Time to read: 18 minutes(s)

"Novy Rock" is a Tomsk-based music magazine. It's been in publication for 15 years. A concert dedicated to its anniversary was recently held. We spoke with "Novy Rock" editor-in-chief and journalist Alexander Arlyapov about the magazine's existence in the current climate, how musicians live and work amidst a quiet civil war, and whether it's necessary and even possible for them to express their political stance today if they disagree with the government. And, of course, whether rock 'n' roll is still alive. 

 You've been in the rock scene for a long time, since the 90s, if you recall the TV2 shows of that time – "The Devil's Dozen," "The Orchestra of Yellow TVs." Is there a difference between your perception of rock then and now? 

— Absolutely, because I was just getting into it all back then. My immersion in music, the beginning of my music-loving career, came right around the time of my senior year and my student years, when I was studying journalism. That was the turn of the 1980s and 1990s. And at first, it was all rock. Russian and Soviet rock. Plus my first tentative encounters with world rock classics: the Doors, Pink Floyd, the Rolling Stones, and so on. And in the mid-90s, when I was already working at the Tomsk TV channel TV2, I became deeply immersed in the full diversity of rock music. And I became less interested in Russian rock itself, especially after I started hosting my own show on TV2. 

At that time, I discovered so many new things: punk, post-punk, psychedelic, art rock. Plus, the late '90s saw the rise of new genres: Britpop, grunge, indie. I was interested in all of this back then; I devoured it all. And I tried to cover it all in my show. Kurt Cobain had recently committed suicide, and the Britpop battle between Oasis and Blur was raging in England. It was all alive and well, happening right here and now, and it was incredibly interesting. At the same time, the rave culture era had begun in the UK, and I was also captivated by it. In 1997, the last year of my show on TV2, I didn't limit myself to just rock. I covered electronic music, reggae, trip-hop, and hip-hop. There were special episodes dedicated, for example, to the Beastie Boys, Bob Marley, or the British band the Shamen. My musical passions expanded in different directions, and I began to explore related fields. Then I discovered jazz and its various styles: fusion jazz, jazz-rock, funk. And I became more selective about classic rock. I no longer listened to everything. And now I can say that I have a diverse musical taste. I'm a music lover in the broadest sense of the word. I can listen to French chanson, like Serge Gainsbourg, who loved to experiment in different directions. Or Afrobeat—electronic music based on African folk rhythms. Rock isn't something special to me now; it's simply one genre of music. 

 — In the late Soviet era, rock music was perceived as the music of freedom – and what about now?

Russian rock has always been literature-centric. The verbal message was too straightforward. Music was given less attention, often to its detriment. And I've always liked bands that didn't forget about music, like AuktsЫon. At the same time, here's an interesting paradox: not everyone who was so outspoken back then has retained their conventional oppositional stance. Take Sergei Chigrakov, aka Chizh. Back then, he seemed like a dissident dude who sang, "I don't love a rich kid, I love a political prisoner." Now he's become a complete conformist, a grown-up fat man who makes a living from touring, yet is completely unprincipled and doesn't give a damn.

 — By the way, the same group "AuktsЫon", everyone is quite supportive.

 — Nothing of the sort. There's no need to confuse the AuktsЫon group, and especially its formal leader Leonid Fyodorov, with, say, Oleg Garkusha (Oleg Garkusha starred (In Garik Sukachev's music video "I'm Staying." — editor's note.) Garkusha is formally considered the group's symbol, but he's simply a dancer, showman, and author of several lyrics. Many consider him the face of the group, but the real driving force is Lenya Fedorov, and he produced This year, a great album based on his correspondence with a descendant of the OBERIU poet Alexander Vvedensky, who lives in Kharkiv. They have maintained a friendly relationship for many years, and Vvedensky wrote him letters from the besieged city. Leonid set them to avant-garde noise music, and it's incredibly poignant, enough to send shivers down your spine.

— Okay, another example. "Agatha Christie." One is for, one is against. Why?

 — Remember the stories from the Civil War, when brother turned against brother. We see the same thing. Often, the line of conflict runs within a single family. It's all too common. I'm lucky in this regard: I don't have any conflicts with my close relatives. My brother, my father, and I share the same point of view, but I know a million cases among my friends where there's a "parent-child" conflict. Most often, it's generational, but it does happen between brothers or sisters. I also have examples among my friends who have either made some kind of conditional pact with their relatives to avoid discussing these hot-button topics. Or they simply find themselves in a state of cold war and don't communicate. Moreover, many have left the country and have completely cut off communication with their relatives. 

And the Samoilovs from Agatha Christie's "The Samoilovs" had gone their separate ways long before all the recent events. If we recall the famous trials, when Vadim Samoilov filed a lawsuit against Artemy Troitsky for insulting him when he called him “Surkov’s poodle.”

— What did you do afterward, before “New Rock”?

I had my own little odyssey through various Tomsk media outlets, because it's very difficult for a music journalist to find work in our provincial backwaters. I worked here and there. I was lucky when Nashe Radio launched in Tomsk in the 2000s, and the then editor-in-chief, the late Igor Sokolov, invited me. I worked there for five years. Actually, that was my next long-term job after TV2. My third job was Echo of Moscow Tomsk. I was the very last employee of Nashe Radio when it closed in 2006. Then they decided to replace Nashe Radio with Militia Wave, which, incidentally, sparked very strong protests from the audience.  

Tomsk band "Nemoy" at the anniversary gig of "New Rock"

It seems to me that before the era rallies In defense of TV2, the only mass protest in Tomsk in defense of the media occurred in 2006, over the closure of Nashe Radio. Around a thousand people, mostly teenagers, gathered at the Siberian Physical-Technical Institute (SFTI) to demand Nashe Radio not be shut down. It was a rally-concert, featuring Tomsk musicians. Ada Bernatonytė, a well-known film scholar in Tomsk, emceed it. This was unusual, as protests in the 2000s weren't particularly large. Some communists would gather 50-70 people, no more. And then there was this crowd.

— 15 years is a long time for a magazine. How did it all begin: how did the idea for the magazine come about?

 It's a unique story, but at first, it wasn't at all unique. The magazine was conceived as a diploma thesis at the journalism department, and everything is typical there—there are dozens of such one-off projects—but the fact that it survived after the diploma was defended is what makes it unique. And it's been alive for 15 years now. There was a student named Olesya Butolina, now a well-known Tomsk journalist, but at the time, a graduating student writing her diploma thesis. She, too, was very interested in music at the time and wanted to write her diploma thesis on how to create a music magazine. Her supervisor was Yuri Nikolaevich Myasnikov, the patriarch of the FZh, now retired. He was also my professor back then. And then, in June 2008, Yuri Nikolaevich called me and said, "Alexander, here's the thing: a student wants to create a music magazine for her diploma thesis. We thought and thought about who could edit this whole thing, and you're the only one who came to mind." I arrived at the faculty, and it's fair to say that the first editorial meeting took place. Myasnikov himself, Olesya Butolina, Vasily Vershinin, Nikita Greidin, and Oleg Gribov were there. That was the team that started the magazine. 

Then we started a unique crowdfunding system. We didn't just raise money from people; we organized concerts in support of "New Rock." In Tomsk, there was an art cafe called "Kukushka," a vibrant cultural center. Musicians performed there for free in support of the magazine, and all proceeds from ticket sales went toward reprinting. The magazine itself was sold for 100 rubles at the "Underground" music store. All proceeds went back into printing the magazine. The first copy of "New Rock" was published in the fall of 2008 and sold 300 copies. 

The second issue was released a year later, in 2009, with a print run of only 70 copies. The third issue, though typeset, was never published because printing prices skyrocketed. We would have had to sell the magazine for 400 rubles to break even, but no one would buy it for that price. It remained in PDF format, which we simply made publicly available. A few years later, the new dean of the TSU journalism faculty, Ilya Myasnikov (Yuri Nikolaevich's son), gave me a couple of copies of that issue, which he had specially printed. It was a wonderful gift: it was the first time I saw the third issue in print.

Since 2010, Novyi Rock has become a purely online magazine. Olesya Butolina had long since retired from it by then; she later became editor-in-chief of the Tomsk portal VTomske. But we remained. Vasily Vershinin, who was the magazine's chief layout designer, is now a journalism professor; he was the second driving force, helping me find authors and photographers among the students. There was also the wonderful designer Pasha Bogdanov, as well as our first admin, Sasha Banshchikov, who not only created our website but also generously spent $15 on WordPress. And so we launched the magazine's website. It's important to understand that we launched Novyi Rock out of sheer enthusiasm, and people were willing to dedicate their energy, resources, and so on. 

Then a page appeared "In contact with" и telegram channel.

I'll add that since 2010, we've also had the "New Rock" film club. Back then, Ada Bernatonytė suggested I show music-themed films at her film club, "Laterna Magika." I then branched out and created the "Big Screen Music" project. We've shown films at a variety of venues around the city, including clubs, cafes, music schools, and libraries. Very soon, at the end of August, we'll be launching the new season of the film club at the "Hall Bar." 

Back in the early 2010s, we came up with the idea of ​​presenting our own year-end music awards to Tomsk musicians, as the local scene constantly produces interesting releases and excellent artists. Our awards are framed, designer diplomas. But during the pandemic, when events were banned, we abandoned the in-person awards and are now handing them out virtually. 

— How do you exist now, given today’s realities and censorship?

"I'll say right away that we never even considered becoming an official media outlet. Back in the relatively stagnant times, we decided we wouldn't even bother getting a license, because there was absolutely no point in deliberately trying to comply with media laws and narrowing our reach. The only thing we did, as a safeguard, was put an 18+ rating on our website and VKontakte page. When there were complaints about foul language, we added asterisks to the interview texts. I think we've stopped doing that now. There weren't any major compromises; we did what we thought was best."

— Who selects the groups you talk about? 

If I'm the one doing the storytelling, I decide for myself. When it comes to what authors write, I either advise them, or they take the initiative themselves. Let's say they come to me and say, "I have an opportunity to talk to a certain band." Or, "I want to write a review of an album by these guys." I'm always all for that kind of initiative. Yeah, no problem. It's always the author's choice. In the rare cases where I don't have time, I might ask someone else to write the text. And the author, depending on their schedule, agrees or not. "Novyi Rock" is a magazine for enthusiasts who create it in their spare time, in their free time. 

Qantabrika closed the festive gig with an hour-long performance.

— So, it’s impossible to get to you through connections?

— The magazine basically doesn't have any paid publications. I can count on one hand all the times over the past 15 years that people have bought ads from me in the public page. And, as a rule, the ones asking for advertising were metropolitan groups, not Siberian ones. Then yes, reposts are for a donation. Because we support Siberians for free.

— Have any patriotic groups tried to promote your magazine?

No. There were times when, upon learning that a particular musician was a complete Z-er, we simply stopped posting their posters in our lists. But even if we had, it wouldn't have resulted in any positive outcome for them. 

— Again, how has the party scene changed since February 24th? And the atmosphere around it?

— That's a tough question. I remember everyone was feeling a bit lost at first. For a month and a half, there was complete silence. Nothing was happening. Then the first punk gigs started happening, and the guys wrote that we were doing it just to support each other. To have a place where they could come and hug, so to speak. Everyone's minds were spinning: sitting alone at home, going crazy in constant doom scrolling. We needed some kind of release. And so people came and poured it all out on the dance floor, jumping in a punk mosh. I think the concerts did their job back then. Over time, you realize that a concert is a good way to convey some good ideas. I'll never forget when I came in the spring of 2022 Alexander Byankin, A wonderful Tomsk resident of ours who now lives in St. Petersburg and plays in the theater. He came and reassembled the old lineup of his reggae band "Dancing with Ants."https://vk.com/club3117953They gave a concert at the bar "Kochegarnya." And the songs were so nerve-wracking. Although reggae is a relaxed music, his songs had a strong feeling. We stood and listened, almost to the point of tears.

— Do many Tomsk musicians support the war? 

"I only know one. Naturally, I didn't approach everyone and ask questions; I can't get into anyone's head. One guy from a Tomsk band, I don't want to mention his name. At a concert in a bar, he was introduced to me by Daniil Arshavsky from the band." Zeliboba's Laughter  And we got to talking. And during the conversation, it turned out that he was "actually against Putin, but this is the right war." Since I was drunk, I didn't argue with him, but simply told him to go to hell. And that was the end of the discussion. 

By the way, returning to the question: who do I support and who don't? There's a performer like that in the Urals. Harry PineapplesSuch classic Russian rock, not quite Leningrad, not quite Chizh. He was once planning a tour in Siberia and wrote to me asking if he came to Tomsk to support him. I replied, "Yes, we will." Then I saw he started writing "for our guys," about "Ukronazis," and so on. I wrote to him not to count on our support. He started sending me all sorts of obscene language in response, so I banned him. Then I got this wonderful message from another account: "You fat liberal, get ready, we're coming, we're going to cut you up." I even saved a screenshot as a souvenir. 

Part of the Russian rock community supported the war. Some condemned it. Many emigrated. Do you think in five years, when the war is over, they'll be able to perform on stage together? 

— A controversial issue. It's always been a difficult one throughout history. We know countless examples where it's truly difficult for people on opposite sides to find common ground. Remember how long and painful it was to reconcile people on opposite sides of the Spanish Civil War. Some lived for decades with the feeling of having won, while others lived in exile. Or, remaining in the country, they were forced to remain silent and not make their position known. Even after Franco died, and democratization took place under the king, people still had a hard time getting along. This included artists. There were also examples among famous figures. Take García Lorca, Salvador Dalí, and Luis Buñuel, who were close friends in their youth, but then life took them apart: Lorca was executed by Franco's forces, Buñuel went into exile, and Dalí lived happily ever after. And he thrived under the new regime. 

 — Previously, various musical groups came to Tomsk, some of which are now even banned in Russia. What is currently allowed in Tomsk, and what is not?

 There were blessed times when even international bands would come to Tomsk, and not just from neighboring countries. It happened that foreign artists weren't limited to the capitals, but even came as far as here, like the African grandmother Cesaria Evora, the British Maybeshewill, or the Swedish Tiamat. Now, 90% of the musical life consists of performances by local musicians. Tours are rare, but then again, more often than not, musicians come from other Siberian cities. Large tours are extremely rare. Such major tours, with a stop in Tomsk, maybe ten in a season. For example, the band "Kino" was in Tomsk this spring. Obviously, large organizations handle tours for such bands, and I don't envy the lot of these large Tomsk organizers, like the Tomconcert agency, who used to be able to work with whoever they liked, but now they're forced to take on everything. Theatrical companies, circuses, and all sorts of silly pop stars like Oleg Gazmanov are brought in. Tomconcert would never have taken on Gazmanov in the past, but now they have to. Independent organizers bring indie bands to smaller venues. But even that has diminished significantly. And now, every such concert feels like a breath of fresh air.

— Should musicians express their protest now?  

It's like the old saying: I wasn't interested in politics, but politics took an interest in me. That's how it works. Yes, you can declare yourself outside of politics as much as you like, but politics doesn't care. Even if you try your best to push away any political statements and actions, you still find yourself in a context where everything is tied to politics in one way or another. That's our life. You can, of course, close your eyes and that's it, I'm home. And pretend nothing's happening. But the opportunity to do so is dwindling. 

 — How should I express my position now?

 "Expressing direct protest in Russia is practically impossible. Notice, even when someone doesn't speak out directly, but rather takes a specific local situation. Like Chacha Ivanov from the band Naiv when he spoke about Masha Moskaleva and her father. Or Sasha Vasiliev from Splin, when he said he hoped his friends from Tequilajazzz and Aquarium would someday return to Russia. And both were cancelled. Both Naiv and Splin immediately lost all their concerts. Even such statements deprive you, at the very least, of your income."  

— There were underground concerts in the USSR, weren't there? Maybe we should do the same now?

 — Yes, there were. Under Brezhnev, when the guys were throwing house concerts, and even gigs in small cultural centers and clubs, for which the money was raised underground. And for the most part, a blind eye was turned to it. But then, when the gun-cartridge craze began, when Chernenko came in, and they started tightening the screws, these underground concerts started to go up in flames. When they disbanded such an apolitical group as Bravo. They rounded up Aguzarova, she turned out to have a fake passport, and she was sent first to a psychiatric hospital for examination, and then to exile on administrative charges, and so on. And there were dozens of such examples. Nowadays, we can do things too, as long as they don't become public knowledge. And given that we live in the digital age of the internet, hiding has become much more difficult. What was the Soviet Union, for the current generation to understand? It had no internet; all information was passed on by word of mouth. The concert invitation was distributed person to person, and you only knew the person who invited you. Clearly, cracking that chain of communication was much more difficult for the intelligence services than, say, unsealing a private Telegram chat today.

 - And yes, rock and roll is alive? 

- Of course he's alive. He'll be alive as long as people listen to him.