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yakalskovich) wrote2003-12-16 11:15 am
yakalskovich) wrote2003-12-16 11:15 am
Rasputin Deathday event at the Russian cultural club, Munich - a short report
The Rasputin lecture followed by a Russian folk concert concert on Sunday was seriously weird. That is to say, the Nazgul and I almost fell off our chairs laughing, and it's a pity she didn't dare take out her digicam and record the performance until the flash card was full; it would have become a major hit online or even on TV if she'd actually sent it to the TV show she thought might have a use for it.-
The lecture was almost unremarkable, well researched and peppered with little pieces of exclusive knowledge that the elderly lady holding the lecture had gleaned from first- or secondhand witnesses which alone made it worthwhile going there. She did cut the story short without saying so when she noticed her time running out, so poor Rasputin was cheated of almost five years of his life in her version if you didn't pay very close attention, but nobody even noticed except for me, not even the Nazgul, who seemed to have become slightly hypnotised by the lady's voice droning on charmingly in her sweet Russian accent.
But then the concert part started, and suddenly an almost Dostoievky-like fit of extreme strangeness broke loose.
Imagine eight old men of a somewhat academic persuasion, in very sober dark suits, in an age group ranging from sixty to undead (to be honest, there was only one we feared might succumb before the concert was out, but still) and a slightly younger one with a sparkly silver bow tie and an accordeon walking up to the front of the room and beginning to sing a slow, soulful Russian folksong.
This is the one with the accordeon.
They sang very correctly and artfully, one must admit, never a wrong note to be heard, they put their soul into it and achieved a considerable volume just for nine singers, but still, it wasn't exactly Robbie Williams, Apocalyptica or something, if you know what I mean.
But the second piece was slightly more lively, one bearded fellow actually brought out a tambourine, and one skinny old thing in a striped tie began to sway as if involuntarily with the rhythm. The next piece, soulful and slow again, calmed them down a little, but the next one brought the fabled Russian soul to the fore at full tilt!!
Suddenly there was no holding back, the fellow with the striped tie launched in to a dance that would have been the kasachok if his somewhat stiff knees had allowed it, the one with the tambourine beamed at the audience and gave it all he was worth, and the one whose survival we had feared for revived visibly and was later even seen walking to the Underground station with his colleagues, all lively and spirited.
They were at once very good at what they did, totally sweet, and indescribably funny.
The Nazgul and I didn't really know should we applaud or laugh our heads off, and ended up opting for both at once or alternatingly. Our laughter was never noticed because those fellows sang so loudly, the one with the accordeon and the bowtie soulfully squeezed his instrument and oozed with emotion, and the deathlike one did indeed begin to sway gently with the music. The Nazgul laughed so hard she started coughing convulsively, and had to be slapped on the back, which disconcerted her somewhat, as she's as insubstantial as Nazgul are supposed to be, and a slap from me while laughing full tilt can go right through a flimsy black cape. (Ouch, sorry, Nazgul.)
The eight old men gave two encores, then lined up in marching formation with the tambourine and the accordeon in front, did a slightly soldierly-sounding song, and marched away to general cheering.
The Nazgul and I were quite some time recovering our breath and agreed we had never, in both our eventful lives, seen anything remotely comparable.
The lecture was almost unremarkable, well researched and peppered with little pieces of exclusive knowledge that the elderly lady holding the lecture had gleaned from first- or secondhand witnesses which alone made it worthwhile going there. She did cut the story short without saying so when she noticed her time running out, so poor Rasputin was cheated of almost five years of his life in her version if you didn't pay very close attention, but nobody even noticed except for me, not even the Nazgul, who seemed to have become slightly hypnotised by the lady's voice droning on charmingly in her sweet Russian accent.
But then the concert part started, and suddenly an almost Dostoievky-like fit of extreme strangeness broke loose.
Imagine eight old men of a somewhat academic persuasion, in very sober dark suits, in an age group ranging from sixty to undead (to be honest, there was only one we feared might succumb before the concert was out, but still) and a slightly younger one with a sparkly silver bow tie and an accordeon walking up to the front of the room and beginning to sing a slow, soulful Russian folksong.
This is the one with the accordeon.
They sang very correctly and artfully, one must admit, never a wrong note to be heard, they put their soul into it and achieved a considerable volume just for nine singers, but still, it wasn't exactly Robbie Williams, Apocalyptica or something, if you know what I mean.
But the second piece was slightly more lively, one bearded fellow actually brought out a tambourine, and one skinny old thing in a striped tie began to sway as if involuntarily with the rhythm. The next piece, soulful and slow again, calmed them down a little, but the next one brought the fabled Russian soul to the fore at full tilt!!
Suddenly there was no holding back, the fellow with the striped tie launched in to a dance that would have been the kasachok if his somewhat stiff knees had allowed it, the one with the tambourine beamed at the audience and gave it all he was worth, and the one whose survival we had feared for revived visibly and was later even seen walking to the Underground station with his colleagues, all lively and spirited.
They were at once very good at what they did, totally sweet, and indescribably funny.
The Nazgul and I didn't really know should we applaud or laugh our heads off, and ended up opting for both at once or alternatingly. Our laughter was never noticed because those fellows sang so loudly, the one with the accordeon and the bowtie soulfully squeezed his instrument and oozed with emotion, and the deathlike one did indeed begin to sway gently with the music. The Nazgul laughed so hard she started coughing convulsively, and had to be slapped on the back, which disconcerted her somewhat, as she's as insubstantial as Nazgul are supposed to be, and a slap from me while laughing full tilt can go right through a flimsy black cape. (Ouch, sorry, Nazgul.)
The eight old men gave two encores, then lined up in marching formation with the tambourine and the accordeon in front, did a slightly soldierly-sounding song, and marched away to general cheering.
The Nazgul and I were quite some time recovering our breath and agreed we had never, in both our eventful lives, seen anything remotely comparable.
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I may be very knowledgable as to Rasputin, but that old lady telling us what the youngest daughter of Interior Minister Khvostov had told her personally was irreplaceable and unique.
I mean, just look at it under the aspect of 'degrees of separation'. After Sunday's lecture, I am now just four hops away from Grigori Efimovich Rasputin himself!!! No amount of book-reading can replace that.-
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