How the Beatles Rocked the Kremlin by Leslie Woodhead

Author:Leslie Woodhead
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury USA
Published: 2013-02-25T16:00:00+00:00

Down a backstreet near the main railway station, I found a small crowd, huddling against the rain. This was where Tropillo had said I’d find his new band, and its leader Igor Salnikov. It wasn’t hard to spot Salnikov. Tall, skinny, dragging on a damp cigarette, he exuded the easy confidence of a would-be rockstar. He was also displaying a bright red T-shirt decorated with an image of John Lennon in a Guevara beret and the words CHE LENNON.

I introduced myself, and he offered me a starry smile. “I think I got almost everything from Lennon,” he said. “There was a Beatles album a long time ago, and I really loved it.” He spoke almost perfect English with a slight American accent, and he was cute. “Later I got some of John Lennon’s albums, and I started to read a lot about him and his thoughts—and it changed my life.”

So here was this kid, probably twenty-five years younger than Boris Grebenshikov, and the Beatles were still working their magic for him. “All John’s songs are so simple,” he said, “but they’re so true. And I suddenly realized I can do the same thing, I can feel what he’s saying. This thing is so huge for me.” It was pouring rain now, and we took cover under an old archway. “It’s my plan to change my name officially to John Lennon,” Igor said. He made the declaration with a shy giggle, but he was plainly serious. “I have my second Russian name from my father, so it’s gonna be John Vladimirovich Lennon. They say it can be done.”

The doors of the club were open at last, and we went inside. A handful of youngsters stood around, dragging on cigarettes, skewered by a lurid green laser. Three nearly naked men began to thrash out angry punk. An elderly punkster sidled up to tell me all his friends hated John Lennon. “We liked George Harrison.” I couldn’t imagine what gentle old George would have felt about being the darling of the Saint Petersburg punks. Things didn’t sound promising for the Oz band and their Che Lennon opera.

Looking as though he’d had a long day at the mixing panel, Andrei Tropillo introduced his new band to the sullen crowd. The Oz drifted onto the little stage, a teenage rhythm guitarist with the Che Lennon T-shirt, a wizened lead guitarist who looked like a truck driver, a lean drummer—and a boy wielding a trombone! You had to give the boys points for originality. Igor/John looked nervous, fussing endlessly with a mike. And then, suddenly, they exploded into noise.

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