Download 2008 – Singer, Sailor, Soldier, Spirit 

Download 2012 – Two Fates 

Download 2014 – Wolfhunt 

Download 2017 – His Last Bow 

Download Bonus Materials 

A new item!

A custom-made 2GB flashdrive
containing “Vysotsky in English”
entire discography:

4 albums + bonuses! $30

Likely the final album in the “Vysotsky in English” project. The title, His Last Bow, refers to the final Sherlock Holmes story, published exactly 100 years ago, in September 1917.

Musicians:

Vadim Astrakhan (vocals, guitars, keys)
Dave Darlington (keys)
Thad DeBrock (guitars)
Lex Plotnikoff (keys)

This album is free for downloading.
However, if you wish to support this project,
suggested donation is $15 via PayPal.

Download 2017 – His Last Bow 

Songs:

HIS LAST BOW

1. No Prophets (Luke 4:24) (Я из Дела Ушел) 3.34
2. The Buccaneer (Еще не Вечер) 2.57
3. Gears of Time (Песня об Обиженном Времени) 2.58
4. Muse’s Visit (Посещение Музы) 2.52
5. The Cast Ballad (Баллада о Гипсе) 5.12
6. The Summit (Вершина) 3.44
7. The Tattoo (Татуировка) 2.06
8. 25 to Life (Правда Ведь Обидно) 1.03
9. Jailbird’s Letter (Ребята, Напишите) 2.18
10. A Troubled Roman (Любовь в Древнем Риме) 2.53
11. Death of a Soccer Fan (Не Заманишь Меня на Эстрадный Концерт) 4.10
12. The Ornery Horses (Кони Привередливые) 7.19
13. Train to Heaven (Баллада об Уxоде в Рaй) 3.47

BONUS

1. Seven Years of Blue 2017
2. Be Grateful You’re Alive (Russian)
3. History of Illness (Russian)
4. The Sinner’s Sail 2014 (Russian)
5. Muses’ Visit (Russian)
6. The Buccaneer (Russian)
7. Jailbird’s Letter (Russian)
8. Train to Heaven (Russian)

LUKE 4:24 (NO PROPHETS)

Recorded January-February 2017
Vadim Astrakhan:  vocals & guitar
Thad DeBrock:  guitar
Dave Darlington:  keys & drums
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded & mixed by Dave Darlington

I walked out on a deal, though it showed such promise.
I took nothing!  Bare-naked, I bid them adieu.
Not because I was itching to go, no!  Other matters have surfaced,
Brought from beyond the mountain blue.

We learn from books, but in the end
All answers come with the wind a’ blowing.
There are no prophets in one’s homeland
But other homelands too aren’t overflowing.

I’ve been torn apart, and, as always,
All the wrong people grabbed the lion’s share.
I am polishing floors with my heels, walking down the hallways,
Up the stairs, to the attic:  something’s waiting there.

The prophets are gone!  There’s nobody left!
Mohammed, Zarathustra aren’t showing…
There are no prophets in one’s homeland
But other homelands too aren’t overflowing.

Those who stayed behind, I can hear their wails:
“We are better off now!  Good riddance!  Let’s proceed!”
I’m scratching the dirt off an icon, breaking my nails.
In a hurry, because outside they are saddling steeds.

The Visage faced me, luminous and sad,
He spoke to me with his eyes glowing:
“There are no prophets in your homeland
But other homelands too aren’t overflowing.”

So I leap on a horse.   I’ve now found my solace!
I’m one with the steed!  We’ll go to the horizon and through!
I walked out on a deal that showed such promise!
Other matters arrived from beyond the blue.

I ride. The hooves crackle in the sand.
This sound tells the only truth worth knowing:
“There are no prophets in one’s homeland,
But other homelands too aren’t overflowing.”

THE BUCCANEER (THE GAME’S NOT OVER)

Recorded July-November 2016
Vadim Astrakhan:  vocals & guitar
Thad DeBrock:  guitar
Dave Darlington:  keys & drums
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded & mixed by Dave Darlington

For many years this buccaneer split the waves
Our colors haven’t paled, however bloody.
We’ve mastered the art of stitching sails
And plugging holes in the hull with bodies.
The royal fleet is now on our heels.
The sea is still, and they are getting closer.
The Captain spoke calmly:  “No big deal.
“The game’s not over!  The game’s not over!”

The flagship tacks to the broadside,
And smoke surrounds her as she fires.
Return the salvo!  Though it’s suicide.
An unexpected blast – and she expires.
We’ve been through hell and worse than that,
But the wind is dying, and we barely hover.
The Captain shrugs his shoulders:  “Don’t fret!
“The game’s not over!  It ain’t over!”

They stare at the grimy men in rags,
As for the final battle we all rally.
But they will never see our bloodied backs
In shackles on a royal galley!
A lopsided fight; our time runs short!
“She’s lurching!  Save the soul of this poor rover!”
The Captain bellows:  “Set to board!
“The game’s not over!  It ain’t over!”

“Who wants to live, who’s merry, not a drip,
For a hand-to-hand now get your weapons handy!
The rats, meanwhile, can abandon ship
And don’t ruin what will be a dandy!”
The rats thought:  “Hey, the devil may be right!”
And bowed to the shrapnel, ever lower.
As we lined up against them, side by side.
“The game’s not over!  It ain’t over!”

Now face-to-face, and hand-to-hand, and sword-to-sword –
So not to feed the lobsters or the tuna! –
With pistols, daggers, prayers to the Lord
We were leaving our sinking schooner.
But no, they will never win this fight!
Great Ocean, pick us up and carry onward!
We know the Ocean must be on our side!
And right the Captain was:  it wasn’t over!

GEARS OF TIME
(from “Alice in Wonderland”)

Recorded in February-March 2017
Vadim Astrakhan:  vocals & guitar
Lex Plotnikoff:  orchestral arrangement
Dave Darlington:  additional keys
Produced by Lex Plotnikoff & Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded by Dave Darlington & Lex Plotnikoff
Mixed by Dave Darlington

See this old and heavy curtain?
Raise it gently, like a chalice.
Time it used to be so certain!
So uniform!  Look, Alice!

But the happy rarely tasted Time.
And the timid barely tested Time.
The rowdy unfairly hastened Time.
The lazy arbitrarily wasted Time.

Time, over the years,
Wore down its gears.
All moving parts are subject to wear!
Time decided this was not fair.
His pendulum froze in midair.

The clock did not strike midnight on purpose.
Noon did not come, didn’t tell us…
Time has become so nervous.
So stressful!  Look, Alice!

At once the happy started keeping time.
And cried the feeble-hearted:   weeping time!
The loud-mouths startled:  reaping time!
The lazy disregarded:  sleeping time!

Every year, please,
Give the gears grease!
Time is in great pain from all the wear!
Be gentle and let Time repair.
Life without Time feels so bare…

MUSE’S VISIT
(with Mika Tubinshlak)

Recorded October 2016
Vadim Astrakhan:  vocals & guitar
Dave Darlington:  keys & drums
Vladimir Ponomarev:  piano
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded & mixed by Dave Darlington

I’m simmering with unexploded anger,
I’m ticking like a ton of TNT.
The Muse dropped by the other night – but dang ’er!
She bolted.  Didn’t even stay for tea!
I honestly can’t blame her for departing,
She was within her right to walk away.
Imagine that:  the Muse in my apartment,
Alone at night!  What would the neighbors say?

I’m devastated, and my soul is barren.
I wasn’t even worth a one-night stand!
And yet she hung out gladly with Lord Byron.
With Shakespeare she stayed for weeks on end.
I hurried to my desk, for greatness famished:
“Here comes an epic poem, nothing less!”
But she was gone, my inspiration vanished,
With twenty dollars – for a cab, I guess.

I pace around the house, hot and bothered.
Fine!  I forgive her, even though it’s tough.
She went away.  She left me for another.
My company just wasn’t good enough.
A giant cake with candles, meant to dazzle,
Has crumbled, and I’m down with the blues.
My so-called friends, meanwhile, have found and guzzled
V.S.O.P. intended for the Muse!

Erasing years, like people on the black list,
My life’s monotonous.  I yawn and whine.
She isn’t coming back.  How bloody tactless!
And yet she left me two amazing lines.
Two perfect lines!  No poet ranks above me!
Now fame and fortune (are) sure to come my way!
Two perfect lines: “Thou art so temperate and lovely!
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

THE CAST BALLAD
(Баллада о Гипсе)

Recorded in April-July 2017
Vadim Astrakhan:  vocals & guitar
Dave Darlington:  keys & drums
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded by Dave Darlington
Mixed by Dave Darlington

No thrills and no excitement, everything is old and dull.
I feel like I’m about to kick the bucket!
I wish a bus would hit me or a brick fell on my skull,
That would be both memorable and lucky.
I lucked out!  I lucked out for once!
Had enough of the Fortune’s caprices!
A dump truck, weighing twenty five tons,
Smashed my spine into twenty five pieces.

Now I am in a cast, ravaged savagely.
Every part of me is packaged separately,
Individually… doesn’t bother me
As I gradually make recovery.

The moment of the impact was too fleeting to enjoy.
I then lounged for a year in a coma.
And I admit:  at first I felt bitterly annoyed
But then I saw a blessing in my trauma.
I’ve become an unstoppable force,
Armor-clad to the teeth from the onset.
All I want is to call out:  “My kingdom for a horse!”
And ride out of the ward into sunset.

But I am in a cast, ravaged savagely.
Every part of me is packaged separately,
Individually… doesn’t bother me
As I gradually make recovery.

If you have never been hit with a 2 by 4,
I pity you:  you don’t know what you’re missing.
And yes, without concussions your life is such a bore.
A cast upon your body is a blessing.
Thank you, doctors!  It’s such a delight
To be tied to these ropes and cables.
And I swear:  sometimes in the night
Like an astronaut I’m feeling weightless.

Here I am in a cast, ravaged savagely.
Every part of me is packaged separately,
Individually… doesn’t bother me
As I gradually make recovery.

All senses are blocked out, except the pain I feel,
But I refuse to make it an obsession.
I am like a baby wrapped tightly to my heels,
Surrounded by genuine compassion.
For the care I’ve nothing but praise
(My hot nurse made me _ appreciate it).
And I swear:  to the end of my days
I’d stay in this cast, incarcerated.

Here I am in a cast, ravaged savagely.
Every part of me is packaged separately,
Individually… doesn’t bother me
As I gradually make recovery.

I only wish I weren’t haunted by the past.
It’s like a piercing knife for the disabled.
In my dreams I escape from the shackles of my cast.
I dream of candles, poetry, and sabers!
Strong you are, my white bulletproof vest.
Heck, the sharpest of claws cannot cleave you!
Just one minor thing leaves me depressed:
That I can’t scratch myself underneath you.

That I am in a cast, ravaged savagely.
Every part of me is packaged separately,
Individually… doesn’t bother me
I’ll eventually make recovery.

I’ve now completely healed, but not taking off my cast.
The tusks are coming out, hitherto dormant.
Let my family complain!  I’m having such a blast!
This way I feel so massive and important!
Like a tank through the streets I now stray
With pedestrians running for cover.
I’m an elephant!  Out of my way!
In my thick skin I cannot be bothered.

Here I go through the world unassailably.
I’m a wild wrecking ball, packaged separately.
Individually… doesn’t bother me!
As I gradually make recovery.

THE SUMMIT
(with Max Hrabrov)

Recorded in April-July 2017
Vadim Astrakhan:  vocals & guitar
Dave Darlington:  keys & drums
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded by Dave Darlington
Mixed by Dave Darlington

You’re not on the plains.  It’s quite a change:
An avalanche after avalanche.
And falling rocks explode by your tent.
You can turn back, avoid the crag,
But still we choose the tougher track:
The perilous route of the first ascent.

Till you climb a wall and risk a fall
You haven’t proven yourself at all.
Even if down below you were in command.
Down below, try as you might,
You’ll never set your marveling sight
On anything so wondrous and grand!

No flowers and no laurels, and
Looks nothing like a monument
The rock upon your final resting place.
The eternal flame burns in your name:
The summit you have failed to tame
Shines in the sun, its emerald ice ablaze.

So let them talk and let them complain.
But no!  No one dies in vain!
It’s better than from booze and the common cold.
Others will trade their life of ease
For dangers and difficulties
And finish your work of conquering that wall!

A vertical drop.  Two miles high.
On Providence here you can’t rely.
Don’t trust the rock, the ice, or the cliff you scale.
We place our faith in our own hands,
The metal spike, and the hands of friends,
And only pray the gear doesn’t fail.

We’re cutting the steps.  No stopping now!
Your heart is ready to leap out
And run to the top, heeding the summit’s call!
The world at your feet.  You have no words,
Euphoric and envious towards
All those who’ve yet to experience it all.

The world at your feet.  You have no words!
Just slightly envious towards
All those who’ve yet to experience it all.

THE TATTOO
(with Gene Sakirsky)

Recorded in June 2016
Vadim Astrakhan:  vocals, guitar, & keys
Lex Plotnikoff:  xylophone
Dave Darlington:  drums
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded by Dave Darlington & Lex Plotnikoff
Mixed by Dave Darlington

No, we couldn’t share you and couldn’t love you.
What we felt is now firmly in the past.
Your image in my soul is all I value,
And Alex had your image tattooed on his chest.

On that day, when we were parting at the station,
I swore to love you till the day I die.
And without even the slightest hesitation,
Alex added promptly “So will I.”

Now can you tell which one of us is tortured?
And who’s misery is greater — you decide!
On the outside he is scarred by your portrait.
And my soul is scarred on the inside.

So when I feel all bummed out and morose
(Oh please don’t let these words offend your grace)
I beg Alex to remove his clothes
And I stare for hours at your face.

But then another friend helped me prevail,
Using art to put my woes to rest:
He examined the tattoo in great detail
And inked its perfect copy on my chest.

Yes, with friends this subject is taboo.
But I love you so much more because of this:
My tattoo, that being your tattoo,
Looks much better and much lovelier than his.

My tattoo, or should I say, your tattoo,
Looks much better and much lovelier than his.

25 TO LIFE

Recorded March-April 2017
Vadim Astrakhan:  vocals & guitar
Dave Darlington:  keys & drums
Foster Provost: harmonica
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded & mixed by Dave Darlington

Isn’t it a bummer, if I finally quit?
But my friend has sold me out, that little piece of shit!
That one time and others too:  he just spilled his guts.
So:  two in plain, two in blue, and the cell door shuts.

Goodbye, my dear, or maybe farewell!
Don’t cry, my dear, and bear no ill will!
But isn’t it a bummer?  Isn’t it a waste?
A quarter of my life has just been erased.

The judge announced “25!  See you later, buddy!”
For talk like this I used to take on anybody!
Now I keep my head down, no one can see me frown:
If I see that rat again, that shit will get bloody!

Goodbye, my dear, or maybe farewell!
Don’t cry, my dear, and bear no ill will!
But isn’t it a bummer?  Isn’t it a waste?
A quarter of my life has just been erased.

JAILBIRD’S LETTER

Recorded in August-September 2016
Vadim Astrakhan:  vocals, guitar
Thad DeBrock:  guitar
Dave Darlington:  bass, drums
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded & mixed by Dave Darlington

I couldn’t stand my sentence to the end.
The break has failed.  They’ll add another year.
Write me a letter, my old friends.
How goes it in the free world out there?

What do you drink?  We rarely see booze.
Here all we have is goddamn sun and snow…
Please, write me, tell me all the news.
Nothing ever happens here, you know.

I miss you.  Miss your mugs a ton!
The thought of you makes my day go better.
How’s Katie doing?  Seeing anyone?
If not, then she can also write a letter.

It’s Judgment Day-come-early on my soul!
A word from you will be a star to guide me.
It may not even make it here at all.
Still, fellas:  go ahead and write me.
 

A TROUBLED ROMAN

Recorded in February 2017
Vadim Astrakhan:  vocals & guitar
Lex Plotnikoff:  xylophone & clarinet
Dave Darlington:  drums
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded by Dave Darlington & Lex Plotnikoff
Mixed by Dave Darlington

DEATH OF A SOCCER FAN

Recorded in August-September 2017
Vadim Astrakhan:  vocals & guitars
Lex Plotnikoff:  keys
Dave Darlington:  bass & drums
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded by Dave Darlington & Lex Plotnikoff
Mixed by Dave Darlington

Don’t tempt me with concerts or theater plays.
I’m busy.  I’ve sworn an oath!
It’s the Final!  The match of the season, today.
I’ll be rooting.  I’m rooting for both.
Don’t you wake me tomorrow, don’t even try.
No alarms and no sirens!  I mean it!
I’m a nut, and nuts crack, so tonight I will die
At the main downtown arena.

After I pass away, won’t you carry my corpse
During stoppage in play – be efficient! –
Through the section 220, then mount a horse,
And ride on, on through the intermission.
Don’t you wake me tomorrow, don’t even try,
With your bells, sirens, howls of hyenas!
I’m sick all the way, and tonight I will die
At the main downtown arena.

When I’m dead, I’m sure no one takes offense:
“Someone snuffed it?  That’s fine, it don’t matter!”
Bury me in the central circle, my friends,
Or the six yard box – even better!
Lying under the field, screaming incessantly:
“Will these overpaid bastards deliver?”
And I love how the players run over me,
Like some kind of gargantuan shivers!

Now I savor attacks by my favorite teams,
As both defenses try to recover.
Good thing nobody hears my crazy-ass screams:
“Bite me ref!” one way or another.
In the morning don’t bother with me:  I won’t rise
Like that dead Swan Lake ballerina.
I’ve been sick all my life, and tonight I will die
At the main downtown arena.

One more thing:  don’t dig deep.  Two feet should suffice.
I must know what goes on on the field!
Or I will die again.  I’ll be K.I.A. twice!
And my destiny now is sealed.
 

THE ORNERY HORSES
(with Julie Deshtor and Tim Sergay)

Recorded in August-September 2017
Vadim Astrakhan:  vocals & guitar
Thad DeBrock:  guitar
Dave Darlington:  keys & drums
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded & mixed by Dave Darlington

On a cliff over a chasm, in my sled and nearly slipping,
I am lashing at my horses.  I am rushing, I am whipping.
Drinking fog and gulping gale… Am I running out of air?
It’s the end!  I see it clear with a jubilant despair.

Slow down for me, horses! Slow down for me!
Don’t you let my whip drive you on!
But I wound up with these horses so ornery…
Didn’t finish my life, will not finish my song.

I’ll let my horses drink.
One more verse I will sing.
Just a little bit longer I’ll cling to the brink.

I will perish like a feather blown away by the tornado,
And the sled across the snow will drag me, leaving deep striations…
Bring it down to a walk, my horses! – We can make it there later! –
Won’t you stave off my arrival at the final destination!

Slow down for me, horses!  Slow down for me!
Ease your gallop and just trot along!
But I wound up with these horses so ornery…
Didn’t finish my life, cannot finish my song.

I’ll let my horses drink.
One more verse I will sing.
For a split second longer I’ll cling to the brink.

We have made it.  Can’t be late, when you’re invited to God’s table.
But why do I hear angels chanting, and their voices sound so evil?
Or is that a crazy sleigh bell crying, choking in its rattle,
As I’m yelling at my horses to slow down just a little?

Slow down for me, horses!  Please, slow down for me!
I am begging you:  hold back your run!
But I wound up with these horses so ornery…
Didn’t finish my life, let me finish my song!

I’ll let my horses drink.
One last verse I will sing.
For a split second longer I’ll cling to the brink.

TRAIN TO HEAVEN

Recorded in 2017
Vadim Astrakhan:  vocals & guitar
Lex Plotnikoff:  synths, bass, & drums
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded by Dave Darlington & Lex Plotnikoff
Mixed by Dave Darlington

This is your train.  This is your seat.
All fine and dandy.  You have proven you belong.
In paradise a dream you’ll see:
An endless movie that’s three hundred years long.
They took your prints.  They scanned your eyes.
They checked for contraband, and you have passed the screen.
Now like a ghost you’re sterilized.
This ain’t no business class, but hey – the sheets are clean!

And so the prophecy is now reality.
This train is heavenbound, and the climb is steep.
Oh how we wish – excuse my banality –
We all wish not to die but merely to sleep!

He’s on his way, can’t hear our cries.
Don’t waste your tears:  one of us has made the lists.
The man has gone to paradise!
He will meet God there if God really exists!
He’ll say “Hello!” from all of us.
If he forgets, no harm, somehow we’ll get by.
In a few years we’ll all be dust:
We’ll fool around and undoubtedly die.

And so the prophecy becomes reality.
This train is heavenbound, and the climb is steep.
Oh how we wish – excuse my banality –
We all wish not to die but merely to sleep!

The rest of us can’t come along.
But we can mess around here well enough.
We fight, we sing… I sing this song!
Somebody loves, and someone else intends to love.
We pass through life and nothing more.
Our children and their children follow suit.
I only pray there is no war!
Or else our grandchildren will be forever fooled!

And so the prophecy is now reality.
This train is heavenbound, and the climb is steep.
Oh how we wish – excuse my banality –
We all wish not to die but merely to sleep!

You’re on your way, lying by yourself,
Ingesting a three hundred year-long bliss.
Now as for me:  for a chic bookshelf
I would not pay the price as high as this.
When you’re awake, some chap lets you
Into the world with no diseases, dirt, and wars,
Where long defeated is the swine flu…
Fool, are you happy in this premade universe?
But now the bell is ringing loud.
Have a safe trip now, as I know you must.
And if you really do see God,
Please, don’t forget and say “Hello!” from us!

Produced and engineered by different people under the general supervision of Vadim Astrakhan.

Mastered by Dave Darlington

Musically this album lies somewhere between SSSS and Two Fates.  It still contains wild experimentation with a variety of musical genres, including full symphonic orchestra, hip-hop, metal, blues, and tango, but keeps closer to the Vysotsky’s originals.

Songs:

1. Be Grateful You’re Alive (Спасибо Что Живой) 2.48
2. 21st Century City Blues (Слесарь Шестого Разряда) 2.57
3. So Hazy (Taк Дымнo) 5.33
4. The Wolfhunt (Оxота на Волков) 4.15
5. Gamblers 1812 (На Стол Колоду, Господа) 5.09
6. One Failed Romance (Несостоявшийся Роман) 4.09
7. The Airfight II: The Warplane (Як-Истребитель) 3.51
8. The Airfight III: The Friend (Всю Войну под Завязку, RUSSIAN) 5.44
9. The Finished Man (Песня Конченного Человека) 4.06
10. Parrot the Pirate (Песня Попугая) 3.04
11. Medical Records I: A Grand Mistake (Ошибка Вышла) 7.50
12. Medical Records II: History of Illness (История Болезни) 6.27
13. Crystal House (Дом Хрустальный) 2.15

BE GRATEFUL YOU’RE ALIVE

Vocals:  Vadim Astrakhan
Rhythm, lead, & bass guitar, drums, & synths:  Roman Korotin
Trumpet:  Dima Vishnepolsky
Background vocals:  Vadim Astrakhan, Roman Korotin, Dimitri Vishnepolsky
Produced by Roman Korotin
Recorded in May – July 2013 by Roman Korotin and Jamie Siegel

You should be grateful you’re alive, be grateful you’re alive!
You should be grateful you’re alive, be grateful you’re alive!

So what – You feel like you are turning psycho.
So what – You’ve just been kicked out by your wife.
So what – You have been mugged the second time now.
You should be grateful you are still alive!
So what – you have been mugged the second time now.
You should be grateful you are still alive.

Big deal – Your poker partner kicked the bucket.
Big deal – You blew your paycheck in a dive.
Big deal – You saw the punch but couldn’t block it.
You should be grateful you are still alive.
You saw the coming punch but couldn’t block it:
You should be grateful you are still alive!

Tough luck – you just got roughed up by a bouncer.
Tough luck – the nightmares keep you up till five.
Tough luck – the tests came back, and you’ve got cancer.
You should be grateful you are still alive.
Tough luck – you have been diagnosed with cancer.
You should be grateful you are still alive!

Who cares – Last night you passed out on the bleachers.
Who cares – You’ve been assaulted with a knife.
Who cares – You got hauled out on a stretcher.
You should be grateful you are still alive.
Who cares – You got hauled out on a stretcher.
You should be grateful you are still alive!

You should be grateful you’re alive, be grateful you’re alive!
You should be grateful you’re alive, be grateful you’re alive!

It’s true that all my chances have been squandered. (You should be grateful…)
It’s true – I don’t push and I don’t strive. (You should be grateful…)
Yes, it’s all true, but one thing makes me wonder:  (You should be grateful…)
To whom should I be grateful I’m alive?
So very true, but one thing makes me wonder:
To whom should I be grateful I’m alive?

21st Century City Blues

Vocals & rhythm guitar:  Vadim Astrakhan
Rhythm, lead, & bass guitar:  Thad DeBrock
Drums:  Dave Darlington
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded in April 2012 – April 2013

I’m a high-end computer technician.
What they pay me, I’d quickly use up.
And my pay, I would say, is sufficient,
With an annual bonus on top.

Even nerds must have someone to fancy
(I am sure you all can relate).
In the country I have a fiancée
Plus two chicks in the city to lay.

My fiancée gets money and postcards,
And the chicks get martinis and me.
Every night I get so exhausted,
Every night and continuously.

Work performance is now an issue,
As my brain is ‘bout ready to pop.
Feel my health is no longer sufficient
Or the annual bonus on top.

No, this cannot go on any longer.
So I shoot them an email one day:
“Bite me, will ya?  The party is over!
Find yourselves a new daddy, OK?”

Feel so good now, it’s not even funny,
And with no man would I ever swap.
On myself now I spend all my money
And the annual bonus on top!

SO HAZY

Translated by Vadim Astrakhan & Julie Deshtor
Vocals:  Polina
Guitars:  Thad DeBrock
Keys:  Dave Darlington
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan & Dave Darlington
Recorded in December 2012 – March 2013

It’s so hazy
The mirror’s reluctant to show reflection.
I can’t see my face, I can only pretend.
And dancers
Are tired of feigning affection.
But still I must sing my song to the end.
All notes have already been played in flashes.
The wine in the glass has burned down to ashes.
The fleeting desire to speak has passed,
And now I should quietly drink my glass.

For a while
The cold winter sun hasn’t smiled,
And souls have been frozen beneath the ice.
I know:
Awaiting the spring is so futile.
And memories of sunshine no longer suffice.
The vital notes all have been played in flashes.
The wine in the glass has burned down to ashes.
The fleeting desire to speak has passed.
And all I can do is just drink my glass.

The music
Is limping.  They’re missing their notes.
I’m caught in this circle.  The trap soon will spring.
Keep smiling!
I’m going to leave at the close.
But still I must sing what I came here to sing.
The vital notes all have been played in flashes.
The wine in the glass it has burned to ashes.
The chill of the mirrors’ caress… impasse!
And now I should silently drink my glass.
Or maybe I better just smash my glass.
The glass.

THE WOLFHUNT

Vocals & rhythm guitar:  Vadim Astrakhan
Rhythm, lead, & bass guitar:  Thad DeBrock
Drums & keys:  Dave Darlington
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded in April – June 2013 by Dave Darlington

Pulling out, I’m tearing tendons…
But today is just like yesterday.
I’m surrounded, I have been hemmed in.
I’m a predator turned into prey.
From the shadows shotguns are thumping,
Hunters hiding behind the trees.
On the snow wolves rolling and jumping:
Living targets, nowhere to flee!

The hunt is on!  The hunt is on!  The hunt is on now!
Mature specimens and cubs are being mowed!
The beaters scream and the slobbering hounds howl.
The flags fly crimson over crimson snow.

No mercy, no fairness shown…
Hands are steady, as bolt actions clank.
By the red flags our freedom is zoned,
As they’re firing rounds point blank!
But we wolves can’t break with tradition.
Must have been in our childhood, blind,
With our mother’s milk we’ve been conditioned:
“Don’t cross, don’t cross the flagline!”

The hunt is on!  The hunt is on!  The hunt is on now!
Mature specimens and cubs are being mowed.
The beaters scream and the slobbering hounds howl.
The flags fly crimson over crimson snow.

Someone tell me:  what are we doing?
Tell us, Alpha:  can’t we rebel?
Why are we dashing towards our ruin
And not trying to break this corral?
Not the wolf:  he cannot, he must not!
And my time is now almost done,
As the one who is now my master
Grins with pleasure and raises his gun.

The hunt is on!  The hunt is on!  The hunt is on now!
Mature specimens and cubs are being mowed.
The humans scream and the slobbering hounds howl.
The flags fly crimson over crimson snow.

I transgress.  I stop following orders.
Lust for life drives me over the lines.
I hear gleefully behind the borders
Shouting men, left without their prize!
Pulling out, I’m tearing tendons…
But today is not like yesterday!
I’m surrounded, but I will not surrender!
Empty-handed the men go away!

The hunt is on!  The hunt is on!  The hunt is on now!
Mature specimens and cubs are being mowed.
The humans scream and the slobbering hounds howl.
The flags fly crimson over crimson snow.

GAMBLERS 1812 (A Monologue)

Vocals:  Vadim Astrakhan
Rhythm, lead, & bass guitar, drums, & synths:  Roman Korotin
Violin & trumpet:  Dimitri Vishnepolsky
Background vocals:  Dimitri Vishnepolsky & Vadim Alenichev
Produced by Roman Korotin & Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded in January – February 2014

Cards on the table, gentlemen!
This deck is marked.  It’s glaring!
He switched it, yes, he switched it when
You gulped your liquor, Baron.
The Jack is painted.  Take a look!
My God, we never noticed!
Sir, you’re a grifter and a crook,
And I am at your service!
Now, Count, you can speak your part.
I say you are out of order!
(That day Napoleon Bonaparte
Was crossing Russia’s border)

You aren’t finishing this round:
An urgent matter beckons!
You Baron here and you Viscount,
I hope you’ll be our seconds.
Now you can argue till you drop –
It’s all damn lies, I’m sure.
The choice of weapon, hurry up!
Which one do you prefer?

Soon you’ll forget about cards!
Your gambling days are over!
(That day Napoleon Bonaparte
Was crossing Russia’s border)

Enough, I’ll make the call myself:
It’s pistols.  Wait, make it sabers!
But I suspect you’d rather have
Your choice of ladies’ chambers!
A dagger?  Now I am amused:
I mastered it in combat!
But I suspect you’d rather use
This very deck you’ve loaded.

Now I am ready to depart.
I’ll see you in the courtyard!
(That day Napoleon Bonaparte, that day Napoleon Bonaparte
Was crossing Russia’s border)

No need to help me, I’m alright.
See?  I’m not falling over!
I’ll challenge this man to a fight
Again, when I am sober.
Be silent, dear Baron, sit!
Viscount, stop your bleating!
I want this bastard to admit
The truth about his cheating!

Reveal the secret of the cards,
And you’ll escape your murder!
(That day Napoleon Bonaparte
Was crossing Russia’s border)

But if your arrogance prevails,
I promise, my dear Count:
The Countess can send you mail
Some six feet underground!
It’s not amusing anymore!
I solemnly declare:
I’ll put a bullet right up your –
Pardonnez-moi – derrière!

(It was a warm day off the charts,
And would get even warmer.
That day Napoleon Bonaparte, that day Napoleon Bonaparte
Was crossing Russia’s border)

My dear Count!  Forgive me my
Deplorable behavior!
I had to call you out to try
And ask you for a favor.
I had to ask you for a loan,
While no one else was watching.
So, just to be with you alone,
I staged all that debauching.
Oh yes, I had a drink (or twelve)
And made the play on Fours…
“A fool”?  What’s that?  Oh, very well!
The first shot, then, is yours.

It was a warm day off the charts
And would get even warmer.
That day Napoleon Bonaparte, that day Napoleon Bonaparte
Was crossing Russia’s border!

ONE FAILED ROMANCE

Vocals:  Vadim Astrakhan
Rhythm, lead, & bass guitar, drums, & synths:  Roman Korotin
Produced by Roman Korotin
Recorded in March – April 2013

She has got her own place that she recently bought.
As for me:  I’m renting a couch from some widow.
All my time, all the time that I have or have not
‘Cross the street I keep staring at her from my window.

She has got an apartment that’s cheerfully lit.
And last night her concierge in the bar spilled the basics:
That she’s got two male friends in the Broadway elite
And some guy who apparently works in forensics.

I confess:  she will be very hard to impress.
What I’ve learned made me feel both uncertain and cranky:
That her dad runs a unit in the IRS,
And her brother plays second base for the Yankees.

I will say that the Yankees I watch every day.
I will say that her brother can surely throw!
I will say that my taxes I frequently pay.
And by the way:  I’ve been cast for that CSI show.

She has got marble sills, where geraniums sit.
And I swear I’d do anything just to impress her!
But I got… what?  In my window I ain’t got shit.
Only dust, only dust, only dust, only dust, only inches of dust on the dresser.

But what the hell!  I’m bound to get lucky one day!
Even though in this world it is very unlikely.
I’ll shape up and the sweepstakes this year I’ll play,
And I’ll win!  And then she’ll have no choice but to like me…

THE WARPLANE (The Airfight, Pt. 2)

Vocals:  Vadim Astrakhan
Ural State Conservatory Symphonic Orchestra, conducted by Anton Shaburov
Recorded by Zhanna Skachkova and Dave Darlington in July 2013

A warplane, a fighter, I soar happily.
I rule the skies, a wind-rider!
But the one who’s sitting inside of me
He thinks that he is the fighter.
I just killed a bomber effortlessly:
My seventeenth, verified.
But the one who’s sitting inside of me
Has become quite a thorn in my side!
I was riddled through on my last sortie;
I owe the techs my revival.
But the one who’s sitting inside of me
Again sends me into a spiral.
Death from above is brought by a bomb,
After they pull the lever.
Yet somehow I hear the bomb’s fin hum
“Peace be with you forever!”

A bandit’s on my tail; I want to flee.
I’m tired of fighting, I am.
But the one who’s sitting inside of me,
I see, has decided to ram!
He must be insane!  I’ll blow, by God!
Yet somehow I stay alive.
Against all my limits, against all the odds,
I’m pulling up from a dive.
I’m flying high!  I’m on top again!
Survived another endeavor!
But look:  my wingman is diving, and then –
“Peace be with you forever!”

The one who’s sitting inside my skull,
He then got us both duped:
He forced me into a dive, a freefall,
Straight down, out of a loop.
He’s up at 3G, yet he’s pulling away:
An ace pilot boy, in his prime!
Yes, damnit, I know I must obey –
I swear – for one last time!
No more will I follow my master’s calls,
Let him deny me the sky!
But why can’t he hear the furious pulse?
The fuel – my blood! – is running dry!
This machine’s patience drains rapidly…
And his time is up, at last.
The one who was sitting inside of me
Slumped face first into the glass.
He’s killed!  It is over!  Once and for all!
I’m burning my last fuel drops!
But what’s this?  I’m now in a freefall,
And this time I can’t pull up…
A pity.  I haven’t accomplished a thing.
May others succeed however!
One thing I know:  I did get to sing:
“Peace be with you forever!”

THE FINISHED MAN

Vocals:  Vadim Astrakhan
Guitars:  Andrey Dobrovolsky
Bass:  Grigory Egorkin
Drums:  Yuri Homonenko
Produced by Leonid Kovin (St. Petersburg)
Recorded by Leonid Kovin (St. Petersburg) and Polina Goudieva (NYC) in June-August 2011
Mixed by Andrey Dobrovolsky

If you push, down I go,
I confess.
All I’ve got is just “no,”
Never “yes.”

Fatigue is crawling, like a lizard, in my bones.
My heart and sober head are not at war.
My blood no longer chills at hairpin turns.
Breathtaking speed is not breathtaking anymore.
My throat isn’t caught by love gone mad.
My nerves aren’t taut.  You wanna rip ‘em?  Go ahead!
Like laundry ropes my nerves are slack and thin.
I don’t care if I lose or if I win.

Tap water lately I refuse to drink.
Not rushing people or events (not in the mood).
My bow lies on the floor with a rotten string.
My broken arrows I now use as firewood.
Not active.  Not involved.  Just kinda “there.”
Attack me all you want:  I don’t care.
I’m all transparent, like a window, open wide.
Like linens, inconspicuous and white.

My scars don’t ache, and my wounds don’t hurt:
They have been sterilized and bandaged at the seams.
I’m neither bothered, nor annoyed, nor concerned
With apprehensions, or with questions, or with dreams.
I’m tired of fighting gravity – I lose.
I just lie low:  this way it’s farther to the noose!
My heart – it jerks, as if in someone else’s chest.
It’s time to go where it’s all “no” and never “yes.”

PARROT THE PIRATE

Vocals:  Vadim Astrakhan
Keys:  Mark Alston
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan & Mark Alston
Recorded in January 2012

Hey, listen to me!  Tally ho, tally hee!
The parrot, the pirate of the high seas!

(I was) born in the year 1512
In a jungle, rotting and reeking.
My papa was a pa-pa-parrot as well,
Who at that time wasn’t speaking.
But soon I departed the woods of the West
Captured by Captain Hernando Cortez.
He screamed at papa and made him cry,
But papa to Ernie just could not reply!
He simply could not reply!

And so I studied, sunset to sunrise,
But three words only I memorized.
Day in, day out, I doggedly hummed:
“Caramba!”, “Burrito!”, and “Barrel of rum!”

Caught by the storm on the way back
With seasickness I wrestled.
An Englishman under the Irish flag
Attacked and boarded our vessel!
Two days and three nights the battle raged.
I ended up in an English cage.
That’s how I started my numerous trips,
Around the equator and iceberg tips,
On various pirate ships!

They served me coffee and cocoa too.
They said:  “Speak English, damn Cockatoo!”
But to their demands I would not succumb:
“Caramba!”, “Burrito!”, and “Barrel of rum!”

Hey, listen to me!  Tally ho, tally hee!
The parrot, the pirate of the high seas!

For many years with pirates I sailed,
Till some fool, walking unsteady,
For merely a penny sold me away,
But I was speaking already!
The Sultan of Turkey did a somersault,
When I said “Sultan, pass me the salt!”
And then he was positively stupefied,
When he realized that I could also write,
Could count, and dance, and fight!

I’ve been to St. Petersburg and Iraq,
So you better give this bird some respect!
And if you don’t:  oh, well, you’re dumb!
“Caramba!”, “Burrito!”, and “Barrel of rum!”

A GRAND MISTAKE

Vocals:  Vadim Astrakhan
Rhythm, lead, & bass guitar, & drums:  Roman Korotin
Produced by Roman Korotin & Vadim Astrakhan
Recorded in August – October 2013

Back in the day, not long ago
I had my lot of pain and woe.
I bled and quivered, head to toe,
I floated in a haze.
Like in a movie I once watched
A shadow in the door emerged.
I was immediately scorched
By his malicious gaze.

Authoritatively he barked:  “Get down!  Face the wall!”
They tied me up and went to work in methods manifold.
Their leader, looking grim and cold, began the note-taking.
I recognized a criminal casefile in the making.

At first the icy fingers grabbed
My throat.  Then I felt a jab
Down in my gut.  They took a stab
At my afflicted liver.
The blow rattled my ribcage.
My insides twisted up in rage.
The pen spat blood into the page.
The paper only shivered.

Yes, I felt like a goner as I stripped and didn’t cringe.
An old hag in the corner was preparing a syringe!
Inside my body, very deep, I felt the terror ringing:
What if the shot puts me to sleep, and then I would start singing?

He briefly labored on my gut,
Then tied my elbow with a knot.
A tourniquet cut off the blood.
My head was also tied.
I almost let out a squeal,
But then my lips were shut and sealed,
As he just sweated, head to heel,
And scribbled with delight.

He radiated ecstasy, but I just shouted:  “Stop!
“What are you jotting?  Let me see the shit you’re making up!”
His goon, a classic psychopath, restrained me, with elation.
There in a row gleamed like death the weapons of persuasion!

Though I could hang tough with the best,
I was subdued, I was suppressed,
So I collapsed, I got depressed,
And even kinda bored.
I lay there naked in the glow,
As he sat at the table low,
Kept taking notes, even though
I hadn’t said a word!

I was exhausted.  I would need all of my strength to surge
When they start tickling my feet – yes, with a blowtorch!
Though bilious, I stayed afloat – unwavering, unbowed!
They stuck a tube right down my throat, but I just spat it out!

A vise grip and a stranglehold…
I watched their wickedness unfold.
They wanted to dissect my soul:
A push, a shove, a grope…
It only takes a minute here
To snatch a soul, to soil and smear,
To rip it open, front to rear,
And hang it on a rope!

“Come on, keep breathing, with your mouth, exhale, you stupid ass!” –
“Oh, yeah?  I’d say if I breathe out, it might just be my last!”
My dry mouth stretched into a grin:  “You’re stopping?  What’s the matter?
“You, comrades, have to try again.  I know you can do better!”

They killed the light and hit the gas.
A board lit up behind the glass,
My eyes sprayed mucus from the stress,
My throat gargled gently.
As he was raging, more and more,
I saw a bucket – what’s it for?
I’ve seen these implements before:
A Nazi documentary!

They gave my ass another shot, then started to reload.
“Keep jabbing, sons of bitches, but you let me see those notes!”
I sank down to the concrete floor.  I kneeled, humiliated.
I ordered, pleaded, and implored, demanded and persuaded…

The garrote has made another turn.
The Bunsen burner’s lit to burn.
The Cat o’ Nine Tails – I could have sworn! –
Was next for me that day.
They won’t give up till I expire!
Still I attempted to inquire:
“I know I’m up for a hot wire,
“So what’s with the delay?”

The orgy heated up.  The sweat, like boiling lava, flowed.
A bell rang, and a raven sat upon the bloodstained coat.
And quoth the raven:  “Nevermore!”  One foul happy camper!
He leads the way straight to the morgue out of the torture chamber.

To them I was a simple case.
But feebly my tail I raised:
“Hey, your interrogation ways
Are clearly out of line!
The “good old days” you surely miss.
You will not get away with this!
And my confession – the law insists! –
You must give me to sign!”

Contorting out of my spine, I tried to snatch the scroll:
“This paper I will never sign, not till I read it all!”
He kept on scribbling in his chair then placidly rebutted:
“We do not need your signature.  We can proceed without it.”

My little sister, don’t cry!
I won’t back off, I’d rather die!
This testimony I’ll deny
When I speak to my lawyer!
Do not believe the lies they spew!
I told them nothing, it is true!
To everybody that I knew
I stayed forever loyal!

He spoke, “Just go ahead and read.  Cool off a bit, you cretin!”
I latched onto the scribbled sheet, but it was all in Latin!
The fear vanished from my heart.  The truth lay undisputed:
It was a doctor’s chart in an intensive care unit!

HISTORY OF ILLNESS

Vocals:  Vadim Astrakhan
Rhythm & lead guitar:  Thad DeBrock
Drums & bass:  Dave Darlington
Produced by Vadim Astrakhan (with tribute to TAROT)
Recorded in December 2013 – January 2014

I was as healthy as a horse back in the days bygone.
So when a conflict called for force, I could break anyone.
I walked and whistled, high and low; my life was neatly planned.
But now under the knife I go:  “You’ve done it now, man!”
“You have no reason to feel down!” the doc showed little interest.
“Truthfully, everyone around has got, has got a history of illness!”

The doctors vanish in the haze.  My fever’s in full bloom.
I’m like a furnace, and my face heats up the room.
All of a sudden I feel brave and angry.  I charge right at the screen.
So that the tech can barely save his x-ray machine.
I’m coughing blood.  I’ll drown all of my country in this seizure!
An order:  “The table’s up, let’s roll!  Administer anesthesia!”

My shirt is promptly ripped to shreds; with ice my neck is bound.
My bloody mouth is grinning red, just like a circus clown.
I tell myself to bleed some more, to try and press my luck.
I spit so much blood on the floor that someone will get stuck.
There’s no stop once I begin:  I’ll bleed around the planet!
But they pull up a tub of tin and trap my blood flow in it…

I can no longer hear my scream or recognize the nurse.
The dizzying gas enters my bloodstream, like vodka (only worse).
The doctors’ faces fade away into a colored plaid.
But I’ve convinced them I’m OK, at least inside my head.
I jerk and cough, the blood runs hot.  The needles find their route,
Injecting artificial blood.  I cannot cough it out!

Until my anesthesia sets, hey, doc, lend me your ear!
I haven’t said my last words yet; for you I have them here:
“Godspeed to all your cutting crew!  Get started and relax!
“These words I speak are not of you, but of some other quacks!”
I’m on the edge of the abyss.  Caught in a wobbly stillness.
And my whole history is this, this history… this history of illness!

“You’ll make a full recovery.  Do not be sad!  Depression only hinders.
Alas!  Your country’s history is a history of illness!”

The first man, Adam, he was ill.  He only hid it all.
And the Creator was on pills, when he designed our world.
He did the apple trick to Eve who played near.
The Snake was also sick with megalomania.
We’re all diseased to some degree, with every plague in nomenclature.
And all of mankind’s history is medical in nature.

Eternally all people ail.  They’re fragile and they’re frail.
From the first air they inhale, they walk the sickly trail.
The first man he was ill.  He only hid it all.
The Lord was popping pills, when he designed our world.
Humanity accelerates, in uselessness relentless,
Enjoying pain, enjoying hate, its history of illness.

CRYSTAL HOUSE

Vocals:  Vadim Astrakhan
Ural State Conservatory Symphonic Orchestra, conducted by Anton Shaburov
Recorded by Zhanna Skachkova and Dave Darlington in August – October 2012

If I’m richer than the King of Seas,
You just tell me to catch the bait.
All my kingdoms and my treasuries
I’d spill out and not hesitate!

A crystal house on the hill for her!
Bring a cage, and I will live in it!
All my silver springs and ores,
All my gemstones infinite…

If I’m poor, like some wretched hound,
And my life is hopelessly amiss.
Lord, please help me turn it all around!
Don’t drive me into the abyss!

A crystal house on the hill for her!
Bring a cage, and I will live in it!
All my silver springs and ores,
All my gemstones infinite…

No one else shall I compare to you,
Even if they torture me in hell!
Look at how I revere you:
My Madonna of Raphael!

A crystal house on the hill for her!
Bring a cage, and I will live in it!
All my silver springs and ores,
All my gemstones infinite.

Production, engineering, mix:  Yuri Naumov
Co-production:  Vadim Astrakhan
Mastering:  Dave Darlington

This album showcases much stronger emphasis on music.  The main philosophy behind it is:  “Make the music on the same level as the poetry.”  Once again it features an international cast of musicians, spearheaded by Naumov himself.

This album is free for downloading.
However, if you wish to support this project,
suggested donation is $15 via PayPal.

Download 2012 – Two Fates 

The CD is $15 US + $3 S&H, regardless of the quantity of discs that you order or your address, foreign or domestic.

Songs:

1. Race to the Horizon (Горизонт)  5.36
2. If Your Friend (Песня о Друге)  3.00
3. Tale of a Wild Boar (Про Дикого Вепря)  3.04
4. Gypsy Blues (Цыганская)  6.36
5. Fireride (Пожары)  4.20
6. A Merry Funeral Song (Веселая Покойницкая)  4.32
7. Death Convoy (Прикованные Шоферы)  5.15
8. He Did not Return from the Battle (Он не Вернулся из Боя)  4.18
9. Why Did the Savages Eat Captain James Cook? (Почему Аборигены Съели Кука)  3.08
10. When the Great Flood Waters Had Subsided (Баллада о Любви) 8.15
11. Two Fates (Две Судьбы) 7.04

RACE TO THE HORIZON

To cover up the tracks they brushed away the dirt…
Now you can curse at me, deride me, and despise me.
The horizon is my finish line, the very edge of earth!
I’ll be the first to race to the horizon!
The wager had its terms.  Both parties made demands
And then shook hands in clear hesitation.
There’s really just one rule:  I ride until the end,
The highway’s end, and never change direction.

The shaft is reeling in the miles.
I ride along the power lines.
Still, every now and then I see a shadow:
A man in black, a black cat, a black widow.

They will not play it clean.  I know it for a fact.
I know exactly when they’ll try to slash my tires.
I know where, with a smirk, they’ll sabotage my act,
And where across the road they’ll stretch the wire.
The power – to the max!  The needles – sunk and jammed!
The sand, like bullets, dashes by my side, and
I just clamp the bar until my wrists are cramped.
There’s little time before the screws are tightened!

The shaft is reeling in the miles.
I ride straight up the power lines.
They’re coming down hard now, but I hope
That I will pass before they raise the rope.

My stomach is in knots:  the climax coming fast.
The asphalt starts to melt.  I smell the rubber burning.
The rope snaps in two:  I break it with my chest!
I am alive, and you can stop your mourning!
Whoever forced me to accept this crazy bet
In their dirty tricks are quite ferocious!
The gambling spirit’s high, but still, it must be said,
On slippery turns I am being cautious.

The shaft is reeling in the miles.
I tear across the lines and through the wires!
I only hope the losers will get wiser
When I show up on the horizon.

My destination point is still so far away.
I haven’t crossed the line, but I’m done with wires.
The rope didn’t cut between my vertebrae,
But suddenly at the wheels shots are fired!
I didn’t start this ride for money or for pride.
The question I’ve been asked was so enticing:
Is there indeed an end, a limit beyond sight?
Can one expand his borders and horizons?

The shaft is reeling in the miles.
The bullets I evade them with a smile!
But suddenly the brakes are failing – crazy!
And straight through the horizon I am blazing!

IF YOUR FRIEND

If your friend has turned out to be
Not a friend, not an enemy,
If you can’t tell right off the bat
If he’s good, or he’s bad,
Take him climbing and test his best.
You will know if he stands a chance.
When he’s roped-in with you, like glue.
You will see if he’s true.

If this guy on the slopes just mopes,
If he whines when it’s time to climb,
Sets one foot on the ice – no dice! –
Stumbles, breaks down, and cries,
He does not belong here – it’s clear.
Don’t you scold him for this – dismiss!
Don’t be wasting your time, and I’m,
I’m not wasting my rhyme.

If he did not complain of pain,
If he’d stubbornly scale the shale,
When beneath you the stone was gone,
He would groan but hold on!
All the way to the top, he kept up.
From the summit he gazed, amazed.
Then you know that you always can
Trust your life to this man!

TALE of a WILD BOAR, a KING, a PRINCESS, and a DISHONORABLY DISCHARGED ROYAL RANGER

In a kingdom where the sky’s always clear,
With no wars, no famine, no chickenpox.
Once a big-ass wild boar appeared:
Semi-bison, semi-bull, semi-ox.

Their asthmatic king was surly and ill –
Folks would run and hide whenever he sneezed! –
While the beast across the kingdom would kill,
Drag away and eat whomever it pleased.

So one day a declaration is issued:
“The beast must be subdued and stripped off his life!
So whoever shall embark on this mission,
He shall take the princess home as his wife!”

In the meantime, in this land of despair –
Make a left and then cut straight through the wood –
An ex-ranger parties hard in his lair,
Once a hero, later – fired for good.

There you always find a crowd of strangers:
Singing, laughing, drinking brandy from kegs.
Suddenly, the royal guards snatch the ranger.
To the palace of the king he is dragged.

There the king coughs at him:  “Listen here!
I don’t care what you do with your life!
By tomorrow, make the beast disappear,
Then the princess you’ll take as your wife!”

“Some reward!” the ranger just winces,
“I would rather get a tub full of gin.
I couldn’t care less about the princess.
With one hand tied I’ll do the beast in!”

But the king retorts:  “The argument’s over!
Take the princess, or I will have your head!
After all, by God, she’s my royal daughter!” –
“Kill me now,” the ranger says, “I won’t wed!”

As their argument is raging and fuming,
From the palace door come deafening knocks:
Fresh from eating every chicken and woman,
There stands that semi-bull, semi-ox.

On the booze the king gives up, and the badass
Slays the beast and then splits with his loot.
That’s how the princess and the king got embarrassed
By the ranger, now fired for good.

GYPSY BLUES

In my dreams shines yellow light.
I’m grunting and I’m turning.
Wait… wait… let me be tonight,
It’s better in the morning!
But the morning helps me not.
It brings me even lower:
Smoking on a empty gut
And drinking to hangover.

Hey, again and once again –
And one more time and over, and over, and again, and once again:
Drinking to hangover.

In a pub – a green wine cup,
And napkins look deceptive.
Paupers’, jesters’ paradise stop…
But I feel like a captive!
Church’s bench, dim lights and stench,
Deacons fuming incense…
In the church, all is wrong again,
Ever making no sense!

Run up the hill, impulsively:
That might make me merry.
At the top I see the alder tree,
And at the foot – the cherry.
Put some ivy on the slope,
Maybe that’d be worth it.
Something, anything for my hope…
Nothing’s ever perfect!

Run by the river, in the field,
The daylight’s dark; there’s no God!
In the field the clovers kneel
By the lonely road.
By the road the forest stands
With witches, casting hexes.
And there, at the road’s end, –
The gallows and the axes.
Somewhere the steeds in unison dance,
Reluctant and demure.
By the road it’s all wrong again,
And at the end – for sure!
The church, the pub, and so on:
Desecrate each other!
No, brothers.  Everything is wrong!
It’s all wrong, my brothers!

Hey again and once again,
And one more time and over and over, and again, and once again…

FIRERIDE

The nation is in flames!  The nation is consumed!
The flashes rage.  The sparks they bang and wallop.
As both Fate and Time just let their horses zoom.
The hoofs, they ring, the bullets sing, as the world is shivering
From this frenetic gallop!

The bullets chasing us are blind and dumb and mauling,
And, while our horses dashed, in flight they followed us.
The horseshoes were heating up, and loosening, and falling
To bring luck later to the one who finds them in the dust.

Like eels, the reins are thrashing in the air.
The hair locks are tangled up.  The thoughts are intertwined.
But then the wind would straighten up our hair
And clear the confusion in our minds.

We dared to escape the fiery cascade.
Both Fate and Time were racing by our side and grinning.
Rays of the sun have crossed the riders’ blades.
A poet took his steed to ride… The fire ebbed and then it died,
But the race was just beginning!

The world had never seen such madness and such frenzy.
The hoofs would pound the earth. The raindrops made it chime.
The stupid bullets, smelling blood, were now going crazy.
They’d suddenly wise up and hit the bull’s eye every time!

The hurricane in fury wails and moans.
Now, who is quicker?  Win or die!  This race is such a thrill!
Meanwhile the wind would rip the meat off our bones
And give our skeletons a pleasant chill.

Good Fortune lies ahead, and she will heal the sick.
Time charges straight, and not in circle, we’re hoping.
Tomorrow’s airy promises are bittersweet to pick.
An easy ride:  the foe is in sight, the friend is also by your side…
Fate is flying in the open!

The gullible Grim Reaper was taken for a jester:
He hesitated with his scythe and missed a sure shot.
The bullets started to fall back, as we were riding faster…
Oh, will we ever bathe in water, not in blood?

The wind is blowing quieter and sadder…
Both Time and Fate are wounded:  they both got their fill!
The winds, the tired horses in their saddles
Brought out the souls and bodies of the killed. (2x)
Delivered souls and bodies of the killed!

WHEN THE GREAT FLOOD WATERS HAD SUBSIDED

When the Great Flood waters had subsided,
Returned to their boundaries below,
From the foam that land and sea divided
Emerged mysteriously – Love!
And up into the air softly glided,
And in the airy element dissolved.

The dreamers (yes, they still exist)
Inhale insatiably this mist,
Unheeding of rewards they might be reaping.
They breathe and do not even think
Yet suddenly they fall in sync,
With similar uneven breathing.

For lovers I will lay down fields and groves.
Let them dream and sing their one motif.
I can breathe and therefore I love.
I can love and therefore I live.

There will be wanderings and tribulations.
The Land of Love has no boundaries.
Knights errant enter it in veneration.
She will be testing their loyalties:
Demanding distances and separations,
Depriving them of rest, and sleep, and peace.

But they can’t be diverted from their way.
They know the price.  They have agreed to pay –
With their very lives in this endeavor! –
Preserving, letting nothing shred
The magical translucent thread
That has connected them forever!

For lovers I will lay down fields and groves.
Let them sing their beautiful motif!
I can breathe and therefore I love.
I can love and therefore I live.

All those who in love forever drowned,
You cannot reach them in their world serene.
Corrosive words and slanders run unbound.
They feast on blood, and they’re never clean.
But let us lower candles to the ground
For those who perished from this love unseen.

Their souls will roam in flowers of joy,
In harmony their voices shall be joined,
Eternity in every inhalation!
They’ll greet each other with the faintest smile
Upon the bridges, narrow and fragile,
Upon the brittle crossroads of creation!

The chosen few!  The tempest in their blood
Knocked them down and from the dead revived.
For, by heaven, if you haven’t loved,
Then you haven’t breathed and haven’t been alive!

TWO FATES (Rotten and Crooked)

Lived my life without a care, walked the world for twenty years
Where the wind would blow.
Trouble-free, just keeping busy…  Downstream I sailed easy,
Going with the flow.
Sucking life straight from the udder, I’ve let go both the rudder
And the wooden oar.
Hornets, horseflies, and mosquitoes irritated me a little,
But I would ignore.

At the bank I saw men gesture, as they offered me a rescue
Unsuccessfully.
Lying on the boat’s bottom, my moonshine out of the bottle
I sucked blissfully.
The banks flowed by the boat, as I was pleasuring my throat,
Drinking myself blind.
After having one too many, next to me I saw a granny
Of the ugly kind.

I sat up.  I looked around.  The boat’s nose ran aground
In a rotten place.
In my eyes the daylight blackened, and the old hag madly cackled
Straight into my face.
Overcome with mortal fear, I called out:  “Who is here?”
Sobbing dismally.
Once again she cackled madly and to me responded gladly:
“‘Rotten’ is my name!

“Cross your heart if you are wary, praying to the Virgin Mary,
“She can’t save you now!
“All those who forsake their oars drift to me, to rotten shores,
“Like this horrid slough!”
She and I, in common harness, stumbled through the woods in darkness,
Breathing heavily.
She kept stomping onward blindly, by my side, obese and ugly…
Pure devilry!

Suddenly I saw a second, and she ominously beckoned –
Evil, crooked wench!
“You’re walking to your graveyard!  Poor lush, I’m gonna save you!
“Tears I shall stanch!”
“Who are you?” – “They call me ‘Crooked’” – “You know, ma, you surely look it!” –
“Come to me, dear son!
“Don’t you worry that I’m limping, crooked, hunched, one-eyed, and tripping,
“I’m your medicine!”

Even though she looked so foul, tearing up my guts I howled:
“Save me from the fall!
“I’m tethered here, look!  Rescue me, by hook, by crook!
“You’ll be paid in full!”
[I] climbed her back, round as a turtle’s, but Old Crooked walked in circles –
Those uneven legs!
I was falling, crawling, wriggling, taunted by the gleeful giggling
Of those demon hags!

To the pit opened the hollow, brightly lit, a world of sorrow:
And the pit was hell!
“Listen, Crooked, here is a pint.  I will pay you back in kind.
“Thanks for all your help!
“You too, Rotten, Devil’s daughter!  Have some of this holy water
“To forget your grief!
“All this fat is gonna kill ya!  Drink ten glasses of this swill, ya
“Gonna get relief!”

So both witches, Crooked, Rotten, latched onto the jar of rotgut.
Soon I heard them snore.
I retreated, slipping, sliding, and behind the tree stumps hiding,
Back towards the shore.
Grabbed the boat, began to row, rowed like mad against the flow,
At myself amazed.
As my Fates the bottle relished, in their spleen they both perished
Till the end of days!

Production, engineering, mix:  Polina Goudieva
Co-production:  Vadim Astrakhan
Mastering:  Dave Darlington

The album title is a reference to the English nursery rhyme, “Tinker, tailor, soldier, spy” (“Царь, царевич, король, королевич”), meant to celebrate Vysotsky’s unique manysidedness and versatility.

This album is free for downloading.
However, if you wish to support this project,
suggested donation is $15 via PayPal.

Download 2008 – Singer, Sailor, Soldier, Spirit 

The CD is $15 US + $3 S&H, regardless of the quantity of discs that you order or your address, foreign or domestic. 

Songs:

1. The One Who Was with Her Before (Тот Кто Раньше с Нею Был) 2.41
2. The Cab Meter (Счетчик) 1.48
3. Seven Years of Blue (Бодайбо) 1.16
4. Everybody’s Gone to War (Все Ушли на Фронт) 2.41
5. The Airfight (Песня о Воздушном Бое) 2.39
6. War in the Mountains (К Вершине) 2.27
7. Ballad of the High Jumper (Баллада о Прыгуне в Высоту) 3.39
8. Caveman’s Love (Про Любовь в Каменном Веке) 1.58
9. Knight’s Tale (Про Любовь в Средние Века) 2.47
10. Love in the Age of Renaissance (Про Любовь в Эпоху Возрождения) 4.04
11. Heavenbound (Разбойничья) 3.46
12. Robin Hood (Баллада о Вольных Стрелках) 1.57
13. Children of Books (Баллада о Борьбе) 4.21
14. S.O.S. (Спасите Наши Души) 3.17
15. The Flight Aborted (Прерванный Полет) 4.59
16. Ships (Корабли) 3.00

THE ONE WHO WAS WITH HER BEFORE

That night at all I didn’t drink, I didn’t talk, I didn’t sing,
I was just watching her and sipping beer.
But the one who was with her before said “You’re heading out the door,”
He said: “You’re leaving now, for you there’s nothing here!”

And he, who was with her before, began to bully me some more.
But I ignored him.  I just ignored him.
When it was time for me to go, she said:  “You’re leaving?  No, no, no!”
“You aren’t leaving, no, no, no.  It’s still too early.”

But he, who was with her before, decided to engage in war:
He did remember me, yes, he remembered.
Once me and friend walk down the street.  Guess whom, with company, we meet?
Guess whom with company we meet?  Eight, altogether!

I didn’t run, I drew a knife.  You bastards won’t take my life!
We’re gonna make it!  We’ll make it through it!
For nothing I’m not gonna die.  I was the first to strike the guy,
I was the first to stab the guy.  I had to do it!

They charged ahead, they didn’t wait.  The fight was going all the way,
No chance to stop it.  No chance to cool it.
Somebody jumped me from behind.  I tried to reach him and struck blind
I tried to reach him and struck blind, but it was too late.

The cops appeared on their tail and they got hospitals in jail.
It was rewarding.  It was rewarding.
The surgeon cut me with both hands, he said:  “Hold on, bro, if you can,”
He said:  “Hold on, man, if you can,” and I was holding!

I left the hospital too late.  Regretfully, she didn’t wait.
But I forgive her.  There is no hating…
Of course, I let it go for her!  As for the one who was before,
As for the one who was before – I will be waiting!

THE CAB METER

He told me: “Fine.  But she is mine!”
You just don’t get it, man.  You just don’t get it!
Just let it go.  You’re drunk, you know,
Or you’ll regret it, man.  You will regret it!
But he just yelled:  “It’s all the same today!
Let’s catch a cab, the night is getting colder.
The meter’s ticking, but it’s OK.
We’re gonna pay up when the ride is over.”

I have no pity for this sort of men.
“Don’t push me, man, let go of that story!”
But he just talks and talks of her again.
Oh, you’ll be sorry, man, you will be sorry!
My blood then started boiling in my veins
Sometimes it does that, when I’m not quite sober.
I told him quietly:  “(You know) it’s OK.
You have to pay up when the ride is over.”

It’s gonna end.  Tonight it’s gonna end!
I want to fight, I’m full of pure hatred!
You want it, friend?  Or you don’t, friend?
You’re gonna pay for it, you’re gonna pay, friend!
Life is flashing in the windows of the cab.
I’m feeling high, I can’t get any lower!
The meter’s ticking, ticking, ticking, but it’s OK.
You’ll have to pay up when the ride is over!

SEVEN YEARS OF BLUE

You’ve left me – fine! I will not miss ya,
Pray I won’t see you again!
I’m off to goldmines in Siberia,
Riding on a prisoners’ train.

I know you won’t cry, won’t wait for me,
And you won’t miss me at all.
That’s OK with me, here for my country
I’m gonna be digging gold.

Don’t wait, I say, and don’t be dismayed,
Don’t waste your worries in vain.
Just remember:  god help you if one day
I will ever see you again!

It’s all over now.  No more clacking wheels,
As the railroad tracks disappear.
I can’t even howl out the pain I feel:
Tears are gone for (the) next seven years.

I will do my time, yes, I will endure,
And will come out free, just like that.
But I’m now inside, properly secured,
And I’m gonna try to forget.

Here are the storms and the blue winters,
I will live through them and through you.
Behind me – seven thousand kilometers,
And ahead – seven years of blue.

EVERYBODY’S GONE TO WAR

Every term is over nowdays,
And by the prison’s central door,
That is nailed and shut, the note says:
“Everybody’s gone to war.”

We are pardoned for our sins and crimes.
Cuz that’s the way our nation works:
When the Motherland falls on hard times,
Everybody goes to war!

It’s a good deal, if you’re loved by God
Each sentence year counts for four!
We’re (now) equal with our former guards:
Everybody’s off to war.

Our warden never had a heart,
Always arrogant and sore,
With his arrogance and soul cross-barred,
He was also sent to war.

And for that he wasn’t suited.
Not so brave without his goons!
One day he was executed
For a self-inflicted wound.

Afterwards, all scores were settled,
And rewards to us were tossed:
Those who stayed alive – the medals,
And those that died – the wooden cross.

And another wave of prisoners
Can read now by the doors
Our note, under glass preserved:
“Everybody’s gone to war.”

THE AIRFIGHT

It’s two versus eight; that’s the matchup we’re facing.
We’re given a bad hand to play.
Straight into the dogfight together we’re racing,
But chances are equal, I say!
I will not abandon this tiny sky square
The numbers mean nothing to me.
My friend’s got my back, so, to me, it’s all fair
The odds will get even, you’ll see.

The bandit’s on my tail!  Next moment he’s smoking.
Propellers howl and whine.
Hey, on their graves they will not need the crosses:
The crosses on wings will do fine!
I’m holding it steady, but they are below you…
I’m trying to intercept!
My friend, run for cover!  Hide in the clouds!
No miracles here to expect!

Your plane is on fire.  I know you’re praying
The parachute ropes are strong!
Too late, one more bandit is coming out at me.
Farewell, I will take him head on!
I know, our friends will avenge our death later
But over the clouds and the rain
Our souls are now flying, like two planes together.
We’re flying together again.

In heaven to angels we will not listen,
We know we must carry on.
And we’ll ask the Lord if we can be enlisted
In some sort of angel squadron!
The Father, the Son, and the Holiest Spirit
Will grant my desire, alright!
They will leave my comrade forever defending
My back, as in that final fight.

We’ll ask God for wings and we’ll ask him for arrows,
He could use an angel ace!
But if he has too many fighters, he’ll make us
The guardians, in this case!
To guard is just as important and noble,
To bring luck to those that dare
To carry on fighting, fighting the battles
On the ground and in the air!

WAR IN THE MOUNTAINS

By the glacier’s edge you walk the ground,
The vertical is promising adventures.
Mountains are breathing in the clouds,
Breathing out deadly avalanches!
Mountains are always on alert,
They will warn you when a threat approaches.
So to home, to safety you return
From the landslides and the gaping gorges.

Mountains now hear the falling shells.
Smoke is rising over hills and canyons.
Back then, it was hard for you to tell
Falling rocks apart from firing cannons!
If you ever called for help, the peaks
They would send your message with the eagles.
Winds would carry over mountain creeks
Cries of echo, like radio signals.

And when men were fighting on the cliffs,
Rocks they were lending you their shoulders.
By the snipers’ bullets you were missed,
Guarded and protected by the boulders!
If you’re weak, the mountains won’t help!
But to you they walk, not to Mohammed.
The rocks would soften, and the ice would melt,
And the fog would cushion up the summit.

But if you forever find your rest,
Mountains won’t leave you in the cold:
Your peace is guarded by their crests
Like the firmest tombstone in the world!

BALLAD OF THE HIGH JUMPER

I run, I push… and look for a place to hide.
I know again I failed to progress.
Two meters twelve.  I cannot beat this height!
The bar gets in the way of my success!

High jump is an interesting sport,
Illustrating the pro sports the best.
For a brief moment, you are on top,
And then down you fall very fast.

But from the forbidden tree I’ll eat the fruit.
I’ll catch the glory bird by the tail tonight.
Let everybody else jump off their left foot.
But my jumping foot is the right, right, right.

I run, I push.  But it’s not getting better.
Again, into the same old bar I bumped.
My coach called me up and said with anger:
“You keep forgetting this ain’t no long jump!”

“Your groin pull is making you flop!
Stop this nonsense and jump like the rest!
Otherwise, you will not reach the top
But instead you’ll go down very fast!”

But no matter how angry and upset I felt,
Still, to the coach I explained my plight:
“They all, they all are jumping off their left,
But I can only jump off my right, right, right.”

The run, the push.  Oh, that goddamn Canadian!
He tops “two-ten” and laughs at me, when flies.
And I just hit that old same “two-twelve” bar again,
And the coach told me straight into my eyes

That he will drown me in the lake!
It would be better off in the end!
So no one would make that mistake,
Jumping off of the right foot again!

But I would rather just commit suicide!
I’d do something nasty to myself!
But I will never switch from my wrong right
To the right one, the left, left, left.”

The fans began to boo, but I said “Oh well,
“Let’s see who is the last to laugh today!”
Here we go:  the run, the push, and now “two-twelve”
Is mine, and I have put this one away!

So what if my groin made me flop?
And so what if I am limping now?
But, still I have been at the top,
And nobody is pushing me down!

So from the forbidden tree I snatched that fruit
And caught the glory bird by the tail tonight.
Let them all jump with their left foot.
But my forever foot is the right, right, right!

FROM THE CYCLE: “LOVE & FAMILY AFFAIRS THROUGHOUT HISTORY”

I. CAVEMAN’S LOVE (STONE AGE)

Don’t touch the furs, I only have a few.
And give me back my stone battle mace!
Shut up, I don’t even notice you!
Sit down and clean up the fireplace!
Don’t worry about the petty things to save
You won’t have to, if you do the toil.
The stove’s dirty, and so is the cave.
Since Matriarchy, you’ve grown spoiled!

I do not care what you think!
I am the man, and with me you live!
So, let’s keep our relationship
Just the way it is – primitive!

They’ve killed a mammoth (and a big one too)
And now are giving everyone his share.
I cannot spend my whole life here with you,
I need to run immediately there!
The elders will be here any time.
Put on your skins when you are not alone.
Yes, it’s stone age, but that is still a crime!
I don’t want to see my woman stoned!

If I only had four more wives
I would end all this agony.
But, because of my lousy life,
I am forced to monogamy.

And all this loser family of yours!
My uncle, back when he was still alive,
Had cautioned me:  “Do not make matters worse!
“From cannibals, one shouldn’t take a wife.”
Community declares that you lie,
When sayin’ that some boys harassing you.
These boys, they are the future of the tribe.
Don’t go around slandering our youth!

I’m asking nicely, give me back my mace
And don’t you cry – I haven’t hit you yet!
Get dressed or neighbors will laugh in my face.
I count to three, and then I choke you dead!

II. KNIGHT’S TALE (MIDDLE AGES)

One hundred Saracens I killed to honor her!
One hundred deaths gone to the lady I adore!
But our king, deceitful sire,
Declared a tournament, that liar.
Kings of the world, to me, are rotten to the core!

Here is my opponent, the Royal Court’s First Knight.
The king has sent another one for me to fight.
But it is for her loving heart
My spear’s aiming so hard.
I don’t care for his royal tricks tonight.

A coat of arms is on his chest – a gallows pole
Like in a sunken ship there I’ll make a hole.
The king may be his dear friend,
But, anyway, I’ll kill him, and
Today about the king I don’t care at all.

The king proclaimed: “For him it’ll be an easy win!
“You rest in peace, my friend!” he added with a grin.
When I’ll die and rot in grave,
The king will wed my dear dame.
Oh, God forgive me, I despise the king!

The sign is given, and so we begin.
We charge our horses, and we’re closing in.
No helmets worn, it will do.
The king’s excited with the view,
But still today I don’t care for the king!

It’s over finally. The battlefield can rest.
His blood is spilled all over feather-grass.
The king’s as mad as one can be,
But now she belongs to me,
Today about the king I couldn’t care less!

No happy endings. Our love was betrayed.
The king has sent me on a Holy Land crusade.
Neither of us could do a thing:
We’re both vassals to the king…
For it’s too early not to care about kings!

III. LOVE IN THE AGE OF RENAISSANCE or THE REAL SECRET OF MONA LISA’S SMILE

After some drinks downed easily,
An artist, unknown and unpaid,
Found a palette, a easel,
And then decided to paint.

Now, another small matter:
A model is needed for that!
Here comes one!  Couldn’t be better:
Cute legs and a confident head!

So, he ran straight to this fairy:
“Hey, do you hear, what they say?
Dante, you know, Aligieri,
Goes down to hell every day.”

“To enter heaven is harder.
I do not need all that stress.
My name is, well, Leonardo.
So, hurry up and undress.”

“Don’t be afraid to remain nude:
I won’t offend you, no way.
Let me please, well, paint you!
Or mold you out of clay.”

But the proud woman said, laughing:
“Shame on you, sir, do you know,
I’m a good girl, a Catholic,
And, in simple words, no.”

“Some dirty fashion you’re preaching,
Straight into bed taking me.
Huh, Leonardo Da Vinci!
Some Raphael wannabe!”

“Always I despised the harlots.
Never you’ll strip me like that.
I don’t care if you’re an artist!
First, let’s get properly wed.”

“After the folk will have seen us
In church, I’ll strip, very well.
I don’t care if you’re a genius,
I ain’t stupid myself.”

“But I’m full of such inspiration,
Can’t turn away from your face!”
The artist cried in exultation.
Soon after, the wedding took place.

The girl that was clearly easy
I met in the midst of the night
It was, of course, Mona Lisa.
The one from the painting, alright.

To all her girlfriends in Naples
She bragged about her success:
“See, just like that, I’ve landed
A celebrity husband, no less!”

Over his work he then struggled,
Full of expression and joy.
His wife, that schemer, just chuckled:
“I got you now, silly boy.”

Such is the smile’s solution.
Let me re-state it again:
Women are always laughing
At simple-mindedness of men.

HEAVENBOUND (BALLAD OF THE GALLOWS FIELD)

Also inspired by “Ballad of the Reading Gaol” by Oscar Wilde, “Hallowed Be Thy Name” by Iron Maiden, “Last Rites” by Morgana Lefay, and “Painless” by Tarot

Once upon a time in a cold, dark land, since the day when he was born,
All his life a poor, poor lad walked barefoot on the thorns, the thorns…
Life of endless scorn he lived, more than he could bear.
As for the grief that he received – nothing can compare!
Drink the poison till you drown!  Good thing you won’t have to leave no tip!
The rope’s twisting, twisting down:  it will tie into a whip!

Loser walks around the world, his misfortune calling.
Life, it seems to pass him by, between his fingers rolling.
As for those walking ice so thin, their road is seasoned!
They are dragged by wicked winds to the chains and prisons!
And no mercy here is shown.  Tortures ripping off your flesh, your flesh!
The rope’s twisting, twisting down:  it will tie into a lash!

Ah, through this strange land I stride…  Entering, abandon hope!
Gallows Field is this land’s pride and the soapy rope.
And the Satan, Devil-in-Chief, laughs at people swinging.
Mother, why this endless grief?  No life for the living!
But don’t you cry and don’t howl!  They won’t pardon you for tears, no way.
The rope’s twisting, twisting down:  they will cut it off one day!

Thinking bitter thoughts tonight:  gallows waiting for me.
Cannot even have last rites:  hanging starts too early!
Missed the prayer?  No regret, no regret!  What am I delaying?
And the rope that I get has no knots, they’re saying!
So rest, ye, heaven-bound!  Until dawn you’re free to snooze!
The rope’s twisting, twisting down:  it will tie into a noose!

ROBIN HOOD

If they hunt for that rebellious and unruly head of yours
To make your neck at the gallows even thinner than it was.
You can find yourself a shelter in the woods; you won’t regret!
It is definitely better than the whip you always get!
All you paupers and you beggars, born to live the life of rats,
And the vagabonds and stragglers who have nothing but their debts.
If you find yourself in trouble, seek your freedom in the wood,
It’s the kingdom of the noble King of Rebels, ROBIN HOOD!

They’re happy with each other, not afraid of edgy jokes.
They accept and treat with honor all the crazy rough neck rogues.
Even knights sometimes are hiding in the forest for a time:
Those that aren’t law-abiding never have a silver dime!
Looking out for deer and merchants that may take the forest route.
They were slaves and they were servants, but free archers they are now.
Those who’ve lost all of their fortune, given shelter, given food.
On the forest path is walking King of Rebels, ROBIN HOOD!

So they live without a care and against all sheriff’s laws.
And they’re happy in their lair, with their arrows and their bows.
They’re sleeping barely covered, underneath the rustling trees.
By the cold they aren’t bothered, glad to be alive and free!
Yet at times they miss their homes, then the wistful mood prevails,
And they tighter grip their bows so in battle they won’t fail.
But tomorrow they will march – a mighty freemen’s brotherhood.
At their helm – the king of archers, King of Rebels, ROBIN HOOD!

(Even knights are hiding here, in the forest for a time
Those without reproach and fear never have a silver dime!)

CHILDREN OF BOOKS

In the safety of bedrooms, beneath candlelight,
In the world of war trophies and bonfires of peace,
Kids were living adventures, knowing no real fights.
Lived and languished their small tragedies.
Boys are always a lot burdened by their years,
And each other we fought, fought to scratches and tears,
But our mothers repaired our clothes in time.
While we stared and swallowed books, line by line.

We were enchanted with books casting their spell.
We were enamored with the magical age.
And our heads were spinning from the magical smell
When it carried the spirit of battle from every page!
We have never known wars, but we honestly tried,
Wielding our plastic swords, imitate battle cries,
Comprehend the commands and mysterious words:
“Charge” and “ambush” and “borders” and “war chariots.”

Boiling in cauldrons of history’s wars
There’s so much food to digest with our brains.
For the slots of traitors, deserters and other bad roles
We appointed our personal enemies in our games.
In the world of our games, villains weren’t let off.
And our beautiful dames we would swear to love.
And the weak we consoled and protected our friends,
And for heroes’ roles we appointed ourselves.

But inside the books one cannot eternally hide.
Plays don’t last, for there’s so much pain in this world.
Try unclenching the fist of a friend that just died,
And from the labored hand take the labored sword!
With your armor suit on and the blade in your hand,
What is right, what is wrong, you try to understand.
Try to learn who are you?  Born for battle or flight?
Feel the taste of the true and the ultimate fight.

And when by your side your comrade is killed.
And over this loss now you howl like a wolf.
And when you feel like you have been skinned,
Just because it is him who is dead – but not you!
That’s when you realize you now found your path
In the skulls without eyes – it’s the snarl of death!
Lie and evil, you see how cruel is their gaze!
And their road always leads to the crows and graves.

But if you’ve never eaten your food off a knife,
If you calmly observed from on high all your life,
If you didn’t challenge the wicked and wrong,
Then in real life you have never belonged!
But if you made your way with your father’s sword,
Taking heed what’s around you:  both tears and joy,
In the heat of the battle your lesson was learned,
Then you have read some valuable books as a boy!

THE SUBMARINE (Save Our Souls)

On recycled air
We’ve been for so long.
Our boat can stay there
For over a year,
And if we are cornered
The sirens will warn us:
The heat is now on!

The oxygen’s low.
We’re scraping for breath.
We can’t rise, we know.
We’re cruising below.
There is no escaping
Above us, it’s gaping:
The pronged silent death!

S. O. S., Save our souls!
We’re here, suffocating
For the rescue we’re waiting
Please save our lives!
Somebody, hear our calls!
But they are quickly fading
And terror’s mutilating
Us like a knife!

She cannot be captured
We all understand.
How crazy we must feel
Rise into the minefield
We all die tomorrow,
“Crash into the shore!” was
The captain’s command.

At dawn we will surface.
There’ll be no more games.
To die in our life’s prime
Is better in day time.
Our path is not mapped.
We’re trapped!  We’re trapped!
But remember our names!

S. O. S., Save our souls!
We’re here, suffocating.
For the rescue we’re waiting
Please save our lives!
Somebody, hear our calls!
But they are quickly fading
And terror’s penetrating
Us like a knife!

We finally surface
But no escape still!
Full speed at the docks!
The target is locked
All hopes can now flee us
Despair will lead us
As human torpedoes
We rush for the kill!

S. O. S., Save our souls!
We’re here, suffocating
For the rescue we’re waiting
Please save our lives!
Somebody, hear our calls!
But they are quickly fading
And terror’s mutilating
Us like a knife!
S. O. S., Save our souls!
…—…

THE FLIGHT ABORTED

Someone spotted an unripe fruit in a lot.
It fell down when they shook the tree.
Here’s a tale of a man who did not, did not
Finish singing, it was not to be, not to be.
Maybe he had some problems with fate, I don’t know.
And some issues with fortune and luck, at that.
But a metal string had a tiny flaw,
When he stretched it over the frets, the frets.
Then cautiously he played his note,
But didn’t finish it, did not…

His lonely chord has fallen flat, fallen flat.
Has not inspired or surprised.
The dog was barking and the cat
Was chasing mice.
A funny joke, indeed, but – my oh my! –
Haven’t gotten to the funny part!
He didn’t finish tasting wine, his wine.
In fact, he didn’t even start!

He was preparing the debate, the debate,
Checking the argument for holes, for holes,
And out of the pores like sweat, like sweat,
He was oozing the droplets of soul, his soul!
On the floor he barely began the duel,
In the very beginning of the first round,
In the game he barely learned the rules,
And the ref hasn’t opened the count!
He wanted to learn what is what,
But didn’t get to it, did not!

Did not discover mysteries unknown:
The bottom of the sea and skies above.
The girl who’s always alone, alone
He hasn’t loved, he hasn’t loved, he hasn’t loved, he hasn’t loved!
A funny tale, indeed, but – my oh my! –
He raced and hurried through the world!
The problems he could not resolve in time
Remained forever unresolved!

I never lie, not in a single word.
He was a servant of the purest verse.
He wrote the poems on the snow for her.
It’s a pity that snow it melts, of course!
But it was snowing heavily on that day,
And the freedom to write was still his!
And the largest snowflakes, snowflakes
He’d grab on the run with his lips!
And in the shiny car he bought
He didn’t ride with her, did not!
He didn’t cross the finish line, the line!
He didn’t reach, he didn’t reach, did not attain!
And Taurus, his Zodiac sign,
Was lapping up the Milky Way…

A funny thing, indeed, a funny thing,
When you’re falling, seconds short!
When you missed by a missing link!
And you abort, and you abort, and you abort!
A funny joke – hey, you all!
Now you can laugh… and I can laugh.
A racing horse, a bird in flight, may fall.
But who is left?  But who is left?  But who is left?

(Now you can laugh!  I’ll do the same!
But who’s to blame?  But who’s to blame?)

SHIPS

Ships they rest for a while and then set on their course,
But they always come back.  Any storm they can bear.
Half a year goes by, and then I return,
Just to leave once again, just to leave once again, for another half a year.
Half a year will pass and I will return,
Just to leave once again, just to leave once again, for another half a year.

Everybody returns.  Everyone in the fleet.
Everyone but the best friends and most loyal women!
Everybody comes back.  Except those we need.
Destiny I don’t trust, and myself I don’t trust, as it’s common for seamen.
Everybody comes back.  But the people we need.
Destiny I don’t trust, and myself I don’t trust, as it’s common for seamen.

But I want to believe that it’s not a trend:
Old ships are never burned but are always spared.
I will surely return, full of plans, full of friends.
I will surely sing, I will surely sing, after less than half a year.
One day I will return, full of dreams, full of friends.
I will sing once again, I will sing once again, after less than half a year.

2017 “25 to Life” (“Правда ведь обидно…”), live featuring Foster Provost (harmonica).  In Russian and in English.

2014 “Парус” (“The Sail”):  lyrics by Vladimir Vysotsky, music by Sinner.

2014 “Waist Deep in the Big Muddy”:  music & lyrics by Pete Seeger, produced by Vadim Astrakhan.

2014 “Be Grateful You’re Alive” (“Скажи Спасибо Что Живой”) featuring Nina Kharakoz (accordion).

2014 “Everybody’s Gone to War” (“Все Ушли на Фронт”) featuring Nina Kharakoz (accordion).

2014 “One Failed Romance” (“Несостоявшийся Роман”), live at JetLag2014 featuring Irina Smirnova (piano).

2011 “Robin Hood” (“Баллада о Вольных Стрелках), live at Burns-Vysotsky Festival featuring Tommy Beavitt (guitar) and Andrei Uspenski (violin).

2011 “Ships” (“Корабли”), live at Burns-Vysotsky Festival featuring Symphonic Orchestra of Sverdlovsk State Conservatory.

=====

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VYSOTSKY’S POETRY

“The One I Serve” (“Я спокоен, он мне все поведал…”)

I’m alright.  He has informed me plainly,
Told me not to hide, and I step forth:
Everyone who wronged me and betrayed me
Will be punished by the One I Serve!

I don’t know how:  by a jackknife’s slash,
Or will their house burn down into ash,
Or will they be demoted, crushed, imprisoned…
When?  I have no idea.  Maybe even
Tomorrow, or in years, or it’s done
Already!  Fate will not be outrun!

You cannot race against it on a spare.
You cannot seep through it or go around.
So I’m alright.  It’s true:  for all I care,
Let stones, hail, or bullets strike you down!

1973, translated in 2020

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Two Requests (“Две просьбы”)

I honor Faust, also – Dorian Gray.
But sell my soul to Satan?  What?  No way!
Why did the Gypsies read my fortune?  They
Have specified for me my dying day.
But I implore you:  do not save that date!
Don’t mark it in the calendar, my friend!
So for the circling ravens I won’t wait
The bleating lambs I will not tolerate,
And all those people cackling in the shade.
Protect me from them all, my Lord, defend
Me from the seeds of doubt and fear they plant
Into my soul – before it is too late!

I dream of demons, elephants, and rats.
I chase them off with curses and complaints.
Then comes a butler with a bottle.  “That’s
Your one way out,” he says, “of all your pains:
“More wine!  And all that frenzy quickly wanes,
“The visions vanish, and your heart and veins
“Release you, and the armor finally melts.”
I’m me again, and here’s the trade I’d make,
For immortality – these three keepsakes:
A friend, a horse, a highway on the plains.
I bow my head, as humbly as it gets;
Not for the sake of me, but for God’s sake:
Have mercy and do not cry in my wake.

Spring 1980, translated in 2022

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Vysotsky’s Final Poem (“Марине”)

There’s ice above me.  There’s ice below.
Should I drill upward? Should I bust the floor?
Up, up, of course! I hope, therefore I float,
Expecting foreign visas at my door.

I must break out, escape this icy chamber.
I’m sweating like a farmer at the plow.
I will return! Just like those ships, remember?
And bring you all my poems with a bow.

I’m less than fifty but the time is short.
By you and God protected, life and limb.
I have a song or two to sing before the Lord!
I have a way to make my peace with him!

July 1980, translated in 2012

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Yuri Naumov “Method Acting Theater” (Юрий Наумов “Театр Станиславского”)

Act I.  The curtain is about to unfold.
Don’t touch the gun on the wall!  You will be needing it later.
One small genius, damned by all,
A drop of the Cosmic soul
Walks into this world to sow
To sow his seeds and become a Creator.

Big city halls will accept me, not instantly, but inevitably.
It’s the road from the foolish “HOW COME?” to the awful “HOW MUCH?”
Take it or leave it!
Theater begins with hangings!  Check your coat for free.
It’s hard to survive here not being a hangman yourself
But I don’t want to believe it!

Heaven please hold me!
Just this once:  hold me tight!
Fantasy Holy…
Maybe, just maybe one of us will see your light.

I passed up on those good books they said I would need.
Just a rock’n’roll soldier, with no aspirations of commanding brigades.
Sexual revolutionaries… how can I compete
With those heroes who fell on the barricades, battling AIDS!

But I’m not a saint!  I wanted insane things like love that I lacked
Discarding the Bible that talked about birds and bees in succession.
A few years down the line you will hear the vertebrae crack:
It’s me stepping over myself and making my first concession.

Heaven, don’t fail me!
In a wreath of thorns I rebel!
Give me my daily
Bread and all eternity until the third bell.

Act II.  Time to break through and harvest the crops.
Time to cast stones in my friends’ glasshouses, as friendships unravel
I became all worked up about reaching some mountaintops,
Failing to notice
That the sky, in fact, lies below the sea level.

I’ve made BFFs with the ALCOs big and small,
Washed away my ideals I had boasted, being “so streetwise.”
When faced with the prospect of ulcer as a way of saving my soul,
I crawled into a hole
And tried to escape with a mild gastritis.

Heaven will save me!
This wreath of laurel compels!
Fantasy Sacred
Washed with four shots of cognac before the third bell.

Act III.  The era of changes is here.
Take the gun off the wall and follow the script, so there are no surprises
Death is perfection as the all-natural Panacea,
It heals everything, even
Leopard’s spots and bad laryngitis.

Read the prescription:  “Before bedtime, once a lifetime.”
And like a cobra he’ll strike, once you down the tincture.
Life!  Oh, God!  It’s so awkward to utter “Goodbye!”
The sea of salt in my eye
Dissolves your glorious picture.

Heaven, revive me!
It’s the funeral wreath that I smell!
Headfirst I’m diving
Into the eternal symphony of the third bells.

Heaven, you saved me
Each time of a thousand tried!
Fantasy Sacred!
Only the best of us truly believe in your light.
The best of us believе…