On The Edge

When I came to Ukraine 12 months ago, I expected to find grim ex-Soviet cities and drab ex-Soviet people living off potatoes and dancing to guys playing accordions and singing about cabbages (well, not quite, but you get the picture). Instead I found crumbling tenements, communist memorials, a gazillion casinos, friendly people and a music scene that ranges from revolutionist rock to drag queen pop. Whatever the genre, Ukrainian music is bound by one theme: politics. Music and… politics? Boring? Actually… no.

‘Ukraine’ translates as ‘borderland’ or ‘on the edge’ and it’s an edge that is noticeably ragged. Stray dogs roam the streets, the police and government are corrupt, day-to-day life is bogged down in impenetrable layers of Kafka-esque bureaucracy and, if you value your health, avoid the hospitals.

Stretching from the Black Sea in the south to Belarus and Russia in the north, Ukraine is big (think France, Belgium and Holland combined). The population is around 47m and 29 per cent live below the poverty line. The capital is Kiev, famous for its golden-domed churches and monasteries. Other places worth visiting are the medieval city of Lviv; the Carpathian Mountains (for skiing in the winter; hiking in the summer); the Crimean peninsula (for mountains, ancient ruins, deserts, and beaches); and Odessa’s tree-lined boulevards (for Mediterranean climate, club life and more beaches). It’s a country in the middle of change, not least in its musical/political scene and, at the heart of it all, is an urge to create what ‘Ukrainian’ really means.

I find (not out of choice, you understand) that a great way of experiencing Ukraine’s edginess is by hurtling down cobbled streets in a 20-year-old Lada with a shattered windscreen, questionable brakes, and a driver whose sole knowledge of English is two words: “Manchester United.” Empty beer bottles rattle around the floor. Commercial pop blares out the speakers. Vanya and Jeka from DaBitt, one of Ukraine’s most successful but unsigned bands, calmly sit back and pass around a bottle of vodka.

“Payushia Nogii,” says Vanya. “Singing Legs.”

“A band?”

“No… a style: two girls, three girls, four… blonde, redhead, brunette, long legs, big… [he cups two imaginary melons to his chest]. No one cares if they can sing, no one remembers their names, just pretty faces, nice hair, sexy dresses, long legs. So… ‘singing legs’.”

Even if no one can remember their names (well, one of the first and still popular is ViaGra), the songs of Ukraine’s manufactured girl groups dominate the radio waves. We pass a few moments listening to the screech of brakes, saccharine voices in the speakers and abusive roars from passing drivers. Odessa’s once grand and ornate facades flash past. Another song begins. The driver chuckles. The Lada weaves in a happy kind of way. The new song sounds like bouncy Euro pop, but the lyrics are Ukrainian… it’s the latest offering from Ukraine’s pop superstar, the one and only Verka Serduchka.

Serduchka is bigger than every singing leg in the business; a chart-topping phenomenon unlike most. A middle-aged Ukrainian woman with a penchant for sequined jumpsuits and bizarre headwear, she has produced nine albums since 1997 and causes mania on dancefloors everywhere. In fact, Verka Serduchka is the drag queen alter ego of male comedian Andrey Danylko. Born in 1973 in northwest Ukraine, Andrey’s musical talents proved unhindered by multiple rejections from various music colleges, which forced him to become a “cashier-seller of food stuffs” instead.

Verka first appeared in 1993 as a stage act in which she told hilarious anecdotes about her ‘job’ as a train conductor on the horrendously slow Ukrainian rolling stock. Her debut album appeared in 1997 and since then s/he has become the Ukrainian pop star to the extent that (Jeka assures me) it’s now impossible to imagine a Ukrainian wedding without at least one Verka song. No Verka on the turntable, no wedding. It’s that simple. Start playing a classic Verka number like ‘Pirozhok’ (‘Pie’), with its two (memorable?) lines – “I was slowly walking and found a pie / I sat, ate, and continued walking” – and even Great Aunt Olga will be bopping like a Cossack.

If you follow Eurovision, you would have seen Verka earlier this year. After Ukraine’s recent success in the competition (sexy singer Ruslana won in 2004) no one took it seriously when Verka proposed s/he would represent Ukraine in 2007. Then her/his entry ‘Dancing Lasha Tumbai’ came second. The joke was over. As far as Russia was concerned, there was little to joke about from the beginning. According to a special committee located in a shady and (probably rather paranoid) department in Moscow, ‘Dancing Lasha Tumbai’ sounds like ‘Dancing Russia Good-bye’ (mmmm). Shortly afterwards, ‘Dancing Lasha Tumbai’ and all other Verka songs were banned from Russian radio and TV. Weird? Well, yes, but not surprising to those who live here, where all things musical have taken on (or been given) a political slant. This case in particular shows how delicate and (whisper it quietly) bickeringly childish Russia’s attitude towards its ex-state has become since 2004.

Interestingly, without his padded bra, Andrey Danylko is a talented musician. He composes and plays serious, beautiful, instrumental works which aren’t popular in the slightest. Compared to the millions who adore drag queen Verka only about four people in the country (reckons Vanya) have ever listened to a Danylko album. All that might change in the future, however, because Andrey (probably without the sequined jump-suits) has decided to stand as the leader of his own Independent Party in national elections due later this September. Anything can happen in Ukraine so there’s even a slim chance he’ll win.

While I consider what effect a drag queen president might have on this country, a few dogs, cyclists and pedestrians dive for safety and sail in slow motion past the cracked windscreen. I seem to be the only one bothered by our kamikaze velocity. In this sense Vanya, Jeka, the driver and everyone else weaving along this street are typically Ukrainian. Brought up under the Soviet ethos of working towards a better future (which didn’t come), today Ukrainians are generally a cheerful ‘live now, think about the future later’ kind of people. They like parties, music, food, beer, and lots of vodka (350m litres every year). Give them an opportunity to combine music, food, drink and fellow countrymen – a wedding, public holiday or festival for example – and they’ll make the most of it. Fortunately for them a public holiday comes around about every two weeks; failing that, there’s always the weekend or a copious number of summer music festivals: Niv-roku, ‘Two days and two nights’, held near Ternopil, is 48 hours of non-stop avant-garde music from all round the world; U-rok, which takes place on a huge beach near Odessa; and the biggest, Tavriyski Igri (near Kachovka). Today it’s a free festival on Odessa’s Potemkin steps (hence the reason for the crazy car drive) and DaBitt have promised me an audience with one of the headliners: Ukrainian rock icon, Oleg Skripka (‘Skripka’ = ‘Violin’).

Skripka (who detests Verka Serduchka, manufactured pop, various rival bands and, well, many things) is the frontman of vintage Ukrainian rock group Vopli Vidopliasova (‘Vopli’ = ‘Scream’, ‘Vidopliasova’ = a character from a novel by Dostoevsky). Vopli Vidopliasova (or VV) are Ukrainian musical heroes. Twenty years ago they were the first Ukrainian band to go to Russia and sing in Ukrainian. It was a momentous occasion (for Ukraine) – a big fuck you, and a statement of national independence after years of Soviet control and repression of Ukrainian nationalism, including the Ukrainian language. In 1991, when the Soviet Union collapsed, Ukraine declared itself independent. Anarchy filled the power-vacuum: car bombings were common; organised crime ran rife. Although a ‘democracy’, rigged elections ensured that the government remained Moscow-controlled.

In terms of music it was a time when the Russian chanson ruled. Russian chanson are like prison blues: three guys with percussion, guitar and accordion singing dismal songs about killing their unfaithful girlfriend/ wife/friend, going to prison and missing their girlfriend/wife/friend (or mother). They were songs which captured a melancholy and violent moment in the country’s history and these days they only really remain popular among macho taxi and mini-bus drivers. Gradually, Ukraine found its way out of the wilderness, but only in November-December 2004 did things really change. Up to a million Ukrainians flocked to Kiev’s main square to protest against an election that declared Moscow’s man the winner (again). Protestors wore the orange colour of the pro-Ukrainian party and camped out day and night for over a month in sub-zero conditions. Oleg Skripka was one of the musicians who appeared there every day – alongside other established acts such as Ukrainian rappers TNMK and rock group Okean Elzy (‘Oceans of Elsa’) – inspiring protestors to stand up for a truly independent Ukraine. As a result of this ‘Orange Revolution’ another election was held, the nationalist candidate won, Russia’s yoke was thrown off, and independent Ukraine emerged, albeit still divided between Orange and Blue – the industrial, Moscow-oriented east and the poorer, nationalist, west; Ukrainian versus Russian language. All this might sound a bit history book-ish but this division – especially that of language – is probably the single most significant factor in modern Ukrainian music. In the struggle to create a national identity, Ukrainian bands (far more than, for example, writers or actors) have become the most influential voice for the people of this county.

Fusing traditional folk themes with no-nonsense rock melodies (Skripka calls it “countryside rock”), VV’s music is perhaps the best example of a band with a truly Ukrainian sound. In a decision made as early as 1987, when they switched from playing Western-influenced punk to rocked-up traditional tunes, VV are keen to promote their music and Ukraine outside their own country.

“If we only play Western-style rock and then go to visit the West, it’s crazy,” Skripka has said, not only about VV, but Ukrainian music in general. “It’s the same as some band from Mongolia travelling to America to play songs by Metallica.”

It would be nice if Skripka could tell me about this himself, but when Jeka, Vanya and I reach the backstage door we get a big thumbs down from the security guys. They suggest that a few hundred dollars contribution to the Security Guy’s Pension Fund might help our cause. Unfortunately that’s money we don’t have. We retire to the steps to watch the show.

In 1905, Odessa’s 192 huge granite steps were the centre of a revolutionary movement against Tsarist Russia. There’s something strange (but not bad) about the fact that today these steps are crammed with rock fans baking slowly on a hot July evening. Skripka bounces on stage, effortlessly swapping guitar for accordion, trombone, then trumpet. He judges the mood with perfection and proves that VV’s fusion of upbeat rock and traditional folk lyrics are great festival music… or just, well, great.

From ‘singing legs’ and drag queens to VV’s rock, a spectrum of music fills Ukraine’s sound scene. From the nationalist heartland of Lviv, long-established Okean Elzy, for example, are as pro-Ukraine as VV. During the Orange Revolution, their frontman Svatoslav (‘Slavik’) Vakarchuk attempted to invade a government department. For his troubles, the old regime started criminal proceedings against him. With echoes of The Doors and Queen (i.e. more than VV but less than Verka), Okean Elzy were chosen as the face of Pepsi Cola in Ukraine in 2001. In 2003, Slavik became an official ambassador for Ukrainian culture – the first time in history this post had been awarded to a rock musician. “Music is my soul,” he said, “but my mind is worrying about Ukraine.”

TNMK are hardcore hip hop with a sound like Papa Roach meets Run DMC in… you guessed it, Ukrainian! Originally a school band formed in 1989, they took their name – ‘Tanok Na Mydani Kongo’ (‘Dancing in Congo Square’) – from a book on the history of jazz. Congo Square was an old slave-market in New Orleans where, in the 19th century, slaves gathered to hold cultural competitions, including what became known as the Congo Square Dance (an early form of breakdance). Through years of persistent self-promotion TNMK finally found success in 1998 when they made a music video for $160 (plus food and drink… very important for Ukrainians, that food and drink) which went on to become the cheapest music video ever to make the MTV top 40. Frontman Fagot (named after a demonic character from Bulgakov’s cult novel Master and Margarita) has now become a star, providing the voice of Johnny Depp in the Russian version of the second two Pirates of the Caribbean films.

Other note-worthies include SKAI (Ukrainian Coldplay); Pyetnitsa (a couple of scruffy ska mongers who caused a storm when they performed the anthem of the Soviet Union in reggae style); diva Gaitana; and alternative rockers Krihitka Tsarhess. Of Ukrainian and Congolese parentage, Gaitana is a talented, good-looking, R&B-style singer. Her melodies are conventional soft rock/soul but her vocals got her signed to Lavina Music, the label which has taken on many major Ukrainian groups. Their website (www.lavinamusic.com) is the best place to sample some of what is happening. Finally, in 2006, the debut album, Na Pearshomu Misti (At The First Place) of Krihitka Tsarhess overwhelmed the Ukrainian rock scene and challenged Okean Elzy for album sales. With echoes of Portishead, Krihitka are slickly produced, talented and touted as being one of the best things to happen in Ukrainian music for years. Unfortunately their guitarist died a couple of months ago, so… watch this space.

Talking of watching this space, barring civil war, revolution, a drag queen president, or more Eurovision success (any or all of which are possible) the next you’re likely to hear about the home of VV, Gaitana et al., is in 2012 when Ukraine co-hosts the European Cup. Perhaps Verka will sing the anthem. As for my buddies, DaBitt, when the VV concert ends, we follow crowds through the sultry streets. DaBitt have been together for seven years, playing soft rock at all kinds of festivals and winning every major competition in the country, but they’re still seeking that elusive record deal. Ironically the only way forwards for this Ukrainian group is probably to move to Moscow.

“So what about the future?” I ask.

“The future? For Ukraine it’ll probably be a cocktail: things from Europe, America, Russia. Exactly what will happen though… who knows?”

They shrug. We pass a drunk lying in the gutter, a crowd of model-esque women in 12” stilettos, a BMW blaring Serduchka. This is Ukraine.

Related: