Troubled Times and Ayktion Live

The official Time of Troubles in Russian history (which, when one thinks about it, seems packed with Times of Trouble) refers to the chaotic interregnum following the death of Ivan the Terrible's feeble-minded son Fyodor in 1598. Ivan had already killed off his more talented son, also called Ivan, back in 1581, and his other son, Dmitri, died under mysterious circumstances ten years later -- in any case, there was a knife stuck in his throat. In short, with Fyodor's demise, the country was left without heir or ruler, and chaos ensued.  

Michael Romanov, a distant descendent of Ivan's first wife (he had approximately seven), spent these years of famine, civil uprisings, invasions, occupations, assassinations, usurpers, and impostors tucked away in a monastery where he had been exiled along with his mother. Then one fine roulettian day in 1613, a group of nobles tracked him down in his cozy retreat and announced that he had been proclaimed the new tsar. Michael and Mother politely tried to desist, referring to his youth -- he was only sixteen -- but the weeping nobles declared that should he refuse, he would be held responsible before God for the destruction of Russia. What was there to do but consent? Thus ended the Time of Troubles and began the rule of the Romanov dynasty that lasted 304 years. These tumultuous events and their happy conclusion have been commemorated in Russia since 2005 on 4 November, the Day of the United Folk.

4 November

Day of the United Folk

Hurrah!

Meanwhile, Red Kirill and I are racing down Bolshoi Prospekt: it turns out that some sort of improvisational concert is taking place in the Sigmund Freud Dream Museum. Who even knew that there was such a museum in Petersburg where Freud never stepped foot? 

"United Folk?" scoffs Kirill, "Bah! It's an artificial holiday! They took away the celebration for the Revolution on 7 November -- believe me, they want to get as far away from revolution as possible -- so they had to replace it with something. It's nothing but food and circuses."

The Dream Museum is part of the Psychoanalysis Institute, and we soon discover that harpists, guitarists, violinists, and various other musicians are scattered throughout the mansion in which the Institute is housed. We wander through the dimly lit rooms as the musicians play improvised, dissonant melodies. It's a quirky, random, surrealistic affair with the sound effects changing as we move up, down, and around the various corridors and rooms with crowds of other attendees. 

"Ach." says Kirill, "the youth seems so enthusiastic. Maybe I'm just getting older. No, no, that can't be it. After all, whenever something creative is going on, I'm young and perky. It's just that I don't have any illusions left. They still have theirs intact. Well, give them time."

We run into Photographer Olya, who says that there is an Ayktion concert tonight. Ayktion is one of the most important rock bands in Soviet-Russian history, so this is exciting news. She calls up Music Manager Mischa who puts us all on the comp list, but there's time to spare before the concert starts, so we head back to Red Kirill's for some quick refreshment: homemade lemon vodka with cheese and pickles.

Kirill is thinking of selling his apartment and with the proceeds, buying a house just outside of Petersburg where he can set up an art colony -- or perhaps he'll move to Croatia with Artist Lena, since they've realized that the only thing keeping them in Russia, where everything is going to hell in hand basket, is their friends -- maybe they can all relocate together.  Kirill says he's asking 7,000,000 rubles, but the real estate agent has yet to come by to inspect the place so he's not sure if this is entirely realistic.  

"Cheers," we say, as we lift the vodka glasses, and I take a surreptitious look around.  It IS a big apartment with vastly high ceilings and an enviable location, but renovation hasn't been carried out for decades, it's packed with stacks of paintings, ancient furniture, piles of clutter,  and the walls, of course, are painted red, with the exception of the cramped. cavelike bathroom which is painted black.  I'm thinking the asking price is a tad high.

Meanwhile, Photographer Olya is desperately looking for new lodgings. She's been staying in a room that's four metro stops plus a mini-van ride away, but this option is ending soon. She can't afford more than $250 a month which is not really enough to find a good alternative, and she's clueless about what to do. We'll keep our ears open.

Well, it's off to the concert which is located out in a semi-industrial area in the so-called Main Club. Ayktion is magnificent, complicated, authentic music that shakes us to the bone.  Encore, encore! Afterwards, Olya tries to track down Mischa who must be around somewhere.  I suspect that she would like to hook up with him, but he is either too busy working or (this seems more likely) not interested, or perhaps both. She waits a bit forlornly, until finally the security guards ask us to leave, so we head out into the dark, drizzly Petersburg night to catch the last metro back to our respective abodes.  Happy Day of the United Folk!