A tribute band revists a collection of Russian rock standards to big audiences in Kazakhstan.
Russian rock, as a national genre,
seems less current than it once was. Most devotees of this part of the
world-rock quilt refer back to the last four decades for evidence of its
greatness.
In the Russia of now many of the big
names, if they haven’t decamped to Georgia or Central Asia, are keeping their
heads down and just retreading old glories.
As far as recognizable brands go, the
twin poles of contemporary Russian rock consist of, in one corner, the
mock-dissolute rock-and-rolliness of the girls of Kis-Kis (known for
chanting `Fuck the war!` at their live gigs) and, in the other corner, the
Z-friendly corporate pomp rock of Shamen. The beauties and the Beast.
Take your pick….
The Silver Age of Russian rock now
gets packaged as a commodity. It was so for this tribute band performing a medley
of Russian rock oldies in Karaganda in Kazakhstan, as the promotional blurb for
the show makes clear:
`This is a unique opportunity to immerse yourself in the atmosphere` it says of `songs that have become symbols of an entire era`.
The band responsible – Jazi
Orchestra – hardly seem to cast a shadow in the Anglophone interweb. All I
can tell you of this six-piece is that they seem to be ethnic Kazakhs for the
most part and are known for offering retrospective covers of Western and
Russian rock. For this they appear to be as famous as you can be, short of
having household name status.
Illustrious location.
On a sunny but already nippy early September I weaved my way to Shalkyma Concert Hall in central Karaganda. Named after a symphonic poem by Almas Serkebaev, this concert hall, better known for hosting operas, represents a sample of late Constructivist architecture. Throughout the building’s 85 years existence it has been the `Oktyabr` cinema and, during the Second World War, a military depot. In more recent days the interior of the place has been renovated by a local architect called Sergey Soshnikov. In particular, the installation of flexible gypsum boards on the ceiling has given rise to a much-vaunted reputation for good acoustics in the building.
However, it is a seated venue and
this was a rock concert. Being recumbent reduced the audience to passive
spectators and the lighting banished the nocturnal quality needed for such
events and the lack of a bar made the necessary abandon of a rock gig out of
reach.
Mellow gathering.
The hall, with its capacityof about 200 people, was soon filled. The punters were Slavic in the main. There were few, if any, blue-haired boot wearing engineering students and many expanding waistlines and receding hairlines and some had their children in tow.
The band looked a decade or more
younger than their fans. The mop-haired lead guitarist, Sultan Muratov,
resembled a refugee from a Nineties slacker band and the deadlocked bassist one
from a grunge band. The keyboardist was a studious looking Raikhat Muratali and
providing the rhythm section (as well as trumpet at one point) was Kaset
Nurpeisova.
The two warblers consisted of Alan Salpagaron, with an acoustic guitar on hand, and Roza Nurpeisova (the wife of the drummer, we were told). A statuesque Kazakh in leather trousers, it was she who provided much of the visual focus of this gig – for this ticket holder, at least.
Also eye-catching was the projected backdrop behind the band, courtesy of an `artistic director`. Sometimes this was all psychedelic mindscapes and at others we got clips from films and TV shows which the songs had some connection to.
Exhibition.
Over the next hour and a half, the
personable half-a-dozen would lead us through a roll call of fourteen or so
iconic Russian rock numbers. So well established were these that I recognized
most of them even if I couldn’t put a name to them all.
Included were B-2 (`Varvara`), Kino (`Peremen`), Zveri, Total, Gorod 312 (`Ostanus`), Time Machine, Alyans, tATu (`Not Gonna Get Us`), Slot, Korol ii Shut, Spleen, Yulia Sachayeva and…whew!…beyond caring.
Something that I had not foreseen was
the heartfelt delivery on the part of the band. Between the pogoing of the
bassist, the excursions into spontaneity of the drummer and the smiles of the
singers one might almost have thought that they were doing this for fun.
The medley was rounded off with a
sort of lottery. With predictable sentimentalism, little ones were cajoled into
coming on stage to read out from some random lists and from this a winner was
decided. Someone on a balcony seat won a holiday in Turkey!
Memory lane trip.
In the row in front of me, a husband
and wife sat with their ten-year-old son perched between them. Throughout the
performance they both fixed him with questioning gazes. Would he appreciate
this part of their youth that was being unscrolled before him? The event was a
foray into the lost youths of the audience.
However, at no time did I feel bored by this gig. It was pleasant pure and simple. On the way out I saw queues of people waiting to come in. The same concert was due to be repeated in half an hour. A hard-working band – that’s Jazi Orchestra.
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