People in Moscow
Andrey Ilyin has started on a project shooting VR Photos of interresting people in Moscow.
Number 2 is the musician Marchenko.
Squaw and jazz
I was borne in 1960 in a small provincial town near Moscow. The life of my town was falling 10 years behind the rest of my Motherland. Until recently forbidden, jazz was now listened to all over the country, even in our little town, but here it was modestly called the "dance music".
The word "jazz" itself even smelled as something indecent. It was disconcerting to me. I suspected some evil plot. Even worse, it felt like some petty sickening dirty trick. In 1974, however, a lady neighbor of mine, the Olympic champion in canoeing brought me a present from the far away landsa record with the round label on a "capitalist" cardboard. The label carried the word "JAZZ". No more doubts were left. it must be the ORIGINAL, factually documented.
On the record player it went
. And the music, utterly different from anything I had heard before, entered my life. It was Ornett Coleman- the veteran of "Free Jazz". I suddenly understood ---I was being deceived for all of my 14 years. What was called "Jazz" or shyly "music for dancing" had indeed nothing to do with the Real Thing.
O MY DESECRATED CHILDHOOD. The world of sounds sweet and exquisite engulfed me. They resembled noise of a mechanism of unknown purpose, a zoo at night, a lonely cat. So cries a midget wale longing for his sweetheart-- baby elephant
.. It resembled EVERYTHING but the musical horror of my previous years. Someone just cleaned a patch in the window of my life, until then covered by the dunk of "culture" I think that is how revelations are born. In other words, I was gone.
It has become my shadow. http://townho.googlepages.com/townho3 I am that very musician hearing this blessed howling and grinding even in a transparent Tchaikovsky. And something unimaginably manful reveals to me in his music.
Even my family is now nearly accustomed to this "musical menagerie", as they lovingly call it. So, that is how one Russian canoe woman, Moscow suburbs squaw, brought me a gift-- my destiny.