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BTW, Eugene Alexeev made piano cover on this song a couple of weeks ago.
I guess it's a ok piano piece, but it still misses that emotional depth that Tzoi brings with his lyrics plus his voice. He nailed it first time around I think and it's difficult to outperform him when it comes to this particular song.
However thank you Maksim for introducing me to "Leningrad."
They take the art of music clips to a whole new level. These are basically short movies - I guess they are filling the void left by grossly Americanized Russian cinematography. I watched quite a few of them - they are awesome, and some downright bring back the spirit of Vysotsky. ( Overall judging by what you post, Russian music scene is very diverse and very creative, so I can see that talent in the country is still alive and kicking, Putin or not, oligarchs or not.)
I'll post three of Leningrad's videos that I find very entertaining, but I liked their other videos too.
This is personally my favorite;
1. Prada Purse.
Lyrics;
"I fell in love with Prada leather purse,
What am I going to do now?
I am already not happy about it,
But I can't forget that purse
refrain;
I don't want to live without it,
I will scream "It's mine!"
I can't live without it,
It's mine, it's mine it's mine!!!!
I remember its each and every curve,
the tender scent of leather and its taste
If you could only imagine, I already see myself
With that purse in my dreams when I fall asleep.
refrain;
I don't want to live without it,
I will scream "It's mine!"
I can't live without it,
It's mine, it's mine, it's mine!!!! "
Laughed my head off. I guess I have to bring it to Ariete's personal attention - he'll see plenty of his favorite attire and recognize the ambiance)))
The lyrics are equally hilarious, but I guess it's all self-explanatory, even without any lyrics.
Sort of like that "Disco-party" clip)))
I endured my misfortune
All through the springtime ice.
The ice broke away, and my soul Tore itself away,
Like a stone it went under the water,
But misfortune, though she was heavy,
Kept beyond the sharp edges.
And misfortune from that day on
Searchs for me in the world,
Alongside her walks rumour With false stories,
But I did not die -
The naked willow knew,
And still sang with the quail.
Only who told him,
Who told my Lord?
They betrayed me, they betrayed me, With a slip of the tongue,
And, from a passion not his own,
He followed after me,
And behind him came misfortune and rumour.
He overtook me, caught up,
Embraced and picked me up in his arms!
But behind him misfortune sat in her saddle And smirked,
He could not remain,
He was here but one short day,
But misfortune, she remained for an eternity.
In the world of burnt candles, full moons and, of course,
Noble knights, their deeds and the battles they had -
There lived bookworm-children who fought in no wars,
And whose real existence was boring and dead.
As a rule kids are bothered
With their life and their age;
And we beat one another,
Letting out our rage.
Moms were darning and needling
Shabby jackets and boots,
While we never stopped reading,
Getting drunk from the books.
Foreheads, covered with curls, sweating late in the night,
And a spinning sensation of a joyful, sweet dread...
We got dizzy from that scent of fabulous fight,
Which was pouring on us from the pages we read.
And we tried to perceive -
We, who knew no wars -
What an ambush could give,
What a chariot was;
Why frontiers were set,
What it means to obey
When an order you get
And there’s nothing to say.
And our growing brains fed on tumults and wars,
On rebellions, revolts and uprisings of slaves.
And we cast in the games only our foes
For the roles of cowards, traitors and knaves.
And we killed in these games
Rogues without regret;
And most beautiful dames
We were promised to get.
Soothing pains in the souls
Of our parents and pals,
For the hero roles
We would cast ourselves.
But you can’t in this fiction forever exist,
Fun is brief and the world’s full of tears and pain.
Now try to unclench that immovable fist
And take over arms from the arms of the slain.
Having got someone’s sword
And his armor you go -
Test yourself and the world,
See what’s high and what’s low.
Prove yourself - what are you?
But a dog or a knight?
Come to learn this one too:
What’s the taste of a fight!
When your friend hits the earth, shedding blood on the plain,
When you wail over this most terrible loss,
When you feel as if scalped, since your buddy was slain
And not you - and this will be forever your cross -
Then you’ll know from a true,
Flashing, piercing guess:
Visors, grinning at you -
It’s a sneer of Death!
Look at Evil and Lie -
Their faces are coarse,
And they’re followed by
Crows and coffins, of course!
If you cut your way through with your father’s old sword,
Gulping tears and sweat on and on you’d proceed;
If the battles you fought you got as a reward -
Then the right books you read in your childhood - you did!
If you never ate meat
From the blade of your knife;
If you stayed in your seat,
Taking part in no strife;
If your hand had been lent
To nobody in need -
Then your life you misspent,
Spoiled and squandered - you did!
It has ever and ever been thus on this earth -
Life fears snowstorms and frost. It has ever been so.
Why are birds flying north, why are birds flying north,
When it’s natural they should fly south?
Glory, glamour or fame - they want none of this.
Where there’s no ice below, they’ll alight.
They will find their short-lived, birdlike happiness
As reward for their daring flight.
So why couldn’t we sleep in our warm beds at night?
What high wave drove us forward, what fury and rage?
We have not seen the famous divine - northern lights:
They’re rare around here - quite expensive to stage!
Silence. Seagulls like lightnings through emptiness,
Pecking hungrily, flash all around.
Our reward for the silence and trustiness
Will be surely the long-dreamed-of sound.
Even dreams in the north are in pale, bloodless white.
All the colours are hidden deep under the snow;
With this whiteness around, we have long lost our sight,
With the first strip of black we’ll recover it, though.
Then the silence of night will release our throat,
And our weakness will melt in the light,
And the long northern daylight will be our reward
For the desperate hours of the night.
Hope and freedom, and limitless space, and the snow -
Clean while snow without mud, like a life without lies...
From the sockets, our eyes won’t be pecked by the crows,
For there aren’t any crows here to peck out our eyes.
Those who did not believe in ill prophecies,
Did not drop in the snow on the way -
As reward for the long, utter loneliness,
They are sure to meet someone - some day!
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