Ukraine War Day #466: Night Life In The City Of Death

Yet after all, ‘tis not the Plague that kills,
But Fear.  A shake of the head – a sapient look –
Two or three ugly words muttered through the teeth –
Will go long way to send unto his grave
A soldier who had stood fire in his day. (John Wilson, City Of The Plague)

Dear Readers:

When one’s mind wanders to the city of Donetsk, one invariably thinks of frightened civilians huddling in bomb shelters for 9 long years of incessant shelling. And that is certainly true, but there is another side to this city under siege, one revealed by reporter Grigory Kubatyan, in this piece for KP. In his journalistic zeal, Kubatyan made the supreme sacrifice of visiting all the nightclubs and bars in Donetsk city, to get a feel for the people and their insistence of still having a life. Well, a nightlife, at least.

This story reminds us of the basic human resiliency of the Russian people. After all, these were the people who, while starving and freezing during the siege of Leningrad, took the time to attend concerts and check out books from the library. In the Russian view, life must always go on, no matter what.

Walsingham: A revelry in the dark….

Kubatyan: Due to the danger of shelling, mass gatherings are prohibited in Donetsk. But the townspeople gather, nonetheless, in order to chat, listen to music, and sing. And they do this is reworked bomb shelters.

This is no ordinary revelry in a front-line city, this is no “Feast in Plague Time” [yalensis: Allusion to the Pushkin tragic short play, which was, in turn, based on John Wilson’s poem]; nor is it a defiance of rules and authority. It is simply a human necessity to blow off steam, to blow off their accumulated terrors along with that steam; to alleviate tension; share their experiences with other survivors; listen to their favorite music from their peaceful past and, as everybody is convinced, their peaceful future. They sing along as well. And without risking death, because they are safely underground.

In the entire city of Donetsk, there are, of course, no glamorous discoteque restaurants like Dynts-Dynts [yalensis: a fashionable Russian restaurant chain]. But that’s not what people need. In this respect, Donetsk is almost like a virtuous Puritan town: Mass concerts are forbidden, or any mass gatherings of any sort; and once the clock strikes curfew hour, “nightlife” disappears as well. Any clumping of people is just bait for the Ukrainian Armed Forces (UAF) to launch a rocket strike. On the other hand, it is permitted to gather inside bomb shelters. [And there is the loophole!]

There is a post-apocalyptic aura to these makeshift nightclubs.

Coming out from under the ground, on Shevchenko Boulevard in Donetsk, the beat of music can be faintly heard. I work my way down the stairs, push at the heavy door. The former bomb shelter, re-made into a bar, has preserved its suffocating post-apocalyptic aura. Behind the tables scattered about, sit the youth in their black jackets, along with men in army uniforms. On a tiny stage, illuminated by the glow of colored lights, a bald guitarist rocks and sings hoarsely: “«…а я зову Бу-узову, Олечку, О-оленьку-у. Я зову Бу-узову, когда сплю го-оленький!» Behind him, on the wall I notice the giant letter Z, which has nothing to do with patriotism, it’s simply a broken-off part of an advertising slogan for the club Gung-Yu-BaZZ.

Maintaining a tavern in Donetsk is tricky: Water is rationed and is given out only twice per week. This is why, in the bathrooms, [instead of sinks] they have plastic jars with tiny faucets, for the water. [yalensis: maybe out of modesty, Kubatyan doesn’t mention if there are flush toilets or not, so it’s anybody’s guess.] And yet the glasses used in the bar are clean: They are pre-washed. Some of the glasses are just glass jars which used to contain other foods, and into which they now pour the beer directly.

“You took a jar?” my table-neighbor asks me with surprise. “I wouldn’t risk it. I only drink from sealed bottles.”

Yeah, I am risking it. He who doesn’t take a risk, is doomed to drink only crap beer in these underground taverns.

In the establishment there reigns an atmosphere of scandalous creativity. The beer flows, and sometimes literally – onto the floor. The visitors sometimes heckle those at the mic, or try to sing along with the artists; or throw themselves to sleep on a couch in a dark corner.

Here one can meet well-known journalists, militiamen, and in general, just about everybody. And it is not forbidden for anyone who so desires, to go up on the stage and take their turn at the mic.

The “Underground” night club.

Gung-Yu-BaZZ is a cult nightclub, it existed even in the 90’s. This is the place where non-normies come. Prior to 2014 it was a gay club, but then all the gays left, some for Kiev, some for Europe. And the then-owners left as well. The only one who stayed behind to manage the club was Anisim, a musician, who likes to maintain the atmosphere of a medieval brothel.

“Fuck,” my neighbor mutters philosophically, drinking beer from his safe bottle. “It’s just like the club Ander. That’s where the punks gather, but at least without knife fights.”

The fact that even one such club exists in wartime Donetsk, came as a revelation to me. But it turns out, it’s not the only one.

Big Girls With Easy Morals

The Donetsk old-timers praise a certain coffee-shop called Khanzhonkov which is located near the “Zvezdochka” cinema. They used to have concerts there. But every time the signs announced a new coming attraction, the UAF would pepper the movie theater with Grad missiles. So they had to stop doing concerts. Nobody understands why the Ukrainians hated this concert place so much and treated it like a military object. Either that, or they decided that the Donetsk people should not be allowed to have a good time.

So, not being allowed into this former coffee shop, I continued my explorations to a much simpler place.

On the corner where Ilyich Prospekt gives out onto Lenin Square, there is an underground (not in the legal sense, but literally underground) karaoke-bar. It is called “Friday”, and one can often see military men there. They enter looking depressed, they smoke a lot, say little.

I work up my courage and take the microphone. I sing: “«светит незнакомая звезда, снова мы оторваны от дома…» It’s a good song, it’s about hope, about seeing one’s native home again. But the faces I see looking back at me are all sour. As if saying, “Things are bad enough already, without you pulling this nostalgia shit…”

But then some big girls with easy morals suddenly appear in the hall, and they order: “Play our songs!”

“Their songs”, are not about Katiusha nor about the Light Moscow Evenings. Their songs are some kind of medly from “The Wandering Emperess” to “I sit in my cabriolet!” There is not a wide variety of genres here, but they sing heartily and quite well, it seems they have actual musical training.

The army guys perk up and even cut back on their smoking. They sing along. The voices of girls and soldiers blend into something moderately cheerful. The main thing is to make people feel better!

Post Punk In Post Bank

In truth, the freshest place is that aforementioned Ander club. Or the Underground. The latter being located in a former bank vault. No shell will ever penetrate that place. This is where the creative youth aged 15-25 come. The youngest of whom are not allowed to purchase alcohol. Once a week, local Donetsk bands perform here. On some days they have poetry evenings. And karaoke on a regular basis.

The latter, is done in an unusual way. There are no computer screens with the lyrics. One is made to sing with along with a record player, by memory, standing on the stage in the light of projectors. It is permitted to cheat a bit, by consulting your cellphone. But most of the performers actually know the words by heart.

The boys and girls who come here are talented, they sing in German, French, English. The audience sings along. These are familiar songs, but once in a while somebody surprises with something new. There is no “Wandering Emperess” here. Only pop-rock, post-punk, Blues-Jazz, and Heavy Metal. How this all fits together, is beyond my comprehension.

The boys and girls sing solos, or duets, and sometimes in groups. Waiting for their turn, bartenders come out from behind the bar and also start to sing. The bartenders here don’t drink, and because of the age groups of the patrons, the clientele more often buy fruit ciders than beer. Entry is free, and it is a mystery how the bar collects enough revenue to survive. Perhaps just on enthusiasm alone.

“Та-ам для меняя гори-ит оча-а-аг..”, drones an inebriated wandering guest. Then, in a fit of artistic emotion, he tosses his cap on the stage and stomps on it. He seems like he came here via some supernatural portal from the dashing world of Gung-yu-baZZ. But he is not driven away. The public even applauds him and join in the chorus: “«…как вечный зна-ак забытых и-и-истин…”

Traditional Russian huslar (autoharp) players.

Oh wait, here comes the local celebrity. A youth with bleached-light hair wearing a long coat, sings something from the Louisiana jazzmen from those old black-and-white photographs. He sings well, the old jazzmen would have been pleased. “Who are you?” I ask, approaching him. It turns out that his name is Andrei, and he is an artist from the ballet. Yes, there is a ballet in Donetsk! But they have to perform while on the road, either at the front, or on tour in Russia. The lad comes from a family of musicians. He has his own band too, but just does karaoke as a way of practicing.

“All of us here, we are all family,” Andrei says. “Everyone knows everyone. Although there were three people singing today who hadn’t been here before. Usually this is a place where young people gather, but sometimes also older people. Even my father, he’s 50, sometimes would come here and sing something from Accept or AC/DC. This is the kind of city we are, we are musical, we are educated people. Everybody who lives here is creative. And we try to stick together.”

Before I left, somebody whispered in my ear that a Russian huslar group was in town, and planning to perform. In the underground, apparently. For security reasons. But everyone was welcome.

And this is how Donetsk lives. And will continue to live.