Grebenshchikov as an unusual figure in the Russian music space5 min read
On 12 May, Zima magazine hosted a conversation between musician Boris Grebenshchikov and historian Nikolay Raevsky at Kings College London’s Bush House. The talk, titled Ancient Wisdom for Dummies, was advertised as an exploration of Grebenshchikov’s spiritualism, occasioned by the publication of his new book Seven Upanishads – a translation of the Hindu texts into Russian.
Emigré Intelligentsia
Russophone events in London present enormous anthropological interest. Attending all manner of gatherings throughout the last four years, from academic talks, to protests, to rock concerts, a typology emerges. Scholarly events draw a somber, white-collar crowd, usually clad in shades of grey and dark navy, with attendees often hailing from outside the region; protests are largely the same but tinged with a heaviness. Concerts can be a toss-up: last year’s Mumiy Troll gig at Scala was, unfortunately, full of excessively inebriated Knightsbridge dwellers, while Noize MC usually summons a younger, clearer-headed crowd.
The event at Bush house defied clear categorization. To the left, crumpled young working professionals squeezed into narrow amphitheatre seats, heaving backpacks overstuffed from a long day’s work. To the right: a stylish middle aged mother and her teenage daughter, typing comments to each other in the iPhone notes app so as not to disturb fellow attendants with chatter. Diagonally across, on the mezzanine: a woman clad entirely in Balenciaga, including a massive pair of sunglasses that remained on during the entire two-hour duration of the event.
Such is the magnetic pull of Boris Grebenshchikov– or BG, as he is referred to colloquially. A hush came over the auditorium as he entered the stage. Sporting, as always, a pair of tinted glasses, a long grey beard, and a conspiratorial smile, dressed in an impressive wide shirt and jeans painted with dragons, he resembled in equal parts a weathered rockstar (factual) and a mischievous deity (also, probably, factual). Raevsky, a public intellectual cum celebrity in his own right (I ran into him at London Fields once and debated asking for an autograph), stalled, unmistakably intimidated by BG’s larger-than-life figure.
Rock and Roll is dead, but we aren’t – yet!
BG is considered by many one of the founding fathers of Russian rock. Alongside figures like Vladimir Vysotsky and Viktor Tsoi, his band Aquarium is semiotically synonymous with protest, rebellion, and freedom – the things young Soviet musicians yearned for and fought for with their art. This is not an exaggeration; under Khrushchev, the CPSU enacted the infamous tuneyadstvo law, targeting “persons resisting socially desirable labor and leading a parasitic lifestyle.” Rock musicians were under genuine threat of prosecution, and came up with creative ways to circumvent the “parasitism” law: Tsoi of rock band Kino and singer-songwriter Alexander Bashlachev, for example, were officially employed as stokers in a St. Petersburg boiler-room.
In this unfavorable atmosphere, Grebenshchikov occupied the role of a hippy-dissident, writing songs that mocked the regime or spoke from the perspective of an eternal seeker, a figure in stark contrast to the cog-like Socialist Man of the official socialist realist doctrine. Remarkably, his stance has remained unbending for half a century. Unlike other prominent rock musicians of the era, Grebenshchikov has not been co-opted by Putin’s regime. Former rockstars, like Nautilus Pompilius’ Vyacheslav Butusov, have vocally supported the so-called “special operation” in Ukraine. Against this backdrop, Grebenshchikov’s steadfast rejection of Russia’s murderous authoritarian regime is a glimmer of hope.
“There’s no difference between life and religion”
Before attending the talk, I had hoped to contrast Grebenshchikov’s anti-authoritarian stance and public adoration with what I thought would be signs of lingering chauvinism, expressed in an orientalization of Eastern spiritualism. These hopes shattered promptly.
“I encountered India through the Beatles,” began BG. The conversation proceeded to ebb and flow through a series of phantasmagorical anecdotes, recollections, and aphorisms, forming a curious personal mythology. Grebenshchikov’s interest in spiritualism seemed to stem not at all from a plastic fascination with the “foreign” like I had cautiously expected. Rather, he recalled accidentally discovering the Bhagavad Gita when an American student – a “prized treasure” in Soviet times – brought it along on exchange. When asked whether the text had a great influence on him, BG considered for a second, then offered that Tolkien’s novels were no less influential.
In the same vein, he invoked the legend of King Arthur, Daniil Kharms’ short stories, a meeting with the Dalai Lama, and endless conversations with “drunk artists” in Leningrad. Grebenshchikov possesses a quality seldom seen in individuals of his age and notoriety: an earnest and unassuming curiosity. To him, his immersion in Hinduism and Buddhism does not conflict in the slightest with a late christening at the Orthodox Church: explaining this seeming conundrum, he ascertains that beliefs are like paths on opposing faces of a mountain leading to the same peak – regardless of the journey, the end is the same.
The musician’s refusal to give straightforward, hook-y answers puzzled Raevsky. Over the course of the evening, he retreated from his role as an interviewer, letting the bard steer the ship. To the audience’s delight, the evening ended with an impromptu acoustic concert, before a final round of audience questions.
There is no difference between life and religion — not for BG, at least. Across six decades of seeking, he has moved through rock and folk, Hinduism and Orthodoxy, Arthurian legend and Soviet absurdism, not as a collector of curiosities but as someone looking for the same thing in all of them: a set of core values by which to live with honour and dignity. The microphone got passed down for one last question. “Dear Boris Borisovich,” it began, “thank you for existing.” The room exhaled something collective — recognition, maybe, or relief. BG stands for a different, better time; a different politics. In an era of brutal either-ors, he remains stubbornly neither.
The recording of the talk is now available to watch online: https://www.youtube.com/watch?si=SD0d-RwEouZhQ0NH&v=1lSDineM8D0&feature=youtu.be
