On par with our melancholy

Priest Andrey Mizyuk - about how Boris Grebenshchikov* pronounces words that are no longer heard from the pulpit

18+ THIS MATERIAL (INFORMATION) WAS PRODUCED, DISTRIBUTED AND (OR) SENT BY FOREIGN AGENT BORIS BORISOVICH GREBENSHIKOV OR CONCERNES THE ACTIVITIES OF FOREIGN AGENT BORIS BORISOVICH GREBENSHIKOV.

I have never been to a large and full-fledged concert of Boris Borisych. That's how it happened. But I was at his wonderful street concert. A long time ago, in another life and even in another country.

It was in Saratov, opposite the conservatory. Then, according to tradition, he gave a small street concert, and a decent number of people gathered there. And I brought my son there, and he and I looked at the living legend. And they listened. During the performance of the song “Silver of My Lord,” a two-year-old child came out from somewhere and went straight to the musicians and walked around them, as if performing a simple and wonderful dance. And this made my chest ache and my eyes sting.

And a small miracle happened there for me. I accidentally met the eyes of one of my friends. The circumstances of our acquaintance were unfortunate. The woman gave birth prematurely, and I, as a priest, was invited to the maternity hospital at her request to baptize her girl, who was in very serious condition. We were in intensive care, the girl was named Miroslava, but we did not find this name in the calendar and baptized her with the name Maria. And then little Masha died. And a few days later I was already singing the funeral service for the blessed baby Mary, and her mother stood nearby. Quiet, as if petrified

And here is BG’s street concert, he sings “Dubrovsky” and at the moment when I hear these words:

*Don't cry, Masha, I'm here

Don't cry - the sun will rise

Don't hide your eyes from God

How will he find us?

Heavenly City Jerusalem

Burns through the cold and ice

And here he is standing around us

And waits for us, and waits for us... -*

I meet the eyes of this very mother of little Miroslava-Maria. She smiles lightly when she sees me and leaves. And we never met again...

December in Yerevan is foggy. From year to year, along with the cold weather, a thick curtain descends on the city, as if covering everything that happened and did not happen over the next year. In a couple of days with frosts, it will go away, and the peaks of Ararat will blind the new morning with white snow, which will not go away until the hottest summer and the Feast of the Assumption, when grapes are blessed here. In the meantime, the state is foggy and alarming. Expectation of the new, but also the same, itching intolerance of the present.

There are BG concerts at the Gabriel Sundukyan Theater these days.

I’m walking down the street and remember the line from SashBash (Alexander Bashlachev): “I like BG, and not the other way around...”

I also remember how, in my distant childhood, I accidentally heard his “Under the blue sky...” on an old wired radio. I don’t understand very well how it sounded on the radio then, but I know for sure that it was exactly this song, with unusually sad, as it seemed then, music and strange words about an eagle, whose “unforgettable gaze is so bright.” And another detail emerges in the memory of that long-ago day: dad was walking home through the yard, and I ran towards him and jumped into his arms. And my grandfather took a picture of us.

They are no longer there. Dad is almost 20 years old, and grandfather is more than three.

And I’m walking along Italy Street in Yerevan to turn onto Gregory the Illuminator Street and get to the theater from the English Park.

It seems that there are very few people. Today is the second day of the concert, its electrical part. Apparently many were there yesterday. But no. People are walking.

The day before, along with acoustics, there was a street concert. Northern Avenue was visited by songs beloved by many. They always sing here, by the way. And very many. But this particular performance was so unexpected that not everyone had time to rush there. I was on the road at that moment. But I rejoiced at the lucky ones who danced “Glass” on the avenue. However, the fact that the tradition of urban songs from BG is also alive and continues to travel around this world warmed me in the suburban fog where I was taking my passengers.

The foyer is gradually filling up. Old acquaintances come, those whom we have not seen for a long time, sudden new ones appear.

And then I understand that meeting people in this place is an event in itself. Simply because now there are not many reasons to meet, because of business and work. And distances.

You won’t even meet with others unless something so good happens that the person will fly in for a day or two from another country. And it’s good when there are such reasons.

But now there is a hall. The lights go out and the stage begins to sparkle. Quite unexpectedly, the performance is preceded by a march from Star Wars, and the action begins.

I can’t say that I’m very familiar with all of BG’s work. Especially the old ones. I had never heard many of the songs before. But this is the whole point of the concert, that the artists did not come to sing hits, and people obviously did not come to see hits. About something more?

In general, I think that Grebenshchikov’s creative life is somewhere very far above all this. And therefore it was great to hear a lot of things new for me and rejoice that for many others this is already a favorite and old one.

“Rock and roll is dead, but I’m not yet...” sounded strong and painfully relevant. Indeed, all that remains of what I once knew as rock is nothing more than mere memory and wonder. Surprise at what happened to the voices and consciences of those who themselves claimed to be the voice of conscience. But BG here only stated that he was really alive. But that’s not what they called rock and roll. And maybe not even the same ones. And listening to his albums of the last decade, you involuntarily ask yourself: how did he see it all? However, the question is rhetorical.

The new song “Let's Talk About the Dead” is another point of pain. What is life basically all about now? And what are we talking about now? And are we really alive in this reality? For life itself. Who are we?

The piercing “It never was like that and never will be” in one breath. Violin solo in it through nerves and soul. But somewhere into light and hope. Like a quiet and stubborn message in the chaos of days. There is only one life. And the earthly path cannot be retraced. But how to go to the Eternal, when along the road of time everything is topsy-turvy and angry?

The audience exhales in a whisper and clearly the words: “The silver of my Lord”... I remember this song so well. Then, where the little boy danced it in front of the Saratov Conservatory, in the pre-COVID year, some time before the big and serious trouble. Could it be that he will remember this song, just as I once did that “Under the Blue Sky”? Where is he now, what is he hearing now? On par with our melancholy?

But this is not a concert. This is a conversation. This is what can really be called “about the important”. BG is a man of few words, he thanks for the applause and continues singing. There are no unnecessary phrases, although the music and the words themselves speak about everything that we cannot talk about.

I look at the clock, and it’s almost midnight.

The repertoire of the second section is a little lighter and more flexible. I look into the hall and understand that, in general, there are no empty seats, and many even stand up and dance. Among other compositions, the “Great Railway Symphony” floats by and envelops us in warmth:

*There are lands where there is no sadness, there are lands where there is no melancholy.

The crystal coffin with candles is nailed down into three boards...*

It was so long ago, before the time when “from this divination coffins grew in the heart.” You expect something very urgent and acute, when instead of hope - “and you eat the earth,” because “there is no more tomorrow.” But the end of the concert gets brighter and brighter. Under everyone’s favorite dance “Glass”, the hall begins the long-awaited dance.

The song “Day of Joy” ended the evening, which went smoothly and warmly into the night. The words from it, “God is light, and in Him there is no darkness,” completed this December meeting with music and words. And I suddenly thought that for some reason I had not heard these words from the pulpit for a long time. And then, when they were so needed, and now. And for some reason, the saddest thing is that I haven’t uttered them myself for a long time.

But there is no suitable time for them. Because they are above him.

And above us.

On par with our melancholy.

Maybe you really need to be in your place today and now? Do what you can. To make this evening lighter and easier. To live until tomorrow. And to survive what needs to be experienced.

Even if in spite of it.

* The Ministry of Justice of the Russian Federation considers him a “foreign agent”.