solace of sorts in the heroic exploits of Russian commanders of the past. Given that context, how could Lyube’s song Kombat (the Russian acronym for battery commander) be anything but their greatest hit to date?

Kombat, little father, our little father, kombat,

You didn’t hide your heart behind some other guy’s back

Kombat, little father, little father, Kombat,

Behind us are Russia, Moscow and Arbat!.

By singing such lyrics, Lyube’s message is calculated to appeal to the broadest spectrum of listeners: be it an elderly veteran of the Great Patriotic War (WWII), a young Russian military officer who hasn’t been paid for several months, or just some twenty-something businessman who wants to feel good about his country.

When Rastorguyev, bedecked in his tight military uniform (which Russian pop diva and longtime Lyube ally Alla Pugacheva,  in a fit of brilliance, advised him to wear), ferociously spits his lyrics out at the audience, using the rich whole of his raucous, macho voice — he strikes  a chord with many a Russian heart.

All is fair in love and war

Keep bullets, vodka and tobacco in store

A war is just a place

Where soldiers dream of their mother’s face.

These passionate lyrics, when backed by a military chorus, are nothing short of impressive. And they surely strike a chord with grieving mothers who lost sons in Chechnya, as well as with soldiers themselves.

But what does Rastorguyev himself, decked out in his macho military guise, think of the current state of the Russian military complex and all its very public problems? A realist, Rastorguyev doesn’t turn a blind eye on the army: “What’s the army for me? It’s everything —  the hazing and murders of soldiers and sheer idiocy — hard as wood — but at the same time, it’s a school of life.” And yet, “I personally didn’t serve in the army, and I regret it.”

One may label Rastorguyev’s opinions jingoistic, or even cheaply militaristic, but in a country which lost more than 20 million souls in the last World War, such patriotic songs are bound to be a success. After the untimely death of the Russian bard Vladimir Vysotsky, Rastorguev and his group are probably one of the few contemporary Russian musical groups that write and perform authentic war songs in a simple and truthful manner. Their songs are immediately accepted and loved as authentic by the great mass of the Russian military. Would any of those servicemen, who love Lyube so much, care that Rastorguyev didn't even study in the 'school of life'? Probably not.

In the end, Matviyenko need not be worried if Lyube is not selling well among teenagers. For he has already locked-up that segment of the market with his newest project -- a romantic trio of young Russian singers: Ivanushki International.

The national theme is still there (Ivanushki is a diminutive of Ivan, a common Russian name), but, either because one of the group's singers had his nose broken in the army, or because Matviyenko had the desire for something more romantic, the military angle has been jettisoned. Could this represent the face of things to come for the new Russia entering the 21st century -- kindler and gentler? Sweetness and light? Maybe.

For now, as the country buzzes with talk about restoring respect to "the man in uniform," as well as the need for Russia to regain her erstwhile worldwide fame and prestige, it  looks like both of Matviyenko's projects will peacefully coexist, thus striking a cord with all representatives of the multifaceted Russian audience.