Sing to Victory!: Song in Soviet Society during World War II 9781618118400

Citation preview

SING

TO VICTORY! Song in Soviet Society during World War II

SING

TO VICTORY! Song in Soviet Society during World War II

.

SUZANNE AMENT

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Ament, Suzanne, 1960- author. Title: Sing to victory! : song in Soviet society during World War II / Suzanne Ament. Description: Boston : Academic Studies Press, 2018. | Includes ­bibliographical references. Identifiers: LCCN 2018023222 (print) | LCCN 2018025262 (ebook) | ISBN 9781618118400 (ebook) | ISBN 9781618118394 (hardcover) Subjects: LCSH: World War, 1939–1945—Soviet Union—Music and the war | Music—Political aspects—Soviet Union. Classification: LCC ML3917.R8 (ebook) | LCC ML3917.R8 A4 2018 (print) | DDC 782.420947/09044—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018023222 ©Academic Studies Press, 2018 ISBN 9781618118394 (hardback) ISBN 9781618118400 (electronic) Book design by Kryon Publishing Services (P) Ltd. www.kryonpublishing.com Cover design by Ivan Grave Published by Academic Studies Press 28 Montfern Avenue Brighton, MA 02135, USA [email protected] www.academicstudiespress.com

To my family, especially my sister Tina and my husband Jim. All of you believed in me throughout this long process. And To all those who, through song, bring light into the darkest of places.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgmentsix Introduction 

xii

Part One—The Songs and Their Creators Chapter 1: The Songs of the War Years: Themes, Tunes, and Trends

1

  Prewar Songs and Their Influence

1

  Blitzkrieg: The Early War Songs

9

  Farewell to Normality: The Early Lyrical Songs

15

  War Is Here To Stay: Songs about Wartime Life 

22

  Victory on the Horizon: The Tone Shifts 

28

  Victory Becomes a Reality 

37

  Chronologies, Shifts, and Variations in The Wartime Songs

44

Chapter 2: The Soldiers of the Song Front: Composers and Poets during the War 48   The Composers 

49

  The Poet-Lyricists 

55

  Relations between Composers and Poets 

60

  Remuneration: Contracts and Contests 

72

  Amateur Song Writing 

84

  Critiques and Debates on Song 

87

Table of contents

Chapter 3: Command and Control: Official Policy and Institutional 94 Responsibility over Song The Creative Unions 

95

Party and State Structures 

100

Trade Unions and Other Organizations

108

Military Involvement 

111

Censorship Control 

112

International Relations and the Arts

120

 Conclusions

123

Part Two—Song Distribution and Performance Chapter 4: Print, Plastic, and Sound Waves: Mass Media and Song Distribution

125

Songbooks and Other Musical Publications

125

Newspapers 

130

Radio 

137

Records 

144

Film

147

Conclusions 

157

Chapter 5: Ball Gowns and Bombs: Performers and Brigades in Battle and at Home

159

Diversity and Quantity of Performance Groups

160

The Response to War 

167

The Experience of War: Brigade Travel, Performances and Living Conditions

173

At the Front

185

In Home Towns 

192

In the Rear 

195

Working Together

197

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Part Three—Song Reception and Legacy Chapter 6:  From Dawn ’til Dusk: Song in Everyday Life 

201

  Audience and Memory 

202

  Children’s Experiences 

205

  Home Front Adult Experiences 

214

  Song at the Front 

217

  The Power of Song 

223

Chapter 7:  The Legacy of the War Songs 

226

  The Audience 

227

  The State 

228

  Fans and Idols 

229

  Song Function 

229

  The Legacy in the Body 

232

  Post War Images of Freedom

235

 Conclusion

239

Appendix 1

243

Appendix 2

258

Appendix 3

267

Bibliography 

274

Index290

Acknowledgments

T

his book is truly a career-long project. It was born during my undergraduate studies in Leningrad in 1981, when I first heard these songs and the stories that went with them, and continued through a year of research in Moscow, through the completion of my PhD dissertation, then during my tenure as a history professor trying to make sense of the things the dissertation had not fully answered. The work is a labor of love for all who wrote, performed, and listened to these songs. In the case of my project and my personal situation, numerous individuals have contributed to the final completion in myriad ways. Without all of them, I would never have finished this daunting task. Special thanks go to Barbara Allen, who gave up a year of her own graduate study to live and work in Moscow with me as my reader/assistant. Without her dedication, I could never have finished the research for this work. Other readers over these many years have also aided me greatly in the research, writing, and revision of this project. With apologies ahead for anyone I miss, thanks to you all: Nelia Amato, Michael Armbruster, Lena Bachniak, Violet Bahudarian, Chris Bradbury, Natasha Bregel, John Glasscock, Frank Hall, Kate Harshberger, Dasha Kinelovskii, Lena Kulagina, Rufina Levina, Galina Lokshin, Ol′ga Obolonskaia, Mikhail Pervouchine, Louise Rarick, Linda Ring, Leah Short, Alla Smyslova, Aida Soboleva, Ilias Syrgabaev, Lidiia and Inna Tuaeva, Cori and Brett Vannatta, Ludmila Vasilyeva, Eli Weinerman, and Sonia Zlotina. For editorial assistance along the way I would like to thank Marilyn Breiter, Dianne Davenport, Janet Rabinowitch, and Melanie Hunter. For the second major revision I thank Julie Leighton, Melanie Hunter, and the staff at Academic Studies Press, especially Faith Wilson Stein and Oleh Kotsyuba, for their faith in my work and their assistance in bringing this book to publication, Ekaterina Yanduganova for her expert help with translation and transliteration,

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Rebekah Slonim for her meticulous copyediting, Eileen Wolfberg for coordinating the editorial process, and Kira Nemirovsky for production. Thanks go next to my original dissertation committee: Alexander Rabinowitch (chair), Ben Eklof, Hiroaki Kuromiya, and Anya Peterson Royce; to Richard Stites, my former adviser at Georgetown University, who continued until his death in 2010 to read and critique my work and give moral support; and to the staff and faculty of the Moscow Conservatory, my sponsoring agency while in Moscow, especially Svetlana Sigida, professors Tat′iana Cherednichenko, Mikhail Saponov, and Mikhail Tarakanov, as well as musicologist Vladimir Zak at the Union of Composers (and later in New York City). For fellowships and other material support, I am grateful to the University of Illinois Summer Slavic Research Laboratory, 1988 and 2004; the Indiana University Department of History for a research grant-in-aid, 1989; the International Research Exchange Board (IREX) for a fellowship for research in Moscow in 1990–91; the Department of Education for a Fulbright-Hayes fellowship for study in the USSR, 1990–91; the Social Science Research Council for a dissertation write-up fellowship in 1991–92; and Ralston Purina for a donation of dog food for the year in Russia. I am also indebted to Radford University for its support with a grant-in-aid (2004), a research grant (2011), and a semester’s leave for research and funding for publication costs (2012), with particular thanks to Dean Katherine Hawkins and department chair Sharon Roger Hepburn. Many people have supported me financially or with donations of places to stay (the equivalent of the Dom Tvorchestva, or “House of Creativity,” in the former USSR), help in computer issues, transportation for research and writing, and moral support. My thanks to Richard and Nancy Ament, Andrei Barabanov, Charlene and Mark Braun, Dorene Cornwell, David Deming, Sergei Dorozhenkov, Judy and Jerry Farnsworth, Martha and Jim Griesheimer, Rob and Melanie Hunter, Susan Kwilecki, Connie Justice and Andrei Planson, Veronica Lenard, Marjorie Maher, Zhanna Mosikova, Ruth and Jack Murphy, Galina and Lev Podashov, Stanislav and Jamal O’Jack, Barbara and Andy Qualls, Misha and Anya Roitburt, Petr Volchanskii, and Todd Weinberg. For moral support throughout this lengthy and sometimes traumatic process, I would like to thank the Bahá'í communities of Bloomington, Indiana; Moscow, Russia; and Blacksburg, Virginia, for the many prayers said on my behalf. Mostly, I wish to thank my family, who has been extremely supportive for so many years, especially my sister Tina, with her endless humor and ability to put things in perspective when I could not, and to my husband Jim Boone

Acknowledgments

for his unfailing belief in me for all things. I must also acknowledge here my wonderful yellow Labrador seeing-eye dog, Sparkle, who was with me throughout the Moscow research, and my subsequent dogs, Quinnie, Nikita, and Ulla, who literally led me through thick and thin. Sparkle especially deserves recognition for all her efforts as the first American guide dog to live in the USSR. Suzanne Ament

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Introduction

I

n June 1941, a few days after the Germans attacked the USSR, the Red Army ensemble set out for the Belorussian train station to provide music for the newly recruited soldiers. As they played one newly minted song, the recruits spontaneously stood, doffed their caps, and somberly, some with tears, created the de facto anthem of the war. “Sviashchennaia voina” (The sacred war) was to become a symbol of resistance, courage, and unity in the face of the cruel enemy. A year later, a young singer who had spontaneously switched songs in the midst of her performance, feeling that something “dear” was needed, stood frozen with fear as her director showed her his fist from offstage. But then a voice from the audience of wounded soldiers requested, “Comrade artist, please sing that song again.” The new, somewhat controversial song “V zemlianke” (In the dugout) had passed muster. In Leningrad, the theater of musical comedy remained in the city and was active for the entire 900-day blockade. Even when regular shows had to stop for lack of electricity, transportation, and food, some artists still performed patronage work. Later, the future opera star Galina Vishnevskaia wrangled a reassignment from Kronshtadt to Leningrad in order to spend all of her free time in theaters and concerts, as this buoyed her spirits. Soldiers risked life and limb in no-man’s-land to collect flowers for visiting singers. The singers and artists gave special performances for badly wounded men, sometimes holding their hands or their heads in their laps. Artists felt that this work was the most important contribution they had ever made—in fact, the high point of their careers. A lyrical, melodic tune sung to a simple guitar accompaniment, “Temnaia noch′” (The dark night) raced across the country by film to become one of the most popular of the war songs, reassuring those at the front and those at home that they were loved and important. All of these stories illustrate the importance of song in the victorious war effort, but more importantly they show how the songs helped preserve a sense of humanity in the face of unimaginable cruelty and horror. The nation, young

Introduction

and old, soldier and civilian, Communist and non-Communist, could identify with and draw strength from this music. What’s more, the songs lasted beyond the war as a legacy of that time when human needs, individual effort, and collective unity superseded Communist party ideals, politics, and rhetoric to come to the aid of those who were sacrificing at home and at the front and give them what they needed. Even subsequent generations see this legacy not only as a memoir of the war but also as a symbol of their identity and relation to that past. This book is the story of these songs and the men and women who created them, performed them, and heard them. It is a collection, compilation, analysis, and synthesis of information about the songs and their function in society during World War II in the Soviet Union. The goal is to create a broad picture, a wide-angle snapshot for the reader that incorporates the songs, their creators and performers, the audience, and the system that worked to distribute and publicize them. This picture in itself contributes to a better understanding of an aspect of Soviet wartime experience little known in the West. In addition, it provides the basis for probing into broader, more abstract issues in several areas. First is the interaction of culture with politics and political ideology, or how the official Soviet institutions—government, Party, and military—worked with and were affected by individual initiative as seen through creativity, personal preference and desire, and universal human needs. During any crisis period, there are actions and reactions on an official level that take the form of policies, orders, laws, and the like, as well as grassroots responses to the crisis itself and to official reactions. By understanding how songs affected both the official policies and systems and how they touched individuals, as well as the reverse—that is, how systems and individuals actively chose to integrate songs at different times for different reasons—we can better understand how the official USSR and the general citizenry shaped both political and popular culture, and how these two forces interacted with and shaped each other. Second, for society to function, a balance must be maintained between the two forces of collective and individual need: (1) society’s organization, protection, and maintenance of order, and (2) a personal, individual need for expression, creativity, spirituality, and nurturing. The first cannot exist in a positive sense if the latter is not allowed to exist freely. In the end, it is the individuals, with all of their spirit, knowledge, and initiative, who form and staff the systems to organize society. This relationship, however balanced or unbalanced, always exists in a society. In a crisis period, however, or a period of great change, such as the Second World War, the similarities and dichotomies between them are more strikingly marked, and the balance can shift. Studying these shifts in the

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relationship between control and initiative in periods of stress not only can aid our understanding of the distribution during crisis but can shed light on the preexisting distribution in more seemingly stable periods. World War II—or the “Great Patriotic War,” as it is known in Soviet historical literature—was a crisis period for the USSR that had tremendous effects, then and subsequently, on the natural, technical, physical, and human resources of the nation. Both the official state apparatus and the grassroots citizenry agreed that this was a profound crisis—a level of agreement that rarely occurred in Soviet society. Initial conservative estimates placed the death toll at around twenty million; as archives have opened, those estimates have risen. Vast territories, mainly in the developed western regions, fell under German occupation for lengthy periods of time. Other areas were trampled, bombed, and destroyed several times over as armies fought for control. Large numbers of the population migrated eastward, either fleeing the fighting, evacuating along with the factories and plants that were dismantled and carried eastward to Siberia, or forcibly resettled due ostensibly to fears of their disloyalty to the USSR and potential fraternization and collaboration with the enemy. The city of Leningrad was held in a stranglehold during the heroic but devastating 900-day siege. Many other cities, including Kiev and Sevastopol, fell and were subsequently retaken—often, as in the case of Stalingrad, with fearsome, lengthy fighting. There were fronts in every direction, including the Far East, where the Soviet Pacific Fleet was engaged against Japan. Women, children, and the elderly took over jobs left vacant by the working-age men who were recruited. Nearly a million women took active combat roles. Shortages and rationing appeared in all areas of the economy to different degrees, depending on the given stage of the war and the territory. In short, society was completely disrupted for one targeted goal: the defense against and the defeat and destruction of the Axis forces. And no one was left untouched by this vast process. Things were no different in the sphere of culture. Theaters were evacuated; musicians left the philharmonics, theaters, conservatories, and academies to fight. Museums, historic sites, and works of art were imperiled and often destroyed. And yet the arts did not die; in fact, they flourished. Symphonies, posters, plays, poetry, films, and a great many songs were produced in this trying period. Although existing official systems in the area of culture did remain intact and basically in control during the war, they were forced to take into account more of the personal and individual needs of the artists and their audiences. This in itself helped maintain morale and spirit, which was one of the main goals of the cultural war effort. The song genre was particularly ­flexible and

Introduction

thus became a yardstick of how people were feeling, what their needs were and how official circles could meet those desires. Such relative freedom, along with a unity of purpose—to defeat the enemy—led to genuine creativity and real responses from the audience. Although Stalinist/Communist ideology was still present in many forms, it took a back seat to other ideals, both in official propaganda and in the minds of citizens. These new ideals included family, feelings of loyalty for homeland, the need to relax, the spiritual nature of human beings, and even religion when the Orthodox church was given more official recognition by the state. Another reason for the importance of song during the war is the prominent place of music in Russian/Soviet culture. Music has always had power in human culture generally. Around the world it has often been used both as a weapon and as a remedy. On the one hand, leaders can manipulate music as a tool to inspire people to follow their cause or achieve seemingly unattainable goals. Songs are adept at expressing patriotism, nationalism, and other common wartime sentiments. On the other hand, music can calm the oppressed and soothe the suffering of humankind. Song has held a prominent place in the lives of the Russian people in their popular culture, from barge hauler songs on the Volga River, to sewing circle songs in peasant villages, to the drawing room “romances” of the French-speaking elite in the pre-Revolutionary period, to dance hall songs, chastushki (sung limericks), and early film soundtracks in the Soviet period. The political use of music was no less significant in military songs, prison songs (precursors to the Revolutionary songs), and the Revolutionary and Civil War songs. The massive publications of “official” songs and chastushki in the 1930s, no matter how bad they were, were used for political ends. With the rise of the Soviet Gulag (labor camp) system, a new song genre appeared: blatnye pesni (criminal underworld songs), which used its own “criminal” language, depicted the realities of the camps, and lasted through the end of the USSR. A more recent example of the use of song in both a political and popular sense was seen in the events leading to the attempted coup of October 1993. Supporters of Khasbulatov and Rutskoi in the Parliament building sang World War II songs to rally themselves and to symbolize their “patriotism.” Politically, the songs fit a patriotic theme of defense against an enemy—in this case, the Russian president—and of “true loyalty” to their nation and homeland. In popular terms, these songs remained the favorites of the elderly who were supporting the end of reform; even more important, though, the songs symbolized the people’s determination to fight against all odds for what they believed in—something they had done fifty years before with a successful outcome.

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Anyone who has visited the USSR/Russia knows that Russians are far from shy about singing in their own lives. People celebrate happy occasions, laugh at themselves and their society, and pour out their hopes, fears, and sorrows in music. The national popularity of the bard poets Bulat Okudzhava and Vladimir Vysotskii, in addition to that of numerous other modern poets/ songsters, attests to this phenomenon. By examining the four-year period of song creation and performance during a severe crisis, this book helps illuminate the central role of music in Russian life. The spiritual (or emotional) side of music and its importance is perhaps the most difficult to define, but it also plays a tremendously important role in understanding individuals’ need for music and the effect that music has on them. It is interesting to note here that, although the USSR was ­officially atheistic, stressing rationalism over anything of a spiritual nature, the wartime participants, in their memoirs, interviews, stenograms of meetings during the war, and even official newspaper articles, frequently mentioned the “­spirituality” of songs and their effect on the soul. They also talked about the different emotions that songs elicited from them: how music brought tears on one occasion, laughter on another, and courage to carry out acts of war in still other cases. Songs served a multiplicity of functions, addressing both the sociopolitical needs of the society and the spiritual and emotional needs of i­ndividuals—if not simultaneously, then at least in parallel. This complexity has baffled thinkers and audiences alike over time and can be understood only by realizing both the physical and emotional properties of this art form. As Abdul Baha explained it: In short, Melodies, although they are material, are connected with the spiritual; therefore, they produce a great effect. . . . All these feelings can be caused by voice and music. For through the nerves, it moves and stirs the spirit. . . . Whatever is in the heart of man, melody moves and awakens. For instance, if there be love in the heart, through melody it will increase until its intensity can scarcely be borne. But if bad thoughts are in the heart, such as hatred, it will increase and multiply.1

1

Compilation of Compilations, vol. 2, prepared by The Universal House of Justice (Mona Vale, Australia: Bahá’í Publications, 1991), 79, quoting from A Brief Account of My Visit to Acca (Chicago: Bahá’í Publishing Society, 1905), 11–14.

Introduction

Song contained a power and a flexibility that forced those working with it as policymakers or creators to face its dual components: its concrete form of melody and lyric as well as its psychological and spiritual impact on listeners. Song also created emotional bonds between audiences and performers, song creators and soldiers, and civilians and the military. Recent research has also shown that music can have an actual physiological effect on the human body and its physical functioning. Heart rate, blood pressure, and other bodily functions can be directly affected by music. Music also triggers memories, good and bad, and between the mental and physical reactions may reactivate feelings and the physical state of being experienced with that music in an earlier period. The wartime participants’ experiences give evidence to the truth of this statement. Song was particularly powerful in wartime culture for several reasons. Because it is made up of both melody and lyric, multiple messages can be given and received through even one song. The basic messages were to inspire action and loyalty, and to remind people that life was worth living and that there truly were better times ahead. Both music and lyrics are extremely flexible; people could learn of the heroic deeds of someone like pilot Captain Gastello in one moment, listen to a lyrical love letter home the next, then hear a snappy satirical parody of the Germans. In the course of about ten minutes, an audience could have experienced feelings of loyalty, patriotism, nostalgia, sadness at being far from home, joy at knowing there is a home, and hatred toward the enemy expressed in vicious biting humor. People could also have an active part in songs. They could sing them as they marched or change lyrics to suit their own situations. They could even write their own new songs. The broad spectrum of possibilities for both creation and enjoyment meant that song made its way into most facets of life more easily than other genres of music. Songs were also particularly well-suited for wartime needs because they could be performed in a wide variety of settings, with any number of people listening or singing. Unlike symphonies, operas, or multipart musical works, songs could be performed by as few as one person and as many as a huge choir. New tunes could be learned by ear from recordings or song leaders as well as from sheet music or melodies published in newspapers. Learners did not have to be musically literate or even print-literate to participate in singing. Instrumental accompaniment was not even necessary in many settings. No props were needed, although songs could be elaborately staged with multiple harmonies, costumes, lighting, and sets when possible. Judging from the sources, both extremes of performance genres brought equal pleasure to the

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audiences. Of course, it is impossible and incorrect to generalize from specific individuals that everyone always reacted in the same way, or even that everyone reacted to given songs. But it is clear that music did have an effect on individuals and groups in myriad situations. This book, based on the author’s doctoral dissertation, is a synthesis of three main areas of research: (1) compilation of the newly created wartime songs and their histories, (2) study of the systems of political control over music production and distribution, and (3) investigation of popular attitudes about song and grassroots participation during the war and song as a legacy from the war era. Song here is narrowly defined as a melodic tune with a text. It does not include operatic arias, cantatas, or vocal cycles in larger classical works. Occasionally such pieces may have gained stand-alone popularity, but song here refers to specifically composed short works. The thematic chapters integrate these main topics in the following sequence. Chapter 1 examines the variety of songs present during the war, concentrating on those that were created during that four-year period. Chapter 2 examines the creators of the songs. Understanding their educational and professional backgrounds as well as their common links as artists in personal, artistic, and political spheres helps explain why they wrote the songs they did. Also of interest are the issues and debates concerning the various professional creative unions and the conditions facing amateur songwriters. Chapter 3 depicts the complex relationship between government, Party, and military organizations concerned with the control, creation, and distribution of songs. Some attention is given to international relations concerning the arts as well as censorship. Chapter 4 examines the roles of books, music, and periodical publishers, record and film studios, and radio in disseminating the newly created war songs. Analysis covers the range of and reaction to each medium as well as the weaknesses of each, given the severe wartime conditions. Chapter 5 addresses the different kinds of artistic brigades and performance situations and depicts the conditions and concerns the performers had to endure during their work. It also attempts to quantify the numbers of brigades, performing artists, and concerts given at the front and at the rear. Chapter 6 makes use of oral history interviews and memoirs to better understand the role of song in the day-to-day lives of average people, including soldiers, children, and workers. This chapter also considers the broader questions of what the songs symbolized both for individuals and for society during the war and afterward. Chapter 7 examines why the songs lasted and describes their legacy for individuals and the nation alike.

Introduction

Throughout the chapters the translations of titles and the excerpts from lyrics are the author’s translation, unless otherwise noted. Definitions and translations of terms as well as song and film titles are set in parentheses after at least the first mention. Song titles are also listed in the appendix. The transliteration system used is the method preferred by the Library of Congress. The sources used in this research vary widely in type and quality. Sources in English on this topic are few but valuable. However, in some works the topic of war songs has been treated more indirectly as a tangential component of jazz, guitar poetry, popular culture, or classical music. Some recent valuable works help to interpret the history of the Composers’ Union and other aspects of the project here. This project is the first full-length treatment in English focusing specifically on Soviet World War II songs and the culture and politics surrounding them. The published monographs in Russian cover a wide range of subjects, including biographies of poets, composers, and performers, treatises on the musicological aspects of war songs, and collections of song texts with commentary. Many of these books are written more for the popular reader than for the scholar and thus do not include footnotes, sources, or bibliographies. However, some Academy of Science publications and several conscientious authors provide a solid base of scholarship by which to judge the other works. P. F. Lebedev and Iu. E. Biriukov— two authors who have spent years of painstaking scholarship reconstructing the histories of the creation, publication, and performance of the individual songs and their many variants—must be noted here. Their published works and their personal consultations with the author in Moscow were invaluable. The primary sources from the period—namely, newspapers and archival material—have provided many valuable details, and have generated even more as-yet-unanswered questions. To be explicit, newspapers published the texts and scores of songs, concert reviews, and programs, as well as articles containing information on “official” ideology. Yet complete runs of newspapers from the war years are impossible to obtain. Even if an issue is extant, the pages often are torn or smudged beyond readability. In addition, time and other logistical constraints have made it impossible to see even close to all the extant runs of any given paper for this project. Rather, information was gathered from a cross section of the existing available copies of many different papers, including central and front newspapers. Thus, it is not possible to develop any definitive final conclusions or statistical analyses based on songs in newspapers, because the corpus is just too vast. Similarly, the archival material at the Central Archive of Literature and Art in Moscow provided some intact sets of minutes, but generally this information was also spotty. Thus, questions raised in one or another plenum, commission,

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or letter may not be answered in the later documents, which appear to be missing. This is not to say that the extant information is not extremely useful. It is simply a caveat to the reader to recognize the incomplete body of sources. The oral history interviews collected for this project in New York and Moscow provide personal experience and point of view on a very broad topic. The subjects interviewed ranged in age from four to thirty years old at the beginning of the war, with varying involvement in music; they were composers, poets, performers, schoolchildren, soldiers, and workers during the war. Again, this entire set of eighteen formal interviews, with numerous other shorter comments, can in no way even begin to be considered a broad selection, given the millions of war participants. However, each individual interview tells a basically complete story as defined and limited by memory and the passage of roughly half a century. In every case, the emotions are manifested as if the events had occurred just last year. In this way, the interviews add personality and fill the gaps left by the other sources, which often stress the societal and the collective mood concerning the songs. All of the sources together provide a body of data with which to analyze the three major areas of research given above. The picture that is painted is a variegated patchwork of experience, emotion, knowledge, hard work, and sacrifice. There are still many gaps that may never be filled because of the passage of time, the disintegration of paper, and the inevitable mortality of the wartime participants. Yet the story that can be told contributes an interesting perspective to the understanding of Russian history, its political and popular culture, and its cultural heritage as shown both in the attitudes toward the songs and in the songs themselves. The approach taken here to address this multifaceted topic is one of parallel perspectives. Each chapter concentrates on a different facet of the world that both contained and shaped song as a political and social phenomenon during the war. The songs are always present at the core of each segment, so some overlap is unavoidable. Other methods, such as a purely chronological approach, could have been used to examine the material, which might then have lent itself more easily to comparative analysis of the various segments. Yet, especially because little has been written in English, this snapshot approach allows for all the stories to stand more firmly on their own and to be linked directly with the songs that established the basis for their being. The author is fully aware that other angles to this topic could have and still should be taken. One area that particularly deserves a closer look is the Communist Party ideology concerning song as propaganda. As for the use of a more traditional “top down” analysis, some readers may find

Introduction

this lacking to some degree. Yet this “song up” approach has never been taken and, in the author’s opinion, provides a better feel for the culture of the time. Another area deliberately excluded from this research is the study of chas‑ tushki, which were definitely present in both the political and popular cultures of the war. The exclusion was arbitrary because of the difficulty of finding the popular rather than political versions, because work has already been done in this area in the West, and because of personal preference. The work concentrates on the full songs, which are usually much more melodic than the repetitious set tunes for the verses. Yet much satire was produced in the form of limericks; thus, examples of satire are scarcer in this work than in the wartime concerts. Another caveat to the reader is that this book concentrates on Russian song. This is a product of the sources found mainly in central Soviet archives and in the Russian language. In addition to well-developed and broadly represented national cultures, such as Ukrainian and Georgian, to name but two, the USSR was comprised of well over a hundred ethnic minority groups, many with their own written language and culture. This also includes minorities who use the Russian language for their musical expression, such as Jewish music (some of which may have been in Yiddish), prison camp music, and minorities using Russian rather than their own native language or orthography. Information about these groups and their participation in song creation and performance, and official policies during the war toward such nationally colored songwriting, is presented when available, but there is much room for further research and interpretation in the area of policy toward an existence of non-Russian wartime songs. The relaxation of nationality policy during the war may have allowed more acceptance of non-Russian publications and broader participation of ethnic minorities in the area of song production and performance. It is my hope that this book will serve as additional motivation for such studies to be undertaken and published. Another note to the reader concerns the lack of musical notation, or recorded examples of music in this book. This is a history of the wartime song in culture rather than a musicological study. In addition, the prevalence of Soviet wartime songs available on the internet will allow for readers to search on their own for songs that interest them. The vast body of songs created in the four years that the USSR was at war is stunning in its size, its diversity, and the long-lasting popularity of many of the songs. In fact, the author was led to this topic by the songs themselves being sung by friends who were not even born at the time of the war, yet who sang

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these “songs of the military years” with love and sometimes tears. Therefore, this work begins with a chapter dedicated to the songs themselves—for, ultimately, it is the songs that are the center. They were the inspiration for this scholar; they were the goal of every committee and commission that dealt with the creation of music during the war; they were the lifeblood and spirit of their poet and composer creators; and they were the solace, comfort, and respite for those who listened to them in live concerts, on the radio, or on record disks. It is these songs that release the emotions and bring back the memories, both good and bad, of friends and of a war they wish never to see repeated. And when those who survived those years of war are no longer on this earth, it will be the songs that remain as a legacy—a symbol of their pain, joy, struggle, and victory.

Part One The Songs and Their Creators CHAPTER 1

The Songs of the War Years: Themes, Tunes, and Trends PREWAR SONGS AND THEIR INFLUENCE

B

y June 22, 1941, as the Second World War spread eastward, the Soviet Union already possessed a rich musical heritage. Popular genres included songs from the nineteenth-century romance tradition, folk songs from all Soviet regions, urban “cruel romances” from the early twentieth century, Civil War and military songs, and songs from the burgeoning 1930s film industry. With the success of the “talkies”—motion pictures with sound—musicals were being captured for the first time on film. Jazz, though officially frowned on, enjoyed a modicum of freedom during this period, and performances of jazz orchestras were preserved on film.1 Film songs were well known by the public not only from the films themselves but also from recordings played on pathephones, wind-up record players. Radio, introduced to the USSR in the mid-1920s, widely broadcast jazz and other music to audiences eager for entertainment. Well before the country entered the war, in response to militarization in Germany and the threat of Japanese aggression, songs began to prepare the population for military conflict. These efforts were cut short, at least on an ­official level, with the signing of the 1939 Nazi–Soviet Pact. Films and songs with the themes of anti-fascism or preparation for war did 1 For a detailed description in English of jazz music, its performers, and its political fluctuations in the 1930s, see S. Frederick Starr, Red and Hot: The Fate of Jazz in the Soviet Union (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983).

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not appear in the period between the signing of the secret pact and the outbreak of hostilities. When war finally came, many popular prewar songs continued to have broad appeal. Some had remained popular all along, others were brought back into circulation, and still others reappeared featuring new lyrics adapted to wartime situations. Both traditional and popular song styles would be invoked for their symbolic value to a besieged population. The cinema industry formed a vast distribution mechanism in the Soviet Union of the 1930s, giving greater exposure of selected songs to the population at large. These songs came primarily from elaborate film musicals, beginning with Veselye rebiata (The Happy Guys) (1934), and including Tsirk (Circus) and Deti Kapitana Granta (Captain Grant’s Children) (1936), and Volga‑Volga! (1938). Film dramas also often featured songs. The film medium joined radio and recording as methods of dissemination. During this period, many composers of popular songs thrived, a number of whom—Isaak Dunaevskii, Matvei Blanter, Nikita Bogoslovskii, Anatolii Novikov, and others—would also play a large role during the war years. Having become household favorites in the 1930s, some tunes, later erroneously identified as “folk songs,”2 remained popular during the war either in their original forms or in revised versions. Perhaps the best-known example of this type is “Katiusha” (Blanter and Isakovskii). First written in 1938 as an eight-line stanza in response to Soviet military action in the Far East, and later set to music by the composer and subsequently expanded to the full song, “Katiusha” was premiered by the new State Jazz Orchestra of the USSR in February 1939.3 It is often regarded as a folk song of unknown origin rather than as the work of a popular composer and poet. The girl, referred to with the endearment Katiusha, stands on a river bank longing to send a greeting to her beloved, a soldier serving at the distant border. “Let him remember the simple girl / let him hear how she sings to him,” the final verse exhorts. “Let him guard the native homeland / while Katiusha guards their love.” Set in a march tempo, the song’s mood is stirring and uplifting. Hundreds of versions of it appeared during the war. Some renditions stayed true to the theme of the two lovers. In one, the border guard answers the woman 2 I. Shekhonina, Tvorchestvo T. N. Khrennikova (Moscow: Muzyka, 1964), 104, 124; E. Dolmatovskii, Rasskazy o tvoikh pesniakh (Moscow: Detskaia Literatura, 1973), 158, 173–74; Richard Stites, Soviet Popular Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), 74–93. 3 Iu. E. Biriukov, Po voennoi doroge (Moscow: Voennoe Izdatel′stvo, 1988), 107–9 (hereafter cited in text as PVD).

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by promising faithfulness to her and commitment to his country’s defense. In other variants, Katiusha decides to serve more actively in the war effort and leaves the river bank to become a nurse, fight in the ranks, or join the partisans. Some variants depict the importance of Katiusha’s singing; whether sitting at a campfire as a partisan, healing the wounded, or awaiting the return of her soldier lover, her singing brings healing and symbolizes love, loyalty, and even victory. In some sadder versions, the soldier has died and asks the falcon to go to Katiusha with the news and the assurance that he loves her. In more uplifting versions, the soldier returns from victory to the river bank and finds Katiusha waiting for him. The song took on a completely new meaning with the introduction of a Soviet mortar rocket launcher nicknamed “Katiusha.” New versions described how the powerful Katiusha gun was used against the Germans, and how the soldiers loved this weapon. Whether the song gave the rocket its nickname or the name came about independently of the song is unclear; nevertheless, the song and the rocket were closely linked in dozens of versions during the war. Some anthropomorphized the rocket with phrases like “She went to the front pulling her shells behind her,” “What a song she sang!,” and, as a play on Russian hospitality, “Oh you Katia, Katen′ka, girlfriend / Serve the uninvited guests / Give them Ukrainian rolls and Moscow soup quite hot.” Other revisions emphasized the soldiers and their victories due to the powerful rocket.4 When hostilities ceased, the original lyrics came back into popularity and all the other versions were seldom heard, relegated to collections of wartime folklore. “Katiusha” remains an excellent example of a prewar popular song with a simple, singable melody that could be adapted to new lyrics suitable for different occasions and conditions. It became one of the best-known war songs both during and after the war due to this variability, but also because it was exported to the West during the war where it acted as a symbol of Soviet strength in the allied war effort. The exported Soviet versions such as the recordings of the Red Army ensemble as well as the Western adaptations in concerts and films meant that this song had a life abroad as well.5 Another song that took on a double meaning during the war was “Chaika” (Seagull), with Miliutin’s lyrical tune written in waltz time and LebedevKumach’s lyrics for the film Moriaki (Sailors). The lyrics tell of a girl remembering 4 I. N. Rozanov, “Pesnia o Katiushe kak novyi tip narodnogo tvorchestva,” in Russkii Fol′klor Velikoi Otechestvennoi Voiny, ed. V. E. Gusev (Moscow-Leningrad: Nauka, 1964), 310–25. 5 See Chapter 3 for more information on Soviet wartime songs abroad.

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her sailor boyfriend who is at sea fighting a war. Premiering in 1937 or 1938, the film itself was a thinly veiled call for the country to prepare for war. During the war, the poet added another verse and the song was again widely published. Although its content clearly referred to the sea and the Navy, pilots in the Soviet Air Force appropriated the song. Just as artillerists identified their mortar rocket with “Katiusha,” the pilots named one type of bomber “Chaika” and penned additional verses about it.6 Here, for example, is a verse by Aleksandr Tarbeev: Chaika bravely flew off / into the bluish smoke / bombed and returned / and is over me now. / Well, Chaika, answer me, / how was the flight? / How many Fritzes [superior Aryans] / were shot down and fell in the bushes? / Well, Chaika, land / and take on a new load / refuel and take off / again into the sky. / Our Chaika flew away / up into the clouds. / OK, Chaika, give them what for! / Give heat to the enemy!7

A song written in the late 1930s that played a role in the music of the Great Patriotic War was “Komsomol′skaia proshchal′naia” (Komsomol farewell song), by Dm. Pokrass and M. Isakovskii.8 The song, inspired by the film Podrugi (Girlfriends), tells of young men and women parting as the men go off to fight. Although the song originally reflected events from the Civil War, Isakovskii later recalled that it took on new meaning during World War II: “It became like an oath, a promise of meetings after the war. Such words were needed during that difficult time.”9 Bogoslovskii and Dolmatovskii’s “Liubimyi gorod” (Beloved City) also features the theme of defense of the beloved motherland, but it broadens the focus from two lovers to the love of a city. Written for the film Istrebiteli (Fighter planes), it tells of pilots who must fly far from home, but whose valiant efforts enable their beloved city to sleep peacefully. It is perhaps the most lyrical of the earlier works. Other songs, including “Makhorochka” (Little Cigarette) (Listov and Ruderman), and “Tri Tankista” (Three Tankists) (Pokrass brothers and Laskin), treat such subjects as the camaraderie of soldiers, the soldiers’ relationship to 6 Biriukov, PVD, 130–32. 7 P.F. Lebedev, comp., V boiakh i pokhodakh (Moscow: Sovetskii Kompozitor, 1975), 227. This version was published in 1942 under the title “Pesnia letchikov-shturmovikov” (Song of the bomber pilots). For another version on the same theme by guard soldier Nikolai Tumanovskii, “Pesnia o chaike” (Song about a seagull), see ibid., 228. 8 Komsomol is the common abbreviation of the Communist Council of Youth. 9 Biriukov, PVD, 81–83.

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their weapons, and military life in general. Appearing before World War II, they look back at the Russian and Spanish civil wars or focus on Soviet military events that had taken place in the Far East in the 1930s. These themes were to remain constant in songs written during the war; some of the earlier compositions, then, could be heard and appreciated in their original versions. In contrast, “Konarmeiskaia” (Cavalry Song), by the Pokrass brothers and Surkov, took on a completely new meaning during the war. Originally, it described the famous First Cavalry Army led by Semen Budennyi in the Russian Civil War. During the Second World War, however, many military units borrowed its melody and form and substituted new lyrics to recount their own battle histories. Once again, we observe the tendency to change, supplement, or, in some cases, completely rewrite lyrics to suit current war experiences. One prewar song in particular captures the mood of the times and symbolizes the propaganda effort to prepare the country for war, which began in the 1930s with the rise of Fascism, but was officially silenced with the signing of the Nazi–Soviet Pact in 1939. In 1937, Klim Voroshilov, the People’s Commissar of Defense, commissioned the Pokrass brothers and Lebedev-Kumach to write “Esli zavtra voina” (If there is war tomorrow). The song was ready in time to be included in a film of the same name that was produced in honor of the twentieth anniversary of the Red Army in February 1938 and extolled the capabilities of Soviet troops. Millions of copies of sheet music were published and distributed, and the Red Banner Ensemble recorded it. The message of the song was clear: If there is a war tomorrow / if the enemy falls upon us / if the dark forces threaten / Like one man, the entire Soviet people / will arise for the freedom of their homeland. / . . . If there is a war tomorrow / if we must go on campaign tomorrow / then be ready for the campaign today.

The song calls upon not only all military branches but also even the singers and musicians themselves to “be prepared.” The last verse declares: “We don’t want war, but we will defend ourselves. / We are strengthening ourselves for a reason. / On his own territory, we will destroy the enemy / with little bloodshed, with a powerful blow.”10 When war broke out, of course, the title itself rendered this song’s message obsolete. Furthermore, initial terrible losses sustained by Soviet forces disproved the lyrics’ bravado. Lebedev-Kumach, undaunted by his song’s fate, matched the well-known marching melody with 10 Biriukov, PVD, 133–35.

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new lyrics—“Podymaisia, narod” (Arise, people)—that encouraged broad participation in the first days of the war. Some prewar songs adapted for wartime use focused on personal relationships rather than military themes. Some were lyrical and romantic; others were more humorous. Perhaps the most famous of these was “Sinii platochek” (Blue kerchief). The Polish jazz group Goluboi dzhaz (Light blue jazz), having fled from the battle zone in 1939, performed it for Soviet audiences, though it is unclear in what language, if any. Having heard this version, the Russian playwright and poet Ia. Galitskii wrote a new set of lyrics. The song was a hit and was embraced by many Russian singers, including Vadim Kozin, Lidiia Ruslanova, and Klavdiia Shul′zhenko. On the eve of the war it was recorded in Leningrad by the singer E. Iurovskaia.11 In April 1942, a novice journalist, Lieutenant M. A. Maksimov, recast the lyrics he had seen in a newspaper at the Volkhov front at the request of Shul′zhenko. After the war, Maksimov’s rendition and the original version were blended together to form the current text. Whereas the first version was a lighthearted reminiscence of the narrator’s encounters with a girl with a blue kerchief, Maksimov’s treatment relates this memory directly to the war: . . . And often into battle / your memory is guiding me. / I feel you are next to me / with your loving glance / you are always with me. / How many beloved kerchiefs / we are keeping with us. / Tender talks, girls’ shoulders / we remember as we are in the battle ranks. / For those dear ones / those desired and beloved ones / the machine-gunner fires for the sake of the blue kerchiefs / that were on our dear one’s shoulders. . . .12

The song ends with the promise of a springtime meeting under the big pine tree when peace comes. Two other specifically wartime versions of “The Blue Kerchief ” are extant. One describes the first day of the war, the bombing of Kiev, and how the soldier and the girl waved to each other as his train pulled out of the station. Another version actually appeared on packages of dry cereal rations: “Tasty millet cereal / is boiling in the saucepan. / As you try the cereal, / remember Natasha, / the 11 Iu. E. Biriukov (comp. and commentary), Pesni, opalennye voinoi (Moscow: Voenizdat, 1984), 213–14 (hereafter cited in text as POV); Biriukov, PVD, 237–40; A. E. Lukovnikov, Druz′ia-odnopolchane (Moscow: Voenizdat Ministerstva Oborony SSSR, 1975), 61–63. 12 Lebedev, V boiakh, 24.

The Songs of the War Years: Themes, Tunes, and Trends    Chapter 1

girl in the blue kerchief. / And again and again / ready the Fritzes for death. / Remember, friend, the blue kerchief, / and fight for our love.”13 Another song written in the year before the war, “Moriachka” (Sailor’s wife), recounts the story of a girl meeting a sailor who offers her his heart. She jokingly tells him that she doesn’t know where to keep such a present: He was probably offended / and said farewell at the gate somehow. / He didn’t understand a girl’s joke, / the slow-witted sailor. / And in vain I waited for the postman. / The sailor doesn’t write one word / not even his address. / I am sad and depressed. / Grief overwhelms me / that I didn’t say the right thing / that I wasn’t tender. And it is even sadder / that people around town and at home / all call me the sailor’s wife, / and it isn’t clear why.

Written by Isakovskii at the request of the composer, Vladimir Zakharov, the lyrics were borrowed by a number of composers, including Vasilii Solov′evSedoi and Anatolii Lepin. The best-known version, by Leonid Bakalov, was composed at the request of the singer Irma Iaunzem, who had read Isakovskii’s poem in a newspaper while on tour in the north. Bakalov composed a melody and gave it to a military ensemble; then, when war broke out soon after, he forgot about it. In 1942, he was surprised to hear it performed.14 Though from all indications this song was written in a joking spirit, its popularity at the front during the war originated in its underlying theme. For soldiers, it served as reinforcement that someone back home was thinking of them; for girls left behind, it allowed them to make amends indirectly for any less-than-tender farewells to their sweethearts. Any description of prewar military songs must lead the reader to conclude that the situations and conditions depicted therein greatly distorted reality. The Soviet military was neither well prepared nor strong. It was incapable of achieving a swift victory against a foe. Purges of upper- and mid-level military leadership led to chaos in the Ministry of Defense, and development of new military technology was slowed, if not altogether checked. On the other hand, songs depicting relationships probably reflected reality more closely. After all, soldiers did make friends, and men and women did miss one another even if the realities of life failed to match the unwavering loyalties romanticized in song lyrics. 13 The two wartime versions of the text are found in Biriukov, PVD, 237–40. Other sources on this song’s history include Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 60–63; and Biriukov, POV, 213–14. 14 Biriukov, POV, 217–18; Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 57–58.

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To what degree audiences were aware of the discrepancy between art and reality is a more difficult question. Evidence indicates that people in some circles recognized the propagandistic nature of these works. Musicologists and folklorists have dismissed many of the songs of the thirties as “potboilers,” “fake lore,” or pure, unadulterated propaganda. Many of those songs of the 1930s were composed under the rubric of Socialist Realism, the official Soviet style in literature, music and the arts, which emphasized the collective over the individual, patriotic nationalism, and an optimistic view of the present and the future of the Soviet state. These songs also exalted heroes of the past revolution, civil war, and proletariat labor, and were to be accessible to the masses through simple melody, text, and uplifting tones. Many did not endure the test of time. Perhaps war conditions were too severe to justify the jocularity of lighthearted numbers. Perhaps songs looking back to Civil War heroes now seemed archaic. Perhaps, when given more freedom of choice, audiences simply found something better to listen to. In addition to the genres elaborated above, other widely circulated types included the folk song—both genuine examples as well as those consciously created in the Soviet-period romances—and patriotic songs about leaders and the Party. Official ideology drew heavily on the symbolic connotation of folk songs. Folklorists also found in field research immediately after the war that many grassroots songs were based on folk songs from all eras.15 Romances, often written and performed in a gypsy style, were officially frowned on during the war. Their intimate nature, their emphasis on lost loves, and their tavern settings could not—at least officially—be justified. Yet these songs were undoubtedly loved by many, as shown by the great popularity of Vadim Kozin, the foremost singer of this style in the late 1930s. Regardless of the official line, romances were requested and performed both at the front and at home. Patriotic songs flourished during prewar and war periods and were performed widely—if not always enthusiastically—by professionals and amateurs alike. Numbered among these are odes to the Party and its leaders as well as songs in praise of the Motherland or the state. The popularity of particular songs in this genre is difficult to trace because they were officially commissioned rather than spontaneously created. Preserved in songbooks of the day, these songs were promoted for wide performance. For example, Vadim Kozin 15 For numerous examples of folk songs used and adapted during the war, see K. G. Svitova, comp., Nezabyvaemye gody: Russkii pesennyi fol′klor Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny (Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1985).

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included one song in his repertoire about Vladimir Lenin’s birthday, but he was criticized at the highest levels for not incorporating more “patriotic songs” into his concerts.16 During the war, songs about earlier heroes still admired in the 1930s remained part of the popular culture. But as discussed below, new themes arose in World War II patriotic songs, overshadowing the older themes. Songs from the 1930s varied widely in genre and style and reached a broad audience, remaining popular during, and sometimes even beyond, the war years. Later songwriters would borrow their melodies, or lyricists would revise their words to emphasize new themes or elaborate an idea suggested in the original. Obviously, these songs had more going for them than mere familiarity. Someone—a poet, a representative of one branch of the military, or even an entire generation—genuinely liked the songs enough to sing them, rewrite them, or request them during the war.

BLITZKRIEG: THE EARLY WAR SONGS By June 22, 1941, although Adolf Hitler’s attack caught the USSR by surprise and unprepared in many respects, the country had amassed a strong reserve of songs and song traditions to fortify national morale. Not all the songs were appropriate for the new crisis, however, either in mood or lyric content. This was understood by those in the musical world shortly before war broke out. Some small and unofficially sanctioned attempts were made to create songs that would speak to the needs of war. From interviews and memoirs, it is clear that the general population was being prepared in a cheerful and unthreatening way for the possibility of war, even during the period of the Nazi–Soviet pact. Some of those who were children at the war’s outset recall seeing military bands parading and rehearsing, with “If There Is War Tomorrow” and “Beloved City” included among the most popular songs. War might come, but the population was assured by these upbeat songs that it would end quickly. No urgency was implied. Nevertheless, people were more aware of the imminence of war than the establishment would admit. The poet Evgenii Dolmatovskii recounts that a large group of poets and composers were enrolled in a monthlong basic training course in the spring of 1941, despite the fact that many of them had served in the military at Khalkin Gol or in Finland. Organized by the playwright Vsevolod Vishnevskii, who was much involved with the military, the training ended on June 15. Dolmatovskii recalls that upon their return to Moscow, 16 B. A. Savchenko, Vadim Kozin (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1993), 84.

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the editor of the musical division of the radio called several of them in, including himself, Lebedev-Kumach, and the poet Viktor Gusev: The editor, a quiet, calm woman, a musicologist . . .was well respected for her directness. She looked at us through her thick glasses and in an unruffled manner asked, “Doesn’t it appear to you that the atmosphere is changing and very soon war will break out with the Germans?” We were stunned. The newspapers were countering all such rumors, so to have such an opinion was not only unacceptable but possibly dangerous. Not waiting for an answer, she continued, “We have to consider which songs the Red Army will take into battle. After all, ‘If There Is War Tomorrow’ just won’t do. If in the near future you come up with some songs, bring them here. I promise that, before any outbreak of war, your work in this area will not be known by anyone else.”17

The unidentified woman undoubtedly was carrying out orders from above in making this request; Dolmatovskii goes on to say that Lebedev-Kumach at least took the request seriously and, in the week before the war started, was already working on the lyrics to the song that would eventually become the best-known war song of all, “Sviashchennaia voina” (The sacred war). Thus, at the outset of the war, the double message was clear, at least in some circles. Newspapers denied the inevitability of war and exhorted all to remain calm. But if war did break out, it would be short and victory was assured. At the same time, some elements of the population were being trained in combat skills, while writers were working on new songs with martial themes. Many composers and poets no doubt had anticipated war and created their own form of blitzkrieg with the outbreak of hostilities. In the first weeks of the war, songs flooded the Union of Composers and the newspapers and radio. The music historian Boris Schwarz estimates that in the first days hundreds of songs were sung and written down.18 The Presidium of the Orgkomitet (Organizing Committee) of the Union of Composers met daily from June 23 to July 5, 1941; slightly less often through July 16, when a large session was held in connection with the administration of Muzfond (the Music Foundation); then every twelve days or so into September. From June 23 through July 1, the Presidium heard in its daily meetings 17 Dolmatovskii, Rasskazy, 183–84. 18 Boris Schwarz, Music and Musical Life in Soviet Russia, 1917–1981 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1983), 181.

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approximately seventy-five songs and accepted for performance, distribution, publication, and/or broadcast about fifty of them.19 These were rigorously selected, based on an audition procedure established on June 26. The Presidium heard only songs already approved by the Union of Composers’ Defense Commission, which screened an unknown number of works. The comments on rejected songs suggested text revisions or pointed out that “text and music do not match.” If revised, these songs might have been resubmitted and approved. It is clear that poets and composers were already working hard to create songs that would address the crisis of war. To expedite the approval process, representatives from the musical division of the Committee on Art Affairs, the Radio Committee, and the music publisher Muzgiz were present at the auditions held by the Presidium.20 One of the songs heard was a melodic version of “The Sacred War” by Matvei Blanter on June 23.21 The appearance of Blanter’s version so soon after war was declared supports the claim that the poet Lebedev-Kumach had already worked on, if not finished, those lyrics. From all accounts the song was completed, gained approval, and premiered within the first week of the war. Although Blanter’s version was reviewed first and was published by Muzgiz on June 27, the melody that gained popularity as the anthem of the war years was written by A.V. Aleksandrov, composer and head of the Red Banner Ensemble of Song and Dance of the Soviet Army and eventually the composer of the new Soviet national anthem. Aleksandrov discovered Lebedev-Kumach’s verses in the June 24 issue of either Izvestiia or Krasnaia zvezda (the verses were also read on the radio on that date) and had his new melody ready by the following day. On June 26, the song was among the new works that the Red Banner Ensemble of Song and Dance was learning.22 The song’s public debut took place soon after this, perhaps on the same day, for troops heading west at the Belarusian train station in Moscow. One of the members of the ensemble reports that even the first performance of the song indicated it would become the anthem of the war and the symbol of the strength and determination of the Soviet people: With the first measures we felt that the song had grabbed the soldiers. By the time the second verse started there was absolute silence in the w ­ aiting hall. 19 These are the author’s estimates from reading the protocols of the Presidium of the Organizing Committee of the Union of Composers of the USSR (SSK) and the Russian State Archive of Literature and Art (RGALI), f. 2077, op. 1, d. 37. 20 RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 37. 21 Aleksandrov’s version, the famous melody, is not mentioned in these minutes. 22 “New Red Army Songs,” Pravda, June 27, 1941.

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Part One    The Songs and Their Creators Everyone stood up as for an anthem. On their serious faces were worry and tears, and this feeling was passed to us, the performers. . . . They asked for the song again and again. We repeated it five times.23

Aleksandrov’s melody, solemn and measured in tempo and mood, crescendos to a major key, leaving the audience with a sense of hope. Lebedev-Kumach’s lyrics are also stern yet noble: Arise huge country / Arise to the fatal battle / with the fascist dark force / with the accursed horde. / Let noble rage / build like a wave. / The People’s War / the Sacred War / is being waged. / . . . We fight for light and peace / and they for the kingdom of darkness. / . . . Let us go break them / with all of our strength, / our hearts and our souls / for our dear land / and for our great Union. . . .

Aleksandrov’s version was published by Muzgiz on June 30 in five thousand copies, only half the number of Blanter’s version. It was heard in a film concert in September 1941 and was recorded by the Red Banner Ensemble in 1942.24 A different Blanter song, “Do svidaniia, goroda i khaty” (Goodbye, cities and village huts), with text by Isakovskii, enjoyed more success than the composer’s first effort. Blanter recalled that Isakovskii read him the text over the phone on June 23, and he immediately sat down to compose a melody. After a few hours, he called Isakovskii back to sing him the tune. The next day he submitted the song to the Composer’s Union, which supported it. The music was published in Pravda on June 29. Other composers also set Isakovskii’s text to music, including Isaak Dunaevskii, an already well-established song and film composer and then director of the Ensemble of Song and Dance of the Railway Workers. But this time Blanter’s melody was the most enduring. The song is surprisingly lilting, combining a march with solemn lyrics bidding farewell: Come out, girls, at dawn / to send off the Komsomol unit. / You girls, don’t be sad without us. / We shall return with a victory. / . . . The great hour of reckoning is upon us. / The people have put the weapons in our hands. / Farewell, cities and homes. / We are leaving at dawn on campaign.25 23 Iu. A. Emel′ianov, a veteran of the Red Banner Ensemble, is quoted in Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 12–13. 24 Ibid., 9–14; Biriukov, POV, 195; Biriukov, PVD, 136–38. 25 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 20–21; Biriukov, POV, 199–200; Biriukov, PVD, 142–44.

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The feeling and the message conveyed by the song were in keeping with the official stance that the war would be short and easily won. Despite the contradiction between the upbeat melody of “Goodbye, Cities and Village Huts” and the reality of immediate and severe losses, this song remained popular throughout the war and beyond. Younger postwar audiences and war survivors alike often recall it. The song’s durability, in contrast to the fate of others from the earliest months, may be attributable to the lyrics that express a heartfelt farewell. This theory will be discussed later in more detail. Another song written in the first week of the war was “Pesnia smelykh” (Song of the brave). The poet Aleksei Surkov wrote his first version of the text during the Finnish War in 1940. When the USSR joined the European conflict, he rewrote the entire text, with the exception of one phrase, which has entered the Russian language as a modern proverb: “The bullet is afraid of the brave one and the bayonet does not run him through.”26 The first verses depict war as a huge thunderstorm threatening the motherland. Subsequent verses call the various military forces to action: “The planes raced into the air / the tank column moved out. / The infantry platoons went into battle with a song. / A song like a winged bird calls the brave into battle.” The new version of the text was first published on June 25 in Pravda, where several composers read it and were inspired to create their own melodies. Viktor Belyi’s tune is the best known, though wartime songbooks also published others. Fridrikh Mont’s rendition was published in November 1941 in Arkhangel′sk, and a version by Solov′ev-Sedoi was published by Muzgiz. Despite many variants, this song is less memorable to Russians today, except for the phrase from Surkov’s original verse. The titles of numerous songs written in the early weeks of the war reveal prevalent themes, even though the full texts of the songs have not been found.27 These include: “Za chest′ i slavu sovetskogo naroda” (For the honor and glory of the Soviet people), by Belyi and Lebedev-Kumach; “My fashistov razob′em” (We will destroy the Fascists), by Muradeli and Alymov; “Poidut vragi na dno” (The enemy will go to the bottom [of the sea]), by Akulenko and Alymov; and “Za Komsomol, za rodinu, vpered!” (For the Komsomol, 26 Songbooks for 1941 from the Russian State Library (formerly the V. I. Lenin State Library) in Moscow: Oboronnye pesni, a collection by Arkhangel′sk composers; Za rodinu, za Stalina, a collection of defense songs by Moscow and Leningrad composers. 27 The titles listed here have been gathered from newspapers and protocols of the meetings of the Union of Composers. They were approved and recommended for performance, recording, and/or publication.

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for the motherland, forward!), “Bei vraga v pukh i prakh” (Completely rout the enemy), and “V boi, syny naroda” (To battle, sons of the people), all three created by Listov and Zharov. A.V. Aleksandrov noted that by July 1 he had already written four songs, of which “Sacred War” is the best known. His other efforts included “V pokhod! V pokhod!” (Forward, march! Forward, march!), with lyrics by Aleksandr Prokof ’ev; “Vstavai, razgnevannyi narod” (Arise, enraged people), lyricist unknown; and “Za velikuiu zemliu sovetskuiu” (For the great Soviet land), with lyrics by Lebedev-Kumach.28 Most of these early songs are patriotic anthems, odes of praise, and hopeful calls to victory. The lyrics nearly always present the strength of the USSR in relation to the enemy (not necessarily identified as Nazi Germany) and inevitably praise the leaders and institutions of the Soviet Union. “Za rodinu, vpered” (For the motherland, forward!), by Dunaevskii and Lebedev-Kumach, directly links the success of Soviet troops to the leadership and the nation: “March more confidently / Keep the lines straighter / Stalin is with us / All the people are with us / The enemy will be destroyed forever / Forward against the enemy! / For the sake of the motherland!” As Dunaevskii and Agranian’s “Bei po vragam” (Beat the enemies) states, “Stalin said, ‘The victory will be ours. The Bolshevik country is unconquerable.’”29 “Pesnia muzhestva” (Song of courage) by Bruk and Svetlov goes even further by linking a soldier’s identity to the leader’s: “Stalin is the will of a soldier. Stalin is the heart of a soldier. Stalin is the banner and the glory of a soldier.”30 The navy song, “Morskaia Stalinskaia” (Stalin’s sea song), by Listov and Lebedev-Kumach, effusively proclaims the sailors’ devotion: “Under water we remember him with love. We think of him in the air. On our breaks, we make up songs about him as though he were our dearest relative.” The song calls Stalin “the father and friend of the Soviet sailors” and “the wise flagman of the country of the Bolsheviks.”31 Other patriotic songs mention Lenin, the People’s Commissar of Defense, generals, and political commissars and instructors. Some songs were nonspecific in nature, such as “Nash tovarishch komissar” (Our comrade commissar), by Novikov and Lebedev-Kumach. Others were quite specific in reference, such as “Tri Stalinskikh druga” (Three of Stalin’s friends), by Shatrov and Vinnikov, which extolled the three generals Voroshilov, 28 Biriukov, PVD, 137; G. Polianovskii, Aleksandr Vasil′evich Aleksandrov, 2nd ed. (Moscow: Sovetskii Kompozitor, 1985), appendix. 29 These texts can be found in Pesni Otechestvennoi voiny, a song collection published by the Central House of the Railway Workers in 1942. 30 Krasnoflotskie pesni (Moscow: Muzgiz, 1942). 31 Pesni Voenno-Morskogo Flota (Moscow: Muzgiz, 1942).

The Songs of the War Years: Themes, Tunes, and Trends    Chapter 1

Budennyi, and Timoshenko. These patriotic pieces were written by nationally known poets and composers as well as by local artists. Minutes of Composers’ Union meetings indicate that many of these early patriotic wartime songs were first officially approved and then broadcast and published in leaflets and song collections. Yet most do not seem to have lasted through the war, let alone beyond it. People who lived through the war would not refer to them, and they rarely appear in the lists of works performed by brigades and ensembles that were published in newspapers throughout the war. There are many explanations for these omissions and for the short-lived popularity of the songs. Quickly produced, they may have lacked the quality that would have made them more enduring—although some songs written just as quickly were extremely successful (such as “The Sacred War” and “Goodbye Cities and Village Huts”). The failure to include these patriotic works in lists of songs performed could either mean that they were not performed at all or that they were mandatory concert selections that did not warrant a mention. Perhaps the population resented the relentlessly upbeat message that failed to match their reality: the fall of cities one after another, bombings, and mass evacuations of people and organizations from threatened areas. In addition, certain generals, such as Budennyi and Timoshenko, lost favor and were removed from command in the latter part of the war; hence, songs that concerned their heroism or deeds would have been purged from performance lists. Also, as the war went on, emphasis on Stalin lessened—though it never fully disappeared—to be replaced by an emphasis on the nation, the people (narod), or military collective power. In short, as the German military blitzkrieg proved successful, the songwriters’ attack found its limitations. Wartime songs had to be reshaped into a form that more closely matched the wartime realities or be left trampled in the chaotic retreat.

FAREWELL TO NORMALITY: THE EARLY LYRICAL SONGS After the first month or so, once the initial shock of the war had subsided, a new song style emerged. Soviet musicologists call these melodic works “lyrical songs” (in contrast to the earlier, more spirited marching music), but the genre can be categorized more precisely. The songs are farewells, acknowledging the reality of war that banished recruits and evacuees alike from all that was familiar, possibly even to their deaths. The object of these farewells might be a loved one—a soldier, a girlfriend, a mother sending her son to war—or a city or region. The songs in this new genre were more popular and remained in circulation longer than earlier offerings, often long after the war ended.

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Some were more solemn or patriotic than others, but all farewell songs expressed hope for return. “Goodbye Cities and Village Huts” was the earliest work to express in its lyrics the sadness of farewell, though its melody still reflected an unwarranted optimism. Most other examples of farewell songs were softer, more tender, and sometimes even melancholic. Some farewell songs took the form of a personal conversation between two people. “Proshchanie” (Farewell) was first heard in a film concert produced by Mosfilm as the Germans approached Moscow. A draft of the lyrics was written by Fedor Kravchenko and appeared in the Mosfilm bulletin, where he was an editor in the script department. The producer of the film concert32 asked Kravchenko to try to work it into a song and introduced the writer to the composer Tikhon Khrennikov, who was scoring part of the film. Khrennikov would later become Chairman of the Composers’ Union and a key figure in enforcing postwar musical policy. The song had to be completed quickly because the film was almost finished and bombs were falling thickly in the area around Mosfilm. The song, interpreted by Tamara Ianko in the film, is solemn and the text serious: Go, beloved, my dear one. / The tragic day has brought separation. / The fierce enemy has hit us with war. / The cruel enemy has raised his hand against our happiness. / . . . There where the fierce battle is raging, / where the whirlwind of death has loosed itself, / I will be with you, my dear friend, with my whole heart / I will share your way as a loyal girlfriend. / Go, my beloved. Go, dearest!

In addition to its premiere in the film, the song was published by Muzgiz in 1941.33 One song was published under two different titles, “Provozhala mat′ synochka” (A mother saw her son off) and “Materinskii nakaz” (A mother’s instruction), by Listov and Alymov. It is unclear whether the lyrics were intended to console mothers or sons: A mother saw her son off. / She embraced him oh so strongly, / but didn’t wipe her eyes with a handkerchief. / She didn’t cry bitter tears. / A terrible 32 The name of this particular “film concert” varies in the written sources. Lukovnikov calls it Vozvrashchaisia s pobedoi (Return with victory), while Biriukov names it My zhdem vas s pobedoi (We await your victorious return). Both sources identify the same producer and give similar descriptions; the discrepancy in the title remains unexplained. Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 23–24; Biriukov, POV, 198; Biriukov, PVD, 140–41. 33 See note 30.

The Songs of the War Years: Themes, Tunes, and Trends    Chapter 1 enemy is threatening / like a black cloud approaching. / I am not the only one / who is seeing a dear son off into combat. / . . . I am giving you a kerchief. / Use it to wipe away sweat and blood. / I have wrapped this kerchief / around my love.

Bravery and victory are possible, the song says, because a mother has sustained her son, who will return victorious. The song, often uncredited, received so much attention in the military press that it was widely believed to be an anonymous soldier’s composition.34 Later in the war, more songs focused on the promise to wait. The first, “Zhdi menia” (Wait for me), is best known for its text by Konstantin Simonov. Written as a poem in lieu of a letter home, the author delivered the verse to his wife on a quick stop in Moscow between stints as a correspondent at the western and northern fronts. Simonov later said that the poem was intended as a private communication but was shared with others when they were snowed in with nothing to do for days but recite poetry and tell stories. Yet in 1974 he recounted something quite different: that the poem had been turned down as “too intimate” for publication. Whatever the case, the verse was finally published on January 14, 1942, in Pravda. Its popularity soared both as a poem and as a basis for song lyrics. Many melodic versions of this poem appeared. N. Kriukov composed one version for the film Paren′ iz nashego goroda (The fellow from our town), M. Gorbenko’s version appeared in the same year for Leonid Utesov’s orchestra, and Blanter’s version was recorded by Georgii Vinogradov. Other composers tackling the poem included Muradeli, Krasev, Navoev, Solov′ev-Sedoi, and quartermaster M. Rodin. Apparently, no single melody outshone any other. Most were criticized for such failings as “not matching the text,” being “too sappy,” or being “too complex to be widely distributed.” Because Blanter’s melody was sent abroad to the United States, it clearly held greater official status than the others. It is also the version found in songbooks today. In contrast to the melodies, the poem itself found great acceptance. It was usually praised highly, even if the critic found fault with one of the musical versions. The poem is widely taught and well known today, whereas the song version is presented almost as an afterthought. This is unique in the war songs that have remained popular. Yet certainly the piece was sung frequently during the war. It also generated a number of response-type songs, often called “Zhdu tebia” 34 Biriukov, POV, 198–99.

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(I wait for you). Serious efforts clearly were made to create a popular song from a beloved poem.35 “Ogonek” (Little flame), by Isakovskii and originally published in Pravda on April 19, 1943, was identified as a song, though no score was printed. The origins of the most popular melody accompanying it remain unclear. Debates ensued as to which melody was the most popular. Dolmatovskii reports that dozens of melodies were sung by different people. Blanter and other professional composers set the text to music, as did amateur composers, including sailors and soldiers. Nevertheless, Dolmatovskii claims that the most popular version—the one still heard today—made use of an old Polish tune, “Stella,” and was not recorded until after the war. In contrast, in the Baltic region, a rendition by an amateur composer, the sailor Nikitenko, was most often heard.36 The third song, “Temnaia noch′” (Dark night), was written for the film Dva boitsa (Two warriors) in the summer of 1942. The composer Nikita Bogoslovskii remembers that the composition fell magically into place. His usual collaborators were unavailable in Tashkent at the time, so a relatively unknown poet, Vladimir Agatov, was recruited to write the lyrics. According to the composer, both wrote nearly flawless first drafts of the work and were able to finish completely in a matter of hours. Even the actor and singer Mark Bernes learned the song in one night (which apparently was unusual for him).37 All three of these songs, lyrical solo pieces, affirmed the hopeful message that someone was waiting. “You are waiting and you don’t sleep beside 35 Because of the lack of any single melodic version of this song, it is difficult to find sources dedicated to it. The information here has been gathered from the following: L. I. Lazarev, Konstantin Simonov: Zhizn′ i tvorchestvo (Moscow: Russkii Iazyk, 1990), 42, 44, 47; S. Krasil′shchik, comp., Muzy veli v boi (Moscow: Agenstvo Pechati i Novostei, 1985), 52–53; V. I. Zak, Matvei Blanter (Moscow: Sovetskii Kompozitor, 1971), 172; G. A. Skorokhodov, Zvezdy sovetskoi estrady (Moscow: Sovetskii Kompozitor, 1982), 64–66; and Savchenko, Kozin, 73. Archives: Protocol 8, Tvorcheskaia Komissiia of the Moscow Union of Composers, March 28, 1942, RGALI f. 2077, op. 1, d. 60; Protocol 15, Tvorcheskaia Komissiia of the Union of Soviet Composers, Oct. 20, 1942, and Protocol 22, Nov. 28, 1942, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 53; stenogram of plenum held in the Central House of Composers, April 6, 1943, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 61; open session of the Presidium of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, April 27, 1942, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 57, L. 29; stenogram of the conference on song held by Union of Soviet Composers, June 16–19, 1943, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 83, L. 85, 246; meeting of the Tvorcheskoe Sobranie of the Soviet Union of Composers, May 18, 1942, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 61, 36 Dolmatovskii, Rasskazy, 198–99. See also Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 170–71; Biriukov, POV, 216–17; and Biriukov, PVD, 250–52. 37 Nikita Bogoslovskii, interview by author, December 1990, audio tape, Moscow, Russia (in author’s possession).

The Songs of the War Years: Themes, Tunes, and Trends    Chapter 1

the cradle,” says the last line of “The Dark Night,” “and therefore I know that nothing bad will happen to me.” “Wait for Me” exhorts, “Wait for me and I will return / but you must wait / . . . wait while it rains / . . . snows / . . . while there is drought. / Wait even after everyone else / has given up waiting. / And don’t you drink to my memory / when the others do.” “The Little Flame” depicts a girl sitting by her window with a burning candle lit to help her beloved soldier find his way home. No matter how unrealistic, these romantic notions offered reassurance to soldiers and sailors at war that those who loved them would still be there when they returned. The messages also served as reminders, albeit gentle and indirect ones, to those at home that they should remain loyal. The lyricism and expressions of hope and beauty in the songs must have given some inner peace to fighters and those awaiting them at home. Other songs dealt less immediately and less personally with parting. Songs written as farewells to cities, territories, or regions were written almost exclusively in the first half of the war, when people left for the front or were evacuated from besieged areas. Sometimes lyrics would be changed after territory was reclaimed or danger was averted. This usually meant that a final verse was added to the original song and/or the verb tenses were changed to indicate the past. One of the earliest songs of this genre was “Vecher na reide” (Evening on the quay), about Leningrad. The composer Vasilii Solov′ev-Sedoi and the poet Aleksandr Churkin wrote “Evening on the Quay” just a day or so before Solov′ev-Sedoi was evacuated to Orenburg (then called Chkalov) in late August 1941. The theme reflected the composer’s experience. One evening he was clearing wood to minimize the danger of fires from bombings. “We finished the work and listened to the sailors’ singing in the distance for a long time,” he recalled. “I thought it would be good to write about this quiet, lovely evening, unexpectedly falling into the path of people who tomorrow might face going into a dangerous campaign . . . The words came as if by themselves, ‘Farewell, beloved city,’ and the melody came but there were no other lyrics. . .”38 Churkin finished the lyrics and also included the familiar reference to the blue kerchief in the last line. The song, a description of a specific scene, also serves as a tribute and farewell to the city and to the girl the sailor leaves behind. When the work was presented to the Leningrad Composers’ Union, it was severely criticized for its sadness and lyricism and for not directly mentioning the war. Subsequently, the song was rejected by the composers in Chkalov as

38 V. Solov′ev-Sedoi quoted in Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 54.

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well.39 Solov′ev-Sedoi disagreed with these objections and ignored the snub; his small touring group, Iastrebok (The little hawk), performed the song at the front near Rzhev in the spring of 1942. It caught on with the soldiers first, only later gaining widespread popularity.40 Though written by professionals, the song did not find approval in professional circles. At the time of its debut, the official view on song had not yet comprehended the value of lyrical songs and still clung to the concept of upbeat patriotic marches as the only effective fighting weapon. Rather, its initial popularity spread through concerts at the front and by fighting men passing it on to one another and requesting it from the radio committee and other media sources. “Evening on the Quay” also may have entered the concert repertory through the efforts of the Central Ensemble of the Navy from Leningrad, which obtained the work directly from the composer soon after it was written and performed it on Moscow Radio in 1942. This ensemble would have experienced the winter of siege in Leningrad and more quickly grasped the song’s potency and power. Even after the victory, this song remained intact as a symbol of the great sacrifices of the Leningraders and their city. Other versions of the song center on the city of Sevastopol and on the partisans.41 Another especially popular farewell song, “Proshchaite, skalistye gory” (Farewell, rugged mountains), by Zharkovskii and Bukin, tells of the sailors of the Northern Fleet taking leave of the rugged shores of the Kola Peninsula on their way to battle in the Bering Sea. Zharkovskii read the verses in a frontline newspaper and only later, after the song was finished, met Bukin in person. The commander of the Northern Fleet, Admiral A. Golovko, relates in his memoirs how the song was played for a visiting British delegation: “After lunch, our navy ensemble gave a concert. They opened as usual with the wonderful song ‘Farewell, Rugged Mountains.’ Like everyone in the fleet, I have heard this song many times, and again and again it touches my heart, especially at the most difficult times.”42 “Pesnia o Dnepre” (Song of the Dnieper), by Fradkin and Dolmatovskii, served as a symbol of the war for Ukraine in the same way “The Sacred War” 39 Dolmatovskii, Rasskazy, 214. There are discrepancies about who actually heard the song and rejected it. In one place, Solov′ev-Sedoi says he didn’t present the song in Leningrad, but only later in Chkalov. Other sources indicate that not only was the song presented in Leningrad but it was sung there even after the composer was evacuated. 40 V. P. Solov′ev-Sedoi, Vasilii Pavlovich Solov′ev-Sedoi: Vospominaniia, stat’i, materialy, ed. S. M. Khentova (Leningrad: Sovetskii Kompozitor, 1987), 17. 41 Lukovnikov, Druzi′a, 54–55; Biriukov, POV, 206–7; Biriukov, PVD, 195–97. 42 E. Zharkovskii, Liudi i pesni: Pesnia v stroiu (Moscow: Sovetskii Kompozitor, 1978), 78.

The Songs of the War Years: Themes, Tunes, and Trends    Chapter 1

stood for Russia. Dolmatovskii recounts his capture and escape from behind enemy lines in the fall of 1941. Upon his return to Soviet-held territory, he reported to the town of Uriupensk to submit an account of his actions (he had been listed among the dead). Trying to write creatively about his experience, he jotted down many verses for possible songs but lacked a composer to work with. At about that time, November 1941, the Ensemble of Song and Dance of the Southwestern Front came to town, with Mark Fradkin as resident composer, and the two decided to collaborate. Finding a piano in the house of a priest, they spent the next two days completing the song. “That night the ensemble heard the song and was ordered to learn it by the next day,” Dolmatovskii recalls. “The order was not that easy to fulfill. The choir members were all from Kiev and they were all crying and could not sing.”43 The lyrics describe the battle for the Dnieper, praising the heroes who died there and who will be remembered forever. The Dnieper will be free again, the narrator promises: “The enemy is drinking your water / . . . but the glorious hour will come / and we will go forward and see you again. / The army and the people, like the spring river, / will wash the fascist dogs off the Soviet land.” Throughout the war Fradkin was praised for this song, which established his reputation as a promising composer. Though some subsequent works were criticized, he remained a prominent figure. Mokrousov and Zharov’s “Zavetnyi kamen′” (The cherished rock) was special to the Crimea and to Sevastopol in particular. The song is a bit of an exception in the farewell songs since it dated from the end of 1943 and described events that took place much earlier. In July 1942, after many months of battle, the city surrendered to the Germans. Mokrousov and Zharov had been working on a ballad about the Black Sea sailors, but had not finished it before the Crimea fell and they parted ways. Meeting again in 1943, they decided to finish their song. They drew on the legend of a sailor who takes a piece of granite from the shore and, before he dies, passes it on to another comrade so that someday the rock will be returned to its rightful place.44 Songs like these were general enough to capture the imagination of a wide audience. Their solemnity and portrayal of the soldiers’ love for their country and people gave them a specific point of reference. They played simultaneously on the collective sense of the war—the protection of homeland and culture— and the personal feelings of those participating. This dual effect contributed to their longevity, even years after survivors of the war had returned to their homes and families. 43 Dolmatovskii, Rasskazy, 193–94. 44 Dolmatovskii, Rasskazy, 222–23.

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WAR IS HERE TO STAY: SONGS ABOUT WARTIME LIFE As weeks turned into months, as the troops retreated farther and farther eastward, and as the casualties mounted, any illusions that the war would be shortlived were shattered. Only the repulsion of the Germans from the capital in fall 1941 gave some sense of hope for victory. Civilians and soldiers alike understood they were in the war for the long haul, and their songs began reflecting this new state of normality. Despite this new reality, the officially enforced style of socialist realism demanded that optimism still be emphasized. However, there was more flexibility now. Themes of new songs portrayed both mundane aspects of daily life and those events that were unusual. The lyric and melodic genres also varied from humorous to tender and sentimental, and from jazzy, even bouncy, numbers to quiet waltz-time ballads. There are many examples of lyrical songs that deal with personal thoughts, soldiers’ friendships, daily life, and remembrances of home and family. Most songs that remained popular were written in the first half of the war, before June 1943, with just a few exceptions. Some were written as personal notations in the form of poetry or song; others were commissioned specifically for films and plays. The text to “V zemlianke” (In the dugout), by Listov and Surkov, one of the tenderest of songs, originated in the lines of a letter sent by Aleksei Surkov to his wife in the fall of 1941. The following spring the composer contributed the famous melody and the song spread throughout the USSR. Konstantin Listov stated: The lines gripped me with their lyric strength and sincerity, and called to my heart. The time was worrisome, the Germans were outside of Moscow. I was alone; my family was in evacuation . . . I wrote the song in a flash and in a few days I sang it at the newspaper office. E. Vorob′ev asked me to write it down . . . I left and honestly forgot about the song. I didn’t think it would go. Quite unexpectedly, I saw it in [the newspaper] Komsomol′skaia pravda.45

Describing a soldier hidden in his winter dugout, the song turns into a confession of love, the memory of which brings him happiness and warmth. As with Solov′ev-Sedoi’s “Evening on the Quay,” the censors were unhappy with “In the Dugout,” particularly objecting to the line, “It is not easy for me to reach you / but 45 A. Tishchenko, Konstantin Listov (Moscow: Sovetskii Kompozitor, 1987), 31.

The Songs of the War Years: Themes, Tunes, and Trends    Chapter 1

death lies only four steps away.”46 The sentiment was considered too bleak and depressing and therefore detrimental to morale building. Nevertheless, judging by the soldiers’ letters requesting the song, it was exactly the honesty of the sentiment and the reality depicted in the song that they appreciated. This example illustrates the deviation from the official line that appeared during the war, which would disappear again in the postwar years. Another song, “Sluchainyi val′s” (The chance waltz), by Fradkin and Dolmatovskii, failed to receive the glorious praise of their earlier work, “Song of the Dnieper.” In plenums and discussions, the new lyrical waltz was attacked for its “frivolity” and “sentimentality” and was generally dismissed as “too lighthearted.” But its popularity among the troops outweighed official criticism. The song was created when the two men met again on a train leaving Stalingrad in February 1943. An episode related by Fradkin served as the inspiration. A pilot had asked him to write a song so that Zina, a girl from a nameless village with whom he had once danced, would be able to find him. (Dolmatovskii recalled that a Zina later wrote to them asking how to find the pilot, but he had died by then.) An earlier poem by Dolmatovskii, “Tantsy do utra” (Dances until morning), also helped shape the lyrics. It took the artists seven days to reach Elets, their destination, and Fradkin played the song at every stop. Dolmatovskii remembers that the song seemed to outrace the train. “The Chance Waltz” was not the original title. “Ofitserskii val′s” (Officer’s waltz), the first title, was believed to exclude the experience of soldiers of lower rank and was therefore changed.47 Despite official criticism, this song has remained one of the favorites from the war years. Perhaps it caught on so well and so quickly because it combined the reality of wartime—the constant transient life of meeting strangers for moments or hours in villages, train cars, or dugouts—with a pure romanticism and peacefulness extremely rare in the chaotic days of war. Two people far from home give each other civilized human contact and warmth for the few tender moments of one dance. “V lesu prifrontovom” (In the forest near the front) by Blanter and Isakovskii is one of the most lyrical and oft-mentioned songs of this period. Its melody was widely heard decades later; in the early 1990s, it introduced television spots on wartime anniversaries on Moscow’s First Channel. One of the most complex songs of the era, it was written by the same team that created 46 I have translated into English from Russian the lyrics from the song “V zemlianke,” (In the dugout), also frequently referred to as “Zemlianka” (Dugout), by Surkov and Listov. 47 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 179–81; Biriukov, PVD, 242–44; Biriukov, POV, 214–15.

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“Katiusha”; Isakovskii penned the text, probably early in 1942 after he and a number of writers had been evacuated to Chistopol′ on the Kama river, while Blanter based his melody on two old waltzes. It is unclear when the song was finished or first heard, but it premiered on the radio in 1943, sung by Efrem Flaks. The song works on several levels simultaneously. It incorporates memories of the past: “To this waltz [‘Osennii son’ (‘Autumn Dream’)] / we went dancing on a spring day / To this waltz in our native land / we fell in love with our girlfriends . . . / To this waltz we mourned / when our girlfriends were gone.” Then it switches abruptly to reality: But war has changed everything: . . . in the forest near the front / the waltz is heard again / and everyone sits quietly / thinking his own thoughts. / . . . Let the light and joy of our past meetings / show us the way in the difficult minutes / and if we must die, / well, it is only once.

Inspirational words then draw the fighters onward: Don’t let death in the smoke and fire / scare the fighters. / And let everyone carry out / what he is meant to do. / Friends, when it is our turn . . . / let our hearts be strong / and don’t let our hands shake. / . . . Let’s go / for everything we had yesterday / and for everything we await tomorrow.

Written in a lyrical mode, the song could be performed quite effectively as a solo, but it was often performed by choirs or a combination of choir and soloist.48 Throughout the war, songs written about the more mundane aspects of soldiers’ daily lives, friendships, and accoutrements appeared. One of the earliest, “Dva Maksima” (Two Maksims) by Kats and Dykhovichnyi, was written in Moscow in July 1941, as air raids began. The song tells of two Maksims, a machine gunner and his Maxim machine gun. Both fight bravely, are hurt in action, and then are “fixed” and returned to the front to fight again. The chorus features a play on words: “‘Tak-Tak-Tak’ (‘Well, well, well’), said the machine gunner. ‘Tak-TakTak’ (‘rat-tat-tat’), said the machine gun.” The song finally aired on the radio after some debate over its seeming frivolity. It was also recorded and preserved in a song-film chronicle (a short musical film clip) sung by Georgii Vinogradov.49 48 Biriukov, PVD, 261–63; Biriukov, POV, 222; Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 175–77. 49 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 40–42; Biriukov, POV, 211; Biriukov, PVD, 214–15. A Maxim gun is a single-barreled, water-cooled machine gun invented by British engineer H. S. Maxim.

The Songs of the War Years: Themes, Tunes, and Trends    Chapter 1

Smoking was the subject of a song written in November 1941, “Davai zakurim” (Let’s smoke), by Tabachnikov and Frenkel. This song of friendship was created at the southern front, where both artists served in the political administration. The text was published without its melody in the southern front newspaper Vo slavu rodiny (Glory to the motherland), and a few months later in Komsomol′skaia pravda. Some twenty composers were to write melodies, but it was Tabachnikov’s version—the first other than the poet’s own amateur attempt—that endured, especially after it was performed by Klavdiia Shul'zhenko in a 1943 program: “Somewhere, sometime, we will talk / about the shelling, / about our friends and comrades. / I will remember the infantry / and my own company / and you, since you gave me a smoke. / Let’s each have a smoke. / Let’s smoke, my friend.” Tabachnikov and Frenkel said in later interviews that they could not explain why a song about smoking meant so much even to nonsmokers. The poet suggests that the key may be the use of the future tense, which implies that these ordeals would someday be memories and that they would all survive the war. But perhaps even more than that, smoking symbolized the building of friendships and ties among soldiers: “bumming” a cigarette, smoking together, taking a break, sharing a precious moment of peace among chaos.50 Another song, “Nash tost” (Our toast) by Liuban and Kosenko, was ostensibly concerned with an everyday activity, drinking together. But like “Let’s smoke,” it also touched on deeper, more significant topics. Raising glasses together implies all that smoking does, and more; it involves a larger community of friends and family, invoking the table, the feast, and a broader tradition. Isaak Liuban wrote the music in the spring of 1942 after serving as a political instructor at the western front, where his fame as a composer in Belarus was unknown. After he was wounded, he returned to composing. The text was the eighteenth one submitted to him. M. Kosenko, a former miner and soldier in Liuban’s battalion, produced the successful lyric: If at a holiday / we get together / with some old friends / everything that is dear to us / is brought to mind / and the song sounds happier. / Let’s drink to Stalin, / let’s drink to the motherland / and pour some more, / drink to the knightly people, / drink to the powerful army / and to the honored navy. / Our toast is to the wise, / glorious Party / and for the banners of victory. / Let’s raise a full glass / to our children. / . . . Drink to happiness / and good fortune / and to meeting you again. 50 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 36–37; Biriukov, PVD, 183–86; Biriukov, POV, 204.

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Alternate versions were produced for other fronts and situations, but all of them covered aspects of patriotic and personal life and service to the nation and family.51 A number of songs dealt with the topics of army and navy clothing and accessories: items that were familiar as well as necessary in wartime life. “Pesnia o bushlate” (Song about the peacoat) was composed by Terent′ev and Flerov at the northern front in 1942. Konstantin Listov also scored a version. Both were performed during the war, but Terent′ev’s version subsequently won out.52 Another popular navy song, “Beskozyrka,” referred to the sailor’s cap. Army gear inspired its own take on the subject. “Pesnia o shineli” (Song about the greatcoat) was written by a senior lieutenant working as a military correspondent for the 172nd Pavlogradskaia Artillery Division in 1943 or later. “Seraia shinel′” (Gray greatcoat), another army song, was published in a newspaper at the second Baltic front by Guard Captain V. Ermakov. Its melody came from an amateur composer and singer, the mechanic Anna Venchikova, who read the verse and created her own tune, performing it often in amateur shows for the troops in 1944.53 Pipes, pouches, and lanterns were featured in songs. “Pesnia o fonarike” (Song about a flashlight) by Shostakovich and Svetlov was relevant not only to fighting troops but also to civilians, such as Shostakovich himself, who was keeping guard at night in fire brigades and carrying out antiaircraft work. The song premiered in spring 1942 in a program entitled “Otchizna” (Fatherland), performed by the NKVD (People’s Kommisariat of Internal Affairs) Song and Dance Ensemble.54 Noteworthy here is that all composers, whether famous symphonic composers like Shostakovich or Prokof ′ev or lesser-known composers writing short popular works, were asked, if not outright required, to submit popular songs for the war effort. Such songs were to be accessible to the mass population in style, melody, and lyrics. Despite their efforts, the symphonic composers’ songs generally were not well-known and did not last. Occasionally, though, the reverse occurred, when a portion of a larger classical work was adapted as a standalone song. “Arise, Russian People!” from his larger film score for Aleksandr Nevskii, written with lyricist Vladimir Lugovskoi, was sung as a separate song. 51 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 77–78. The translation given here has been modified according to the testimony of Lidiia Arkadievna Tuaeva, who heard the song when it still included the lines, “Drink to Stalin, drink to the motherland.” The text printed in Lukovnikov is “Drink to the motherland, our spacious free motherland.” 52 Biriukov, PVD, 211–12; Biriukov, POV, 211–12; Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 97–98. 53 Regarding both of these songs, see Lebedev, V boiakh, 304–7. 54 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 304–6; Biriukov, POV, 210–11.

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Many songs dealing with wartime realities personify the objects they describe and praise. The informal “you” is often heard, and objects are frequently compared to women, wives, or girlfriends. The chorus from “Pesnia o fliazhke” (Song about the flask), published in a newspaper at the Briansk front in summer 1942, serves as a good example: “You campaign flask of mine / my noble girlfriend . . . / you and I together / will fight honorably / and we will never let anyone down.” The verses describe restorative uses of water—­drinking, washing a wound, and helping a comrade—that suggest the ­relationships the soldiers left behind and the nurturing roles traditionally associated with women in patriarchal societies.55 Numerous songs dealt with the basic tools of war. Like “The Two Maksims,” they extolled the fighting man’s weaponry. Rifles, machine guns, cannons, tanks, and even submarines had songs dedicated to and named after them. Some, like “Piat′ pul’“ (Five bullets) by Novikov and Sofronov, are extremely serious and express the desire for vengeance. Five bullets are shot into the enemy—into the “fascist heart”—in revenge for cruelties and crimes carried out in the Dnieper region: . . .for my mother . . . / when I return she will not be there to embrace. / The brigands tore her limb from limb. / . . . My sister . . . / they dragged her to the Dnieper / and drenched her in shame and ignominy. / . . . The fourth bullet I send for my friend / with whom I fought in the south. / Fly, my bullet! / Hand, don’t shake! . . .

The last bullet is sent for the motherland, “dearer than my own life,” and the chamber is reloaded. The grim and heavy-handed text reflects a more realistic attitude toward the conflict than early war songs, and responds to the Germans’ inexorable move eastward and the cruelties inflicted on civilians in their path. The date of composition is unclear. Novikov remembers it as one of his earliest songs, but the first publication date is October 1942.56 Despite its depressing tone to modern ears, the song was clearly meant to enrage and spur the fighters forward with everything they had. Other songs about weapons were more lighthearted. Like “Katiusha” and “The Two Maksims,” they referred to weapons as friends or girlfriends. Two of the most humorous played on the fact that the city of Tula was famous for its samovars and weaponry. “Tul′skaia vintovochka” (Tula rifle) and 55 Lebedev, V boiakh, 298–99. 56 Biriukov, POV, 201.

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“­ Samovary-samopaly” (Firing samovars), by Novikov and Alymov, make use of puns and phrases to interchange these two metal products. The latter serves as an example: “In this clever samovar / there is a special spout for fighting. / . . . Tula tea is not sweet at all / for uninvited guests. / With a sip or a swallow / it burns to the bone. / The Tula brand of tea / comes with fire and lead.” People wanted songs to reflect their experiences and to proclaim their own role in the war. A correspondent for Izvestiia, Mikhail Solov′ev, recalled meeting a female battalion commander, Irma, who said her female troops wanted songs from their perspective. He heard them marching and singing, “In these days of horrible weather we boldly and proudly go to battle.” They were calling a meeting of composers to address the question of songs for female fighters. Solov′ev himself felt it strange to have women singing of such brutal things.57 Unfortunately, no full texts have been found reflecting this theme. The songs of ordinary life, daily events, and common objects could be funny or serious. They could take the form of short chastushki,58 marching verses, or lyrical songs sung at rest or in concert. Written, adapted, and revised throughout the war, they served to buoy up spirits in difficult times or to celebrate victories, both major and minor. They fit any stage of the war, though variations appeared in response to specific situations.

VICTORY ON THE HORIZON: THE TONE SHIFTS As the war continued and Soviet retreats were replaced increasingly by victories, songwriting underwent a shift. The earliest major victory occurred in the winter of 1941, when the Germans were prevented from entering Moscow. The celebration of this rebuff incorporated for the first time upbeat optimistic tunes rather than just solemn patriotic numbers. The first officially sanctioned lighthearted songs appeared soon after. The composer poet team of Novikov and Alymov created the humorous songs “Firing Samovars” and “Vasia-Vasilek” (Little Vasia). Novikov was traveling on a train headed for Sverdlovsk with

57 M. Solov′ev, Zapiski sovetskogo voennogo korrespondenta (New York: Izdatel′stvo imeni Chekhova, 1954), 274–75. Russian grammar can reflect gender even if specific terms are not used. 58 Chastushki are short rhyming limericks that are usually set to standard folk tunes; they differ from region to region. A form of rural folk art, they were most often created spontaneously, particularly by women, at village gatherings and dances. Their subjects were frequently about current events, and their tone was usually satirical or even bawdy.

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the Ensemble of the VTsSPS59 when the two songs premiered in Moscow at a program honoring Lenin. Both works had been awarded prizes in spring 1941 in a contest for military songs, but because the poet and composer agreed that they did not reflect the right mood for wartime, the songs had not yet received public performances. By January 1942, authorities saw things differently, and both songs were included by the Red Banner Ensemble in a concert held in the Maiakovskii metro station. “Little Vasia” is a lively tune about a soldier who is suddenly unhappy because he realizes he hasn’t received a letter from his girl. The song states that if he doesn’t hear from her, it means she didn’t really love him, but that his lucky day will surely come soon. In a humorous way, it teases soldiers and tells them to throw off their sorrows whatever the cause.60 The songs written during this period may be said to typify the first stage as Allied victories began to mount. Though some lighthearted songs may have come from prewar days, many were new and made direct use of wartime experiences set to happier melodies than the earlier lyrical examples. Novikov and Alymov continued their partnership with another humorous song dating from 1943 called “U krinitsy” (At the well) or “Frontovaia boroda” (Frontline beard). The song turned on its head the meaning of the unkempt look of men, undesirable during peacetime but natural enough for soldiers kept long in the field.61 Lighthearted and humorous love songs also began coming back into vogue as the war situation improved. “Vse ravno” (It doesn’t matter), written in 1943 by Miliutin and Solodar' tells of girls at the rear sending gifts to the front, and how the men are happy with any gift no matter its sender. At the song’s end, the soldier expresses the hope that he and the sender will meet after the war.62 “Na solnechnoi polianochke” (In the sunny meadow) by Solov′ev-Sedoi and Fat′ianov began as a verse by the young poet, who was assigned to the literary section of the Ensemble of Song and Dance of the Southern Urals Military District. He met Solov′ev-Sedoi in Orenburg in 1942. In its first version, the melody was set as a waltz, but the composer was dissatisfied with that meter. His second try took the form of a livelier tune with a fairly complex rhythm. The lyrics tell of a soldier playing his accordion and wistfully remembering his

59 The VTsSPS is the All-Union Central Union of Professional Unions (trade unions). At the time, Novikov was director of the ensemble. 60 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 49–51; Biriukov, POV, 204–5; Biriukov, PVD, 189–90. 61 Biriukov, POV, 221. 62 Ibid.

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girl, who said they would talk of marriage only if he came back with a medal: “Play, play, my accordion; and tell of how the dark-eyed girl has made me crazy.”63 Another song, written before the war, still had not been accepted in 1943 by the radio committee. However, by 1944 the Red Banner Ensemble was performing “Smuglianka” (The dark girl) by Novikov and Shvedov, while the radio was playing it as well. Originally part of a suite written for Moldavian partisans in the Bessarabian campaign, the piece became (with some textual changes) a lively song telling of a soldier falling in love with a suntanned Moldavian girl: “One summer morning / I looked into the neighboring garden . . . / and saw her picking grapes. / I blushed and got flustered.” The girl was preparing to go with the Moldavian partisans: “Here by the maple tree / we will part. / . . . I thought of her many nights / and met her again / in the partisan unit.”64 Although purely patriotic songs and inspirational recruiting songs never entirely left the scene, composing and programming possibilities opened up somewhat as the war continued. Two types of songs provided a transition from themes of farewell and early wartime to that of victory. The first lyrical songs concern a soldier’s love for his family, reminiscences of home, and the friendships made in the army. The second is more specific than the lyrical songs, and represents almost a counterpoint to the farewell songs. Clearly, the soldier is still at the front in wartime conditions, but here he begins imagining in specific, concrete terms the first return home to his village, mother, wife, or girlfriend. Occasionally the songs express some nervousness at the thought of returning and how the soldier will be received. A few songs in this genre are written from the perspective of those waiting at home, who envision the day when the absent son or husband will return. An example of this second type of song from the soldier’s point of view is “Idu po znakomoi dorozhke” (I go along the familiar road), also called “Vozvrashchenie” (Return). It begins with a soldier walking toward his village, remembering how he and his beloved had parted. He sees in his mind’s eye their first meeting, and wonders what will happen: “Maybe you will meet me smiling / or maybe you will sternly knit your brows / Maybe you will only remember with difficulty / or maybe your heart will ignite / with tender love.” The song was completed just before the onset of the war by the Leningrad composer and pianist A. Vladimirtsov and the Rostov poet Grigorii Gridov, who died soon after. Written perhaps in response to the Finnish campaign, or simply as a lyrical song, the work was recorded just days before the start 63 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 184–86; Biriukov, POV, 219–20; Biriukov, PVD, 254–55. 64 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 224–26.

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of the war by Vladimirtsov’s jazz band and Emil′ Kemper, a popular Leningrad singer. The composer heard it again in 1942, as some soldiers marched past him on the street. Versions appeared at several fronts.65 Although the song itself specifies no particular location, it appears that each region wanted to make the song its own. Other songs of this type were written for films. “Pesnia Lizavety” (Lizaveta’s song), by Bogoslovskii and Dolmatovskii, from the film Aleksandr Parkhomenko, came out in its final version in 1943. This lively rhythmic song appealed to the cavalry in particular, and again envisions a return: I will come in the spring / and will open the gate. / I will be with you / and you with me, / inseparable forever. / . . . Smile when you meet me / for I was brave in battle. / Oh, if only to live through this / until our wedding . . . / I will return / when the snow has melted.66

“Pesnia Antoshi” (Antosha’s song), by Sandler and Turovskii, was created for one of the first new musical comedy films of the war, Antosha Rybkin, which was completed by the Combined Film Studio in Alma Ata in 1942. The song proclaims, When I will return I do not know / but I will return with victory. / . . . There over the tall mountains / across the wide valleys / the stream is bubbling like a ringing song. / There my blue-eyed girlfriend is waiting.67

“Tikho v izbushke” (It is quiet in the hut), by Fomin and German, depicts a mother waiting for her son. Written and first published in 1942 by Muzgiz, it was widely distributed during the war, and illustrates the other point of view in this genre:68 Your son will return to you. / Early one morning / an unexpected guest / the warrior will appear. / He will embrace you strongly / take off his felt boots / and sit down with you at the table. / You will watch him / not taking your eyes away for a minute. / You will shake your head over and over. / You will sometimes / cry quietly / as you listen to his stories. 65 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 108–10; Biriukov, POV, 214. 66 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 122–23; Biriukov, POV, 215–16; Bogoslovskii, interview. 67 Biriukov, POV, 216. 68 Biriukov, POV, 223.

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Here, the hero is a pilot. The mother is assured that he will return, for “such a one could not be lost.” Though it may have been written in celebratory response to an early victory, the work’s inspirational nature encouraged both those at the rear and those at the front to continue fighting, for a positive outcome was now within their grasp. Another type of song that represented the coming victory honored heroes and heroic acts that appeared as the war progressed. Their subjects might be individuals: pilots, battalion commanders, or nurses. For example, numerous songs and ballads were written about the exploits of Captain Gastello, a famous hero who sacrificed his life by plunging his burning plane into a German tank column.69 As time went on, and the units and divisions were honored with the title of “Gvardeiskii” (Guard) for heroic efforts and success, the political administration encouraged the writing of songs recognizing and rewarding such collective valor. Composers and poets were sent into the field to become acquainted with these units and to find and depict those heroes, while other works were composed spontaneously by those who had witnessed the valor of troops in battle. Surkov penned one of the earliest songs of this type as he traveled with the troops retreating to Moscow. His version was first published as a poem in a frontline newspaper and later, in spring 1942, appeared with music by Mokrousov in a film about the defeat of the Germans outside Moscow. “Pesnia zashchitnikov Moskvy” (Song of the Moscow defenders) celebrated the united efforts of all who fought to protect the capital: “Our dear capital is behind us / and the final line in battle has been set by our leader. / We don’t tremble in the battle for our capital . . . / As a united wall of steel / we will defeat and destroy the enemy.”70 Noteworthy here as well in regard to the balance between official political portrayals and unofficial depictions of wartime reality is the prominent place of Stalin in the collective effort as “our leader.” After all, Stalin did not leave Moscow in the fall of 1941 despite the evacuation of the government to the east. Soon after the first Guard Awards were made to the Navy in April 1942, “Morskaia Gvardiia” (Sea guard) by Miliutin and Lebedev-Kumach appeared. Both of its creators had worked on naval music before the war. Mentioning specific ports and fleets, the lyrics praise the navy’s bravery: “. . . through mine fields / and shelling / they will gain victory everywhere / these hero guards of the seas.” The chorus continues: “The guard navy moves with certainty / It will look 69 Stites, Soviet Popular Culture, 99. 70 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 30–32; Biriukov, POV, 224; Biriukov, PVD, 149–51.

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any danger right in the eye / Tested in battle, proven under fire / the guard navy is a threat to all enemies.”71 It is not clear now whether the bestowal of guard status or the award of other honors automatically triggered the writing of a song, or whether official unit songs were not allowed without such status. “Pesnia o Gremiashchem,” for example, was a song about the Gremiashchii, an escort ship for supply convoys that traveled many hundreds of miles in the northern seas. When Guard status was bestowed upon the ship, Evgenii Zharkovskii added music to verses that had been written by the ship’s navigator, E. Ivashchenko, in 1942. In this case the award and the creation of a new song were clearly linked. Songs to honor the army at large also appeared, such as the song observing the twenty-fifth anniversary of the RKKA (Workers and Peasants Red Army), written in 1943 by Aleksandrov and Kolychev. It was performed in a film concert made to commemorate the holiday and remained in the repertory of the Red Banner Ensemble. Eventually it was given a more general title, “Pesnia o Sovetskoi armii” (Song of the Soviet Army): “Uncrushable and legendary! / You have seen the joy of victory in battles. / To you, the beloved army / our people are sending greetings with a song.”72 Within the army, songs were written in honor of each unit. The cavalry liked the song “Russkaia dusha” (Russian soul) by Kruchinin and Oshanin. The lively tune is sung in the style of the old soldier song, in which lines are broken up by repeated syllables.73 “Marsh artillerii” (March of the artillery) by Novikov and Vasil′ev was commissioned by General Nikolai Voronov, marshal of the artillery. The 1944 film V shest′ chasov vechera posle voiny (At six o’clock in the evening after the war) was the source of “Pesnia artilleristov” (Song of the artillerymen) by Khrennikov and Gusev. The tank troops claimed “Serdtse tankista” (Heart of a tankist), finished by Kruchinin and Fat′ianov in 1944. Scouts, sappers, signalers, military nurses, and drivers all earned musical odes. Geographic regions and fronts also were the inspiration for wartime songs. “V belykh prostorakh” (In the white expanses) by Fradkin and Oshanin was written for the northern Karelian front in spring 1944. “Iuzhno-ural′skaia” (Southern Urals song) by Solov′ev-Sedoi and Fat′ianov written in 1943, paid homage to the Southern Ural Military District. Even smaller units within armies and divisions called for their own songs. For example, Novikov was 71 Biriukov, POV, 230–31. A total of seventy-eight Guard Awards were made to navy fleets, ships, and units during the war, which implies that numerous songs could have been produced on this topic alone. See ibid., 177–78. 72 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 230–32; Biriukov, POV, 223–24; Biriukov, PVD, 6–7. 73 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 138–39; Biriukov, POV, 219; Biriukov, PVD, 221–23.

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c­ ommissioned to write a song with Alymov to commemorate the 129th Rifle Division’s liberation of Orel, earning it the title of “Orlovskaia.” Novikov recalled that a commission of this nature was quite common in the fall of 1943, as Soviet troops liberated territories and victories were more frequent. He and Alymov met with soldiers and the commander of the division and learned the history and exploits of the 129th. “Gde Orel raskinul kryl′ia” (Where the eagle74 spread his wings) became the soldiers’ anthem, and it traveled with them to the Elbe River:75 “The river is for the fish / and the stove is for the hut. / The campaign is for us. / It’s not far to victory. / March! Forward! / They went like a winged eagle / like a whirlwind / the 129th named for Orel.” Hundreds of songs were written by amateurs as well as professionals to honor the various divisions, regiments, and units. Most have dropped from the active repertory except among those who served in the given group. Otherwise, the events and situations memorialized in the songs are too specific to merit more than ephemeral interest. A few songs have been passed down, with appropriate changes, by existing units, but many have been lost. When asked, some veterans remember a particular song and snatches of the words or melody, but complete versions of specific unit songs are hard to find. References do remain, however, in archives, newspapers, and memoirs, and it is clear that songs honoring particular fighters played a large role in the new song repertory of the war. A special series of songs is dedicated to the partisans. Clear distinctions are still made today between “partisan songs” and other musical genres. Although they often share a common theme—acts of courage, defeat of the enemy, protection of the homeland—survivors of the war maintain a great distinction between the two song categories. Whether this is an accurate depiction, and whether there were other distinctions between front and partisan life, is not within the scope of this work. But clearly a distinction exists in the minds of war participants and, accordingly, in written descriptions of songs. One veteran attributed this to the differences in the lives of soldiers and partisans, recalling that the regular army adhered strictly to a battlefield code of conduct, respecting the honor of soldiers, whereas partisan fighting dictated a code of “every man for himself,” and ferocity and cruelty knew no bounds.76 In keeping with the 74 This song uses a play on the word (Orel), using the word for “eagle” which is also the name of the town for which the division is named. 75 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 152–54; Biriukov, POV, 227. 76 Prokopii Mikhailovich Tarasov (veteran of the regular army), in conversation with the author, December 1990, Moscow, Russia.

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partisan lifestyle, which required hiding in the woods or moving around, the partisan songs generally link nature with the partisan effort. Nature forms the backdrop to some of them; in others, the partisans’ protection of the land becomes a major theme. The titles reinforce this link, though in reality regular troops sometimes also moved about and lived for long periods in the woods. The most famous of the partisan song genre, and one of the most widely sung of all war songs, is “Oi tumany moi, rastumany” (Oh mists, my mists) by Zakharov and Isakovskii. In January 1942, Zakharov, the composer and director of the Piatnitskii Choir, wrote to his longtime collaborator, Isakovskii, asking for lyrics to honor the partisans. The poet adapted forms and phrasings from old folk songs and returned the finished verses to Zakharov, who was then in Sverdlovsk on tour. The melody was written over the course of the summer in Zakharov’s free time, mostly at night in a train car. When the song debuted in August, it met with instant success:77 “Oh mists and forests and meadows of mine / the partisans went out on campaign. / They went out against the enemy. / In parting, the heroes said, / ‘Wait for good news,’ / and they went out along the old Smolensk road / to meet the uninvited guests.” The villains knew no peace, it continues. Day and night the partisans wiped them out in whirlwind fashion; “the enemy will never see his homeland again.” The song’s melody is slow and “drawn out,” in the style of a Russian folk song. Despite the image of complete independence, partisans were included in the bureaucratic process of song commissions. The political administration of the Briansk front, which supported some partisan units with weapons, asked Kats and Sofronov to write a song for partisan use in October 1942. Sofronov flew into the partisan camp in occupied territory for the November holidays, bearing the new song, “Shumel surovo Brianskii les” (The Briansk forest sternly rustled).78 In winter 1941, a musical film was produced in Alma Ata for use in the partisan units. “Partizan-pereletnaia ptitsa” (The partisan—a migratory bird), by Kompaneets and Gatov, was set around a partisan campfire: “Sit at the night campfire, my nurse / work on my wounds / for it is still not yet time to go. / . . . Wait until it is dark. / The big yellow moon / doesn’t bring us much good.” The chorus is livelier: “Fight! Fight! Don’t hold back the grenades! / The bloody enemy is coming! / We will finish fighting and come home / with

77 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 72–74; Biriukov, POV, 202–3; Biriukov, PVD, 166–67; P. M. Kaz′min, S pesnei: Stranitsy iz dnevnika (Moscow: Sovetskaia Rossiia, 1970), 214–15, 218–21, 241. 78 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 68–70; Biriukov, POV, 226–27; Biriukov, PVD, 169–71.

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partisan glory.”79 “Ne pyli dorozhen′ka” (Little road, don’t make dust), composed in 1942 by Kats and Shubin, had its textual roots in folk songs (such as “Oh, Mists!”) because Shubin was a folklore collector: Don’t make dust, steppe road / We have to go much farther. / . . . We are going to the partisans now . . . / where the rain will often wash our wounds / and the midnight fog will hide us. / For the burned-out homes / and for our old dear mothers / we will fight mercilessly / and guard our villages. / Our fate is the long road. / Our fate is to crush the enemy / and not give them air to breathe, or life. / Don’t cry, my dear mother / just wish us victory.80

Although partisan life was extremely dangerous, not all the songs about it were serious. The band leader Leonid Utesov performed a humorous song about partisans called “Partizanskaia boroda” (Partisan beard), by Bakalov and the amateur poet M. Lapirov. This song apparently found a wider audience, for it focused on the universal themes of love and future meetings, as well as centering on partisan life: Now scouting, now hiding / there is no time to shave / A beard is unavoidable trouble / for a partisan . . . / Once they said I had a brush for a beard / and now they call it a broom . . . / But I’m not worried / Let it grow to my waist / As soon as we finish fighting / then I will take to the razor / and we’ll get dressed up / and kiss our girls. / . . . The only trouble / with this beard / is that it covers up / my partisan medals.81

These partisan songs date primarily from 1942–43, since the liberation of occupied territories began in 1943 and the Germans were driven completely from Soviet soil by the fall of 1944. The efforts of those working at the rear also were celebrated in song. “Ural′tsy b′iutsia zdorovo” (The people of the Urals fight hard), by Khrennikov and Barto, for example, came out in response to a contest held in Sverdlovsk. Agniia Barto wrote the text, and the winning melody was submitted by Tikhon

79 Biriukov, POV, 207–8. 80 Ibid., 207. 81 Ibid., 207.

The Songs of the War Years: Themes, Tunes, and Trends    Chapter 1

Khrennikov in the spring of 1942. The song was chosen for performance by many choirs and ensembles: You powerful, threatening / iron Urals / you have given a sacred oath / to the Party / and the oath / is as strong as steel / We will be first at the labor front. / . . . The fires of victory / are bright. . . . / The collective farmer, the metal worker / the tanker and the forger / are together preparing / an end for the enemy.82

The lyrics to Khachaturian and Slavin’s “Uralochka” (Girl from the Urals) were written in early 1943 by the poet Grigorii Slavin, who was convalescing from war wounds in Sverdlovsk. While working at the newspaper Ural′skii rab‑ ochii (Urals worker), he met the composer Aram Khachaturian. Their joint effort was published in half a million leaflets, priced at a ruble each, to raise money for the defense fund. The song lyrics were also printed in another newspaper in March in honor of Women’s Day: My Urals girl is so far away / but I can’t forget her. / . . . I remember to this day / her special Urals speech. / . . . It is hard for my letter / to reach you / but, my bride, / work and don’t be sad. / And if you get a lump / in your throat / then cry just a little / not a lot / because our cause is true . . . / and because we will live for a hundred years / free and together. / No one has seen / a metal worker like you, / so work and then / I will return / and we will think of / a name for our son.

This song reached the farthest corners of the USSR, including Karelia, the Far East, and the Kalinin and Briansk fronts.83 Although its subject was ostensibly the girl from the Urals, its appeal to the sense of family and its emphasis on the importance of a universal effort made it broadly popular.

VICTORY BECOMES A REALITY As victories increased and troops moved westward (out of the USSR and eventually into Berlin), new songs and themes were heard. The mood became lighter, with humorous songs gaining more and more prevalence. One of the earliest 82 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 93–94; Biriukov, POV, 204. 83 Biriukov, POV, 216; Biriukov, PVD, 246–48; Lebedev, V boiakh, 361.

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of these victory songs was a lively tune describing how the troops moved from city to city retaking their own territory and then liberating other nations’ cities. Dolmatovskii wrote the verse “Ulitsy-dorogi” (Streets to roads) in the fall of 1943 after the liberation of Orel and Belgorod. The verse was sent to Fradkin, who wrote the music and gave the song to Utesov to perform in concert. Each verse of the song begins with the liberation of a city and the troops finding the westernmost street, which was always named for the next city to the west. Orel led to Briansk and Briansk to Kiev. Utesov began adding verses as troop movements headed inexorably west; finally, the song was renamed “Doroga na Berlin” (Road to Berlin).84 Perhaps the earliest song dedicated to the liberation of a city (or at least one that served as a prototype) is “Moia Moskva” (My Moscow). Although the capital was never occupied, the Battle of Moscow—which guaranteed the city’s rebuff of German troops—was the USSR’s first real victory of the war. The writer, Lieutenant Mark Lisianskii, left the verse at the offices of the journal Novyi mir (New World) on his way through the capital. Dunaevskii, who was touring near Chita with his Ensemble of the Railway Workers, read the poem and immediately began composing a tune. Premiering in spring 1942, the song tells how the soldier has seen much horror, but the knowledge that Moscow remains proud and free keeps him going. It describes the city and commemorates the fierce battle and the defenders who gave up their lives. The chorus lyrically repeats, “My dear capital / my golden Moscow.”85 Fradkin wrote both text and melody for “Pesnia o Stalingrade” (Song about Stalingrad), later renamed “Pesnia o Volzhskom bogatyre” (Song of the Volga knight). It appeared in a February 1943 issue of the Don frontline newspaper dedicated to the victory in Stalingrad: “The days of severe difficulties will end. / Above the great Russian river Volga / the proud ruins will rise again / but the hero city will be three times more lovely.”86 Numerous songs mentioned the Stalingrad battle, but most were probably too specific to remain popular beyond the war. Two songs were written about Rostov-­on-Don. The first, “Rostov-gorod” (Rostov city), by Blanter and Sofronov, was written sometime between December 1941 and July 1942, when Rostov was first freed. However, the premiere had to wait because Rostov fell a second time; when the city was liberated again in February 1943, the song was released, 84 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 239–41; Biriukov, POV, 232. 85 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 80–82; Biriukov, POV, 224–25; Biriukov, PVD, 153–55. 86 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 134–36; Biriukov, POV, 225; Biriukov, PVD, 163–64.

The Songs of the War Years: Themes, Tunes, and Trends    Chapter 1

published, and recorded.87 The second song, “Kogda my pokidali svoi liubimyi krai” (When we left our beloved region), was written in 1943 as a direct response to the liberation of Rostov by the poets Matvei Talalaevskii and Z. Kats, who were assigned to the frontline paper. The song’s composer, Modest Tabachnikov, was a member of the regiment. Expressing great love for the freed city, the song also stressed that the soldiers must now move westward to liberate another area.88 The year 1943 also saw another advance in the use of Soviet song. Composers and poets were called to create a new Soviet anthem to replace the “Internationale,” which had served in this role since the Revolution. After hundreds of submissions, the selected winner was premiered on New Year’s Eve 1944. A.V. Aleksandrov was the winning composer, while Sergei Mikhalkov and G. El-Registan took top awards for the lyrics.89 The 900-day siege of Leningrad and the tragic and heroic efforts that accompanied it were the subjects of numerous war songs, including the aforementioned “Evening on the Quay”—at once a farewell and an expression of loyalty. In 1942, at the Volkhov front, the commanders requested that the composer, Anatolii Lepin, who had been sent from the main political administration to create a song for the front, also compose a lyrical song about Leningrad. He and the poet Pavel Shubin, who also wrote for the Volkhov frontline newspaper, produced “Leningradskaia pesenka” (Leningrad song),90 a tune that is still sung today with some textual revisions. The chorus remains the same: “There in the evening / the Neva waves quietly roll in / My Leningrad, my dear brother / my homeland.” Amateur composers L. Shenberg and P. Kraubner, in collaboration with the poet P. Bogdanov, dedicated the song “Pesnia o Ladoge” (Song about Ladoga) to the ice road over Lake Ladoga. This road over the frozen water provided a means of evacuation (albeit a risky one for those who were weak and ill) and a badly needed supply route for food, fuel, and supplies to the blockaded city. For the beleaguered and starving residents, it was truly a symbol of survival and victory. The text hails those who worked on the road, and gives hope: “It is not in vain that the dear Ladoga road / is named the road of life.”91 87 Biriukov, POV, 226. 88 Ibid., 225. 89 Aleksandrov’s music was based on the song “Gimn Partii Bolshevikov” (Anthem of the Bolshevik Party), and may have been titled “Gimn Strany Sovetov” (Anthem of the Country of Unions). It was heard on the radio New Year’s Eve of 1943–44. 90 Ibid., POV, 228. 91 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 84–86.

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In 1943, Mokrousov was sent to Leningrad to compose a score for the play U sten Leningrada (At the walls of Leningrad), by Vsevolod Vishnevskii, which premiered in April 1944. First called “Baiushki baiu” (Lullaby), the title was changed to “More shumit” (The sea roars).92 It concludes that the sailors have sung as much as possible during wartime: “The lullaby must be finished / in more peaceful times.” This song suggested hopefully that this would be soon. “Nash gorod” (Our city), by Solov′ev-Sedoi and Fat′ianov, probably the last wartime song about Leningrad, came out for the May holidays in 1945. The song describes a city that is quiet again, with nightingales returning to sing in the springtime, but whose past struggles will not be forgotten: “The glory of the city where we fought / cannot be given up. / Like the sun rising, / our song, our glory and our city are awakening. / Over Russia / and over the Neva / there are blue skies. / Nothing in the world / is more beautiful / than my Leningrad.”93 Once Soviet troops moved off their own soil, new songs appeared that mentioned the places in which they were serving and reminisced about incomparable Russia. One of the first, “Pod zvezdami balkanskimi” (Under the Balkan stars), began life as a melody by Blanter. He phoned Isakovskii and asked the poet to write the words to the finished score, something Isakovskii rarely agreed to do. The song eventually won the coveted Stalin Prize in 1946. The lyrics are more a patriotic expression about Russia than exultation over liberating the Balkans: “Where are you, dark eyes? / Where is my homeland? / Bulgaria is in front of me / and the Danube is behind. / We have traveled many versts94 in campaigns / on land and on the water / but we have never forgotten / our Soviet motherland.” The lyrics then mention several geographic regions, the dark eyes of the girls, and their sweet speech. The song ends by proclaiming, “The country of Bulgaria is good; but Russia is better than all of them.”95 The text to the song “Rossiia” (Russia), by Lebedev-Kumach, does not mention other countries, but it is clearly a patriotic song calling to those who are away to remember Russia: “Russia, beloved land! / Native birches and fields! / How dear you are to the soldier, / native Russian land.” The sons and fighters, it continues, have sworn to stand up for what the fathers and grandfathers had created: Many lives have been upset / many versts have been traveled / and many Russian souls have been laid to rest / for you, dear mother Russia. / 92 Biriukov, POV, 207; Biriukov, PVD, 198–201. 93 Biriukov, POV, 228. 94 A verst (in the Russian original, versta) is an obsolete Russian unit of distance measure equal to about 2/3 of a mile, or just a little over a kilometer. It was replaced with the kilometer in the 1880s. 95 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 210–11.

The Songs of the War Years: Themes, Tunes, and Trends    Chapter 1 We are carrying on a sacred war / . . . for your beauty and your treasures. / The bloody battles will end / We will come home with glory / And again to the thick forests / the nightingales will return.

The text was published in 1944 in the journal Krasnoarmeets (Red Army soldier) and several melodies accompanied it. The version by Bogoslovskii outlasted the others, although the composer himself never included it in collections of his own works.96 The year 1945 brought more songs with this theme. “Storonka rodnaia” (Dear country) began as a published verse by Sergei Mikhalkov and, as with “Rossiia,” several composers took up the project. The most widespread v­ ersion, appearing near the end of the war, was composed by Arkadii Ostrovskii, a pianist and an arranger for Utesov’s jazz orchestra. The text compares various European cities to Russia: Bucharest or Budapest “is on the Danube / but as I remember the mother Volga / tears come to my eyes”; in Sofia and Vienna, “There are gardens and palaces / which are nice, but I will be honest and say / that it just isn’t for the Russian soul.” And the final apotheosis of the USSR is contained in: “We have reached the great victory / and somehow I will get back / to the Soviet native country. / Oh, dear country of mine / you are so dear to a soldier’s heart. / Oh, you frontline road / you have led me so far away.”97 “Daleko rodnye osiny” (The beloved aspens are far away), by Solov′evSedoi and Fat′ianov, also written at the very end of the war, similarly takes up the theme of coming home to Russia, but in a more personal manner: “There, at home, / dear mother is waiting for us at the door, / A soldier’s heart is missing / his dear homeland. / Russia, oh Russia, / we have carried you in our hearts / We have traveled far / but not found a more beautiful country.” The song was performed by the Sveshnikov State Choir soon after the end of the war.98 Lyrical songs that were written at this time shared the themes of earlier songs, but with new twists. Fat′ianov wrote the verse “Prishla i k nam na front vesna” (Spring has come even to us at the front) possibly as early as 1942, accompanied by his own melody. In late 1944, while on leave in Moscow, he met with Solov′ev-Sedoi, with whom he had already written a number of songs. The composer used the amateur melody as the basis for his version and changed the title to “Solov′i” (Nightingales). One other word was changed in the text, following a general’s suggestion that the word “guys” should become “soldiers.” 96 Biriukov, POV, 231. 97 Ibid. 98 Ibid., 222–23.

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Two singers, Georgii Vinogradov and Ivan Kozlovskii, immediately added the song to their repertoires. Here, rather than recruiting or mobilizing, the text asks the nightingales to give the soldiers some rest by singing more softly. Other verses talk of the soldier remembering his home where his loved ones are waiting and where the nightingales sing twenty-four hours a day. The war is not over and battles must go on, the narrator admits: “But tomorrow again there will be a battle, / that is what fate has given / that we had to leave our fields and our wives and fiancées. / But with every step in the battle / our home is closer. / Nightingales, nightingales, don’t bother the soldiers, / Let them sleep a little.”99 The nightingale is used in later war songs as a symbol of peace and returning home. In this song, the phrase “shal′nye solov′i” (mad nightingales) assumes a double meaning: the literal one that the birds will not quiet down, and the second one referring to stray bullets.100 Thus, as with many of the songs throughout the war, the themes of love, war, life, and death intermingle, sometimes through the use of wordplay and sometimes through the insertion of verses on differing themes. Toward the end of the war, Solov′ev-Sedoi and Fat′ianov collaborated on “Davno my doma ne byli” (We haven’t been home in a long time). This time the duo was traveling with the Leningrad Concert Brigade in spring 1945 to give concerts for units of the Baltic Front and Fleet. The song was created as they traveled from unit to unit on a rickety bus that had been captured from the enemy. The song begins with two soldiers not far from the battle pouring a drink and talking about home: Where the pine tree stands / and new little pine trees grow / the girls have been alone for years / Without us it seems to the girls / that the stars don’t shine. / . . . Why should they enjoy themselves until dawn / when their guys / are in Germany / far away? / Let the daydream of the soldier fly / to the girl so tender and / remind her of me.101

Again, the themes are mixed: the soldier is still fighting and has friends at the front, but he thinks of his home and hopes to be met with love and tenderness upon his return. “Ekh dorogi” (Oh roads), by Novikov and Oshanin, another extremely lyrical and not especially lively song, was ordered by Sergei Iutkevich, director 99 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 218–19; Biriukov, POV, 205–6; Biriukov, PVD, 229–31. 100 Andrei Planson, telephone consultation with author, September 1994. 101 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 248–50; Biriukov, POV, 222.

The Songs of the War Years: Themes, Tunes, and Trends    Chapter 1

of the NKVD Ensemble, for a program entitled “Pobednaia vesna” (Victorious spring). He wanted a song to fit the theme of soldiers heading to the front. Novikov based the melody on an old song, “Ekh, ty nochenka” (Oh you dear night), and Oshanin’s experiences at the western, Karelian, and third Belarusian fronts were the inspiration for his lyrics. The tone of the song is more discouraging than victorious: “Oh roads, / dust and fog, / cold and worry, / and steppe grass. / You can’t know / your fate. / Maybe you will fold up your wings / in the steppe. / The dust swirls around boots, / the steppe and the fields, / and around you fire is raging / and bullets whistle.” One soldier is shot and his friend must go on along the road: “In the pine region, / the sun is coming up, / a mother is on the porch, / waiting for her son / . . . and her eyes follow us / as we go out onto the roads.” The ending states, “We can never forget / these roads.”102 It is interesting to note here that the songs that appeared at the very end of the war and have found a permanent place in Soviet culture are extremely lyrical and not particularly celebratory of victory. Perhaps the hardships, losses, and changes created by four years of war required reflection and a tender, almost somber mood rather than a joyful and lively celebration in song. This is not to say that celebrations were lacking, or that lively songs were entirely eschewed. Units and regiments performed their own songs, and reports of the victories in Berlin, Moscow, and elsewhere led to reports of people dancing in the streets, music played on the radio all day, and expressions everywhere of happiness now that peace had returned. One example of a lively song that came out in the last week of the war is “Kazaki v Berline” (Cossacks in Berlin), by the Pokrass brothers and Solodar′: On a Berlin street, / the horses were going to drink. / The Don horses / shook their manes as they went. / The leader who is riding sings out, / ‘Hey guys, it isn’t the first time / we have given them water / from a foreign river!’ / The Cossacks, our Cossacks / are riding through Berlin!

102 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 235–37; Biriukov, POV, 208; Biriukov, PVD, 257–59. On the origin of the song, Andrei Planson reports hearing in the émigré community and press in San Francisco that this song was written and sung by the Vlasov Army, soldiers and commanders who fought on the side of Hitler in hopes of overthrowing Stalin and the Bolsheviks. The author has no other evidence of this to date, but this could be one explanation for the melancholy nature of the song, which came out at a time when the songs were mostly more lively, or at least mentioning victory. The fact that the sources here report the song was done for a specific program could also explain the lack of reference to victory. It was meant to be in the numbers describing the war itself, rather than a new victory song.

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On a bridge, he sees a female signaler who lets him pass with the horses. Then he tells his friends how he will find her again once they are home. It is apparent in the song that she likes him, too. Solodar′ was a newspaper correspondent who was present in Berlin at the end of the war and who witnessed such a scene one morning, possibly May 9, as he traveled by car with several journalists. He flew to Moscow that same day and asked the Pokrass brothers to produce a melody. The song appeared a few days later, sung by Ivan Shmelev of the NKVD Ensemble.103 The victory songs of the time included lively happy tunes and serious reflective songs that celebrated the end of the fighting, commemorated those lost, and even marked the shift of the wartime close friendships back to more normal peacetime relationships. One interesting phenomenon, however, is that most of the songs that served as the symbols of victory at the time faded from view and were replaced in survivors’ minds and hearts by the earlier songs of the war years. These earlier songs—the farewell songs, lyrical descriptions of life and the pain of missing home and family, and the songs about human relationships—took on the role of symbolizing the war, both the tragedy and the victory. Even if originally they had no relationship to the victory, once the war ended, their initial purpose and meaning diminished and they became something broader. With the reality of war slipping into memory and history, the songs still remained as a tangible link to the past and its remembrances.

CHRONOLOGIES, SHIFTS, AND VARIATIONS IN THE WARTIME SONGS The genres and types of songs enumerated above certainly existed in the minds of creators and audiences alike. Yet the lines between them and the stages of the war they described were not written in stone and were quite flexible. Nevertheless, songs clearly held the predominant place in musical creations throughout the first two years of the war. They could be written quickly and distributed quickly and widely. One did not have to be a professional musician to appreciate, perform, or even create them. They provided mood as well 103 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 244–45; Biriukov, POV, 232; Biriukov, PVD, 277–78. There are some minor discrepancies in the sources, such as the rank of the signaler, whether the poet or composers thought up the chorus, whether the Pokrass brothers “couldn’t refuse because it was for the cavalry” or “if the poet had taken it to someone else, the friendship would be over,” and whether the poet went to hear the song at the Pokrass home or just heard it on the phone.

The Songs of the War Years: Themes, Tunes, and Trends    Chapter 1

as lyrics, which in turn buoyed up spirits, gave information about exploits of honored units, or told of homes, families, and the efforts being made on the home front. The types of songs created shifted and broadened, from the almost exclusively patriotic numbers in the early weeks of the war to lyrical, satirical, and humorous songs as well as the first celebratory and victory songs in 1943. Soldiers, commanders, political officers, workers, artists, Party functionaries— all had their own special reasons and requests for songs. Because the war effort required all of these factions to work collectively, the requests, demands, orders, and desires were often filled, even if it meant some contradictions in style, content, or distribution. It meant there was room in the picture for many genres and efforts. Not all were accepted all the time, for both political and artistic reasons, but more often than not a broad range of songs could be found in the audition process ranging from patriotic odes to Stalin and the Party to lyrical love songs to jazzy tunes about soldiers’ lives or the evil enemy. Although the broad theme was definitely limited—whatever was written had to relate somehow to the war—the range within this limit seemed to know no bounds. As the war went on and victory drew closer, the range of topics also increased. It was easier to create and approve lively tunes in addition to the patriotic and lyrical works. This shift occurred approximately halfway through the war, although, as was seen above, some jocularity was incorporated as early as January 1942. One explanation for the prevalence of lyrical songs toward the end of the war that reflected on past experiences and expressed the hope of a safe and pleasant return to home and family could be that other musical forms now covered more official and patriotic themes. Cantatas for choir and orchestra, operas, symphonies, and other large works received more and more attention as the war progressed. They covered such topics as Stalin, the motherland, and victory. Songs were losing their importance as the preeminent propaganda weapon against the enemy. They still played a role, but other genres received active encouragement, and the composers who preferred to work on larger musical genres returned to those. The melodic lyrical songs remained the best known after the war. Perhaps most of the livelier songs written at the end of the war were too specific in their frames of reference or were deemed politically incorrect. For example, references to the Allies would have become quickly dated. Likewise, songs referring to generals who fell out of favor with Stalin and the Party after the war would have been suppressed. The shift in government attitudes toward jazz in the late 1940s and the crackdown on all lighthearted numbers in the jazz mode could have eliminated genuinely popular songs from performance repertories. Finally, after Stalin’s death and the Secret Speech,

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any songs directly referring to him or his leadership would have been subject to change (as in the case of “Our Toast”) or entirely suppressed. Large choirs and choruses, such as the Red Banner Ensemble, the state choirs, and the NKVD and Navy choirs, preserved some of the patriotic, anthem-like songs as well as those referring to military victories.104 In any case, the best-known songs from the end of the war, like those dating from the beginning, are lyrical expressions of emotion—whether love for the homeland, a sense of loss of loved ones, sorrow for the tragedies of life at the front, friendship with comrades-in-arms, or hope for a better day ahead. As with the pre-1940 tunes revised during the war, multiple versions of songs written throughout the war years were circulated. This may be due in part to the fact that verses were published in newspapers and not always accompanied by a musical score. Readers were free to make up their own melodies. Texts to old songs were reworked, as shown above, to fit particular situations or groups (regiments, divisions, or towns), or in response to the song’s original text. “Katiusha” appeared in multiple versions that took up many themes, while answers to the questions posed in “Wait for Me” became part of the song. It is unlikely, however, that any newly created versions became nationally known or stayed popular for long, beyond narrow local confines. Multiple versions of texts are fairly easy to find. Folklorists collected different versions of the songs, and reprints can be found in numerous publications. It is more difficult to retrieve melodic versions of songs. Some manuscripts are housed in archives; occasionally several versions have been published. Once a melody dominated, the others fell away, and it is difficult to track down those scores.105 Archival documents, memoirs, and newspaper articles provide evidence that even within the circles of professional composers many versions of a song were generated. Lesser-known versions may turn up, but often composers appeared to lose interest in a subject once another version took over, and they may not have claimed songs as their own. As noted above, Bogoslovskii did not include “Russia” among his collected works, despite the fact that his version was the most successful. 104 I have not seen enough concert scores or other records to reach definitive conclusions about this, but it seems to be the most likely place to track down these songs dating from the end of the war and in the immediate postwar period. 105 I have found no collections of works dedicated to the diverse versions of melodies as there are with texts. Collections of texts, however, do sometimes mention the tunes with which informants accompanied the verses. Thus, some conclusions can be made as to how many variants were in use.

The Songs of the War Years: Themes, Tunes, and Trends    Chapter 1

As we have seen, multiple versions of songs arose in several ways. A professional or amateur composer would write an accompaniment to a poem or literary piece and would submit it for review and publication. Sometimes several composers from a local area would be drawn to a lyric; other times composers from different regions would write separate scores, either unaware of the competition or in response to a known tune. Song contests often spurred composers to write a melody for a specific text, in which case dozens or even hundreds of versions might appear. Common competition themes included campaign songs, marches, or songs about the Urals and other regions. The winning songs usually received publication and performances, but the fate of other submissions is unclear. It is apparent that in some cases multiple versions existed simultaneously, and it is certain that during the war people drew upon variants of tune and text for many songs. Many questions remain as to how and why certain versions lasted and others did not. Some factors may be the extent to which a song had air play (which meant that it was approved for broadcast), whether its lyrics mention people or events that would make the song obsolete after the war, or if certain composers and poets received favorable treatment in the selection process. These questions will be addressed in subsequent chapters. The range and diversity of the songs written in the four years the war raged in the USSR are immense. Songs celebrated the country in stern patriotic tones, in lyrical melodies, and even with humor. They commemorated bravery and heroic acts of armies, ships, and individuals. They denigrated the enemy with heart-wrenching descriptions of destruction and cruelty and with biting satire. They extolled the family and relations between parents and children, husbands and wives, and the hopes for future love. They buoyed up spirits in times of grief and difficulty, celebrated victories large and small, and helped pass the time for both soldiers and civilians. All of them served a purpose, and their moods and messages shifted and changed with conditions. The songs were at once a reflection of events and an active force that helped shape the thoughts and emotions of those who sang and heard them.

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CHAPTER 2

The Soldiers of the Song Front: Composers and Poets during the War

A

s seen in the previous chapter, the styles, themes, and genres of wartime  songs ranged widely. Yet they all fit together into a complicated musical mosaic, created as a result of varying perceptions of what was required for the war effort. The perceptions of those who wrote the songs initiated the creative process, shaped the dynamics of a given song’s life, and ultimately defined the limits to which creativity could reach. This chapter is devoted to understanding who those creators were, how they worked, and what shaped their views as they carried out their mission in the battle of the “Great Patriotic War.” Most of the songs that have endured or have been documented in archival or published sources were written by professional poets and composers. Well educated in literary or musical culture, they often belonged to writers’ and composers’ unions. Yet amateurs also played a key role in the song creation process. Soldiers often submitted texts for songs to front and division newspapers, or made up their own melodies to verses that expressed their concerns. Amateur artistic activity was promoted by political departments throughout the military. Sometimes a professional composer and an amateur poet would work together, or a composer would adopt a text written by an amateur. Even the professionals, who usually worked in poet/composer teams, occasionally worked without benefit of a second professional sharing the duties. It is useful to examine the backgrounds, educations, and ages of the professionals responsible for the new songs. Understanding from which generation they came, with whom they worked frequently, their prewar professional specialties, and their political situation sheds light on why they wrote their songs. This information can be uneven, depending on the fame of the composers or

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poets in question. In some cases little information is available. Nevertheless, analysis of the broad patterns and trends helps to clarify the motivations for their personal interactions, the actions of the professional groups, and the policy decisions made about songs in the war years. Hypothetically, such factors as age, education, experience abroad, political affiliation or lack thereof, and professional specialization would have great impact on their creative choices. When possible, this chapter seeks to present such data and analyze the effects on songwriting.

THE COMPOSERS Among the approximately sixty-six professional composers traced here, ages ranged widely.1 Eliminating the seven for whom birth dates could not be ascertained, sixteen were born before 1900 and therefore were at least forty-one years of age when war broke out. Included among this group of songwriters are Aleksandr Aleksandrov (1883), Valentin Kruchinin (1892), Mikhail Iudin (1893), Anatolii Novikov (1896), and the elder Pokrass brother, Dmitrii (1899). Aleksandrov and Novikov were associated with the Moscow Conservatory. Aleksandrov taught there and received his doctorate in 1940. He was also the head of the Red Army’s Red Banner Ensemble of Song and Dance from 1928 until his death in 1946. Novikov studied with R. Glière and collected and wrote a number of songs. Iudin taught at the Leningrad Conservatory. Both Kruchinin and Pokrass were songwriters and, like Aleksandrov, were directly connected with the military. Kruchinin, who resided in Khabarovsk in 1937, wrote both operettas and “mass songs” (a Soviet term denoting a combination of songs for the masses, popular tunes, and songs with a political slant). Pokrass had begun his songwriting career during the Civil War and continued composing mass and military songs. Both Aleksandrov and Pokrass were Communist Party members as of 1939 and 1940, respectively. Other older individuals were key figures in the Union of Composers and played important roles in decisions about songs, repertory, and matters within the union. The oldest of all the composers is included in this group. Reinhold Glière (Raingol′d Glier), born in 1875, was sixty-six years old when the war broke out. Instead of retiring, he chaired the Composers’ Union of 1 Unless otherwise indicated, the source of biographical information given in this chapter is G. V. Keldysh et al., ed., Muzykal′nyi entsiklopedicheskii slovar′ (Moscow: Sovetskaia entsiklopediia, 1990).

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the USSR from 1939 throughout the war and was awarded his doctorate in 1941. He composed the marching song “Budet Gitleru konets” (Hitler will meet his end) with a text by I. Doronin in June 1941, after which he focused exclusively on larger music genres.2 Nikolai Miaskovskii (1881) is perhaps the only composer of the group who has no wartime songs to his credit.3 Receiving his doctorate in 1940, he taught at the Moscow Conservatory and was a prodigious composer of symphonies. He also served actively on the Orgkom of the Composers’ Union of the USSR, was a member of the artistic council of the Committee on Art Affairs of the Sovnarkom, worked on the editorial board of the journal Sovetskaia muzyka, and was a member of the Stalin prize commission. Thus he was heavily involved in song selection. The famous classical composer Sergei Prokof ′ev (1891) is included in this group. He immediately wrote two songs at the beginning of the war: “Song of the Brave” (text by A. Surkov) and a song set to a poem by the deceased poet Vladimir Maiakovskii. His second wife, Mira, later wrote texts for his songs that were requested from the Nalchik Committee on Art Affairs in fall 1941, while in evacuation there. These songs and three others were published in a collection of seven mass songs in 1942. Prokof ′ev wrote other songs during the war years in conjunction with film scores but returned to larger works as the war progressed. Whatever the genre, for Prokof ′ev, the war period was the most productive time of his career.4 Among the oldest group of fifteen, four died during the war. All worked in Leningrad and at least three succumbed to starvation and emaciation. Pavel Rukin, Mikhail Fradkin,5 I. Miklashevskii, and B. Ushakov all died sometime in 1942, but not before they had written and, in some cases, ­published wartime songs.6 2 Z. K. Gulinskaia, Reingol′d Moritsevich Glier (Moscow: Muzyka, 1986), 164. 3 I have found no songs directly attributed to Miaskovskii during the war. One author does note that “Miaskovskii picked texts for two soldier songs: ‘The Young Soldier,’ by Svetlov, and ‘The Military Order,’ by Vinnikov . . .” But it is unclear if he wrote the music, and/or if the songs were ever published. See Gregor Tassie, Nikolay Myaskovsky: The Conscience of Russian Music (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2014), 231. 4 Simon Morrison, The People’s Artist: Prokofiev’s Soviet Years (New York: Oxford University Press), 176–79, 185, 187. 5 This is Mikhail Grigor′evich Fradkin (1893–1942), a composer of romances and music for theater in Leningrad. He should not be confused with Mark Grigor′evich Fradkin (1914– 90), who is the author of “Pesnia o Dnepre,” “Sluchainyi val′s,” and other songs. 6 A. V. Bogdanova, comp., Pamiati pogibshikh kompozitorov i muzykovedov, 1941–45. Sbornik statei, vypusk 1 (Moscow: Sovetskii Kompozitor, 1985), 29, 30, 34, 42.

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In addition to being extremely well established—and in some cases, top leaders in their profession by the time war broke out—all of these individuals received most of their training prior to the 1917 Revolution. By that time, many had already begun their careers as teachers and choirmasters not only in conservatories but also in religious institutions and/or the Tsarist army. Though occurring early in their careers, nearly a quarter of a century before the war, these experiences undoubtedly affected their contemplations of themes, moods, and tones of songs, especially as the political mood shifted away from Communist political themes to stress homeland, loyalty, soldier, and family. The thirty-one composers ranging in age from thirty-one to forty-one years old in 1941 constitute the largest group, distributed almost equally between those who were thirty-one to thirty-five and those who were thirty-six to forty-one. The older group includes a number of influential songwriters: Isaak Dunaevskii and Konstantin Listov (1900), Vladimir Zakharov (1901), Zinovii Kompaneets (1902), Matvei Blanter and Iurii Miliutin (1903), Viktor Belyi, and Dmitrii Kabalevskii (1904). Dmitrii Pokrass’s younger brother, Daniil, and A. V. Aleksandrov’s son, Boris Aleksandrov, were born in 1905. Belyi and Kabalevskii both studied at the Moscow Conservatory with Miaskovskii and, having joined the Communist Party in 1939–40, were the only Party members in this group before war broke out. Belyi was named secretary of the Union of Composers in 1942 and remained at this post beyond the end of the war. B. Aleksandrov and Kompaneets also studied in Moscow, but with Glière. Aleksandrov worked both with his father’s ensemble and with the All-Union Radio Ensemble. Zakharov studied in Rostov and had been named head of the Piatnitskii choir nine years before the war broke out. Dunaevskii and Miliutin were well known in the genre of light music. Dunaevskii headed the Leningrad Music Hall until 1934 and also wrote for films. From 1937 to 1941 he chaired the Leningrad section of the Union of Composers. Miliutin wrote songs and operettas. Blanter and Listov were prolific songwriters. Listov is credited with more than 800 songs in his career. Like Dm. Pokrass and Kruchinin, he began composing in the military during the Civil War. The army sent him to the Saratov Conservatory, where he completed his education before moving to Moscow. In the prewar years, he worked in Moscow theaters as a composer and concertmaster.7 Blanter has been called one of the founders of the mass song genre. He began his musical training in Kursk and then moved to Moscow in 1917, 7 Tishchenko, Listov, 4, 8–10.

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where he studied at the Philharmonic School. He worked primarily as a composer for theaters in Moscow, Leningrad, Magnitogorsk, and Gorkii, and in 1936 was named musical director of the New All-Union State Jazz Orchestra directed by Knushevitskii.8 Other composers from this age group may not have been as active in songwriting but were influential as teachers or through their service to the various committees of the Composers’ Union. These were Aram Khachaturian, Vissarion Shebalin, and Nikolai Chemberdzhi. Like their elders, these composers spent the early portion of their adult lives in Tsarist Russia, but they rarely began careers until after 1917. Some, in fact, began their working lives in the uncertain embattled years of the Civil War. The younger half of this group of composers, born between 1906 and 1910 and thus in their thirties at the outset of the war, also boasted some songwriting giants: Evgenii Zharkovskii, Isaak Liuban (from Belarus), and Iurii Slonov (1906); Vasilii Solov′ev-Sedoi and Anatolii Lepin (1907); Sigismund Kats, Vano Muradeli, Leonid Bakalov, and one of the few female composers, Nina Makarova (1908); Boris Mokrousov (1909); and Nikolai Budashkin (1910). Two composers were based in the Soviet republics. Liuban supervised musical broadcasts on Belorussian radio beginning in 1928 and was the artistic director of the Ensemble of Song and Dance of the Belorussian Philharmonic from 1937 to 1941 as well as chair of the Belorussian Union of Composers from 1932 to 1938, when he gained membership in the Communist Party. His own composition work was mainly in the area of songs and musical shows. The Latvian Anatolii Lepin (Lepin is a Russianized form of his name) composed most of his work during and after the war. Muradeli, Makarova, Mokrousov, and Budashkin studied in Moscow under Miaskovskii. All wrote songs, but Muradeli and Mokrousov were the most prodigious. Muradeli also served as secretary of the Composers’ Union from 1938 to 1939, and headed the Central Ensemble of the Navy, 1942–44. Solov′ev-Sedoi, Zharkovskii, Dmitrii Shostakovich, and Ivan Dzerzhinskii all completed their studies at the Leningrad Conservatory. Although Shostakovich (1906) and Dzerzhinskii (1909) are known for their larger works, they both fulfilled patriotic duties by writing war songs. Shostakovich in particular was perhaps the best known of any composer during the war, not because of his songs but rather because of his 7th Symphony—the Leningrad Symphony—which musically, but not lyrically, depicted the German invasion and siege of Leningrad. This symphony, 8 Zak, Blanter, 10–13; Skorokhodov, Zvezdy, 74.

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despite all odds, was played in Leningrad on August 9, 1942, and subsequently was sent all around the allied world as a symbol of determination and hope. Solov′ev-Sedoi and Zharkovskii, in contrast, were primarily songwriters. Solov′ev-Sedoi stayed in Leningrad until the outbreak of war. After graduating and working for a short time in the concert bureau in Leningrad, Zharkovskii moved to Moscow in 1936, where he became more and more interested in military and navy songs.9 He, Bakalov, and Slonov have many navy songs to their credit. Only one composer from this age group did not survive the war: Viktor Tomilin (1908), a graduate of the Leningrad Conservatory and head of the Defense Commission of the Leningrad Composers’ Union, died in 1941.10 These individuals finished their educations and began their careers in the 1920s, a period of confusion but also of great artistic experimentation. Moreover, they were the first students of the older generation, so collegial ties and friendships were formed across generations. The youngest composers were born after 1910. Most were between the ages of twenty-five and thirty at the beginning of the war: Nikolai Minkh (1912); Nikita Bogoslovskii, Tikhon Khrennikov, Modest Tabachnikov, Boris Terent′ev, and Igor Morozov (1913); and Mark Fradkin and Arkadii Ostrovskii (1914). The youngest composer, Grant Grigorian, was born in 1919, making him twenty-one years old in June 1941. Khrennikov and Morozov were in the same class at the Moscow Conservatory and studied with Shebalin. Terent′ev also studied there, but under Glière. All three wrote songs, but Terent′ev was the most prolific, with more than 200 songs in his repertoire. Bogoslovskii matriculated from the Leningrad Conservatory and wrote film music. Minkh and Ostrovskii both played and composed for Utesov’s jazz orchestra, Minkh before the war and Ostrovskii during it. Minkh served as musical director of the Leningrad Radio Estrada Orchestra at various points in the war. Grigorian left the Moscow Conservatory in his fourth year of study in 1939, when he was called into the army. Stationed in the Far East, he wrote numerous songs there both before and during the war.11 Among composers in this age group, two died during the war. V. Frize, a graduate of the conservatory who was active in the defense commission, died in Leningrad in December 1941. Boris Gol′ts, also a Conservatory graduate, suffered from tuberculosis and was excluded from military service. Nevertheless, he worked in the political administration of the  9 Zharkovskii, Liudi, 9, 15, 18. 10 Bogdanova, Pamiati, 11–12. 11 G. Grigorian, Vospominaniia, ocherki, stat′i (Moscow: Sovetskii Kompozitor, 1971), 12–14; Bogdanova, Pamiati, 32–33.

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Baltic fleet and wrote many songs as a member of the Leningrad Composers’ Union. He died in the spring of 1942 after receiving a prize in a songwriting contest.12 The youngest generation of composers generally finished their educations in the late 1920s or early 1930s and thus began their careers in a politically charged and unstable decade. They often studied under the older generation, but had little if any personal awareness of pre-Revolutionary Russia. This generation, perhaps more than any other, not only had to be talented in their field but also extremely politically savvy in order to wind their way up the career ladder in such suspicious and anti-creative times. Although this sample is not definitive, it does include the major songwriters of the war years and some of those responsible for song critiques and selection by the Composers’ Union. However limited, it provides evidence of patterns for professional composers. As noted above, their ages implied varying degrees of exposure to vastly different political environments and cultural expectations. Classically trained conservatory students could become professors and remain in that environment. Others were trained in or by the military and returned to work in its ranks. A third group, also usually classically trained, entered the world of theater, stage, and film music. Khrennikov noted that writing film scores could guarantee a young composer a base salary during a time when other commissions and orders were not always available.13 The development of the “talkies” meant that music would become more important for film, allowing a new venue for songs to be popularized. By virtue of the teacher–student relationships at the conservatories, a continuous lineage emerged that enabled a certain musical heritage to be passed on. For example, Miaskovskii taught Shebalin, who taught Khrennikov and Morozov. Miaskovskii also taught Belyi, who in turn was Kats’s professor. Khachaturian studied at various times with Glière, Miaskovskii, and Shostakovich. Thus, friendships, patronages, camps, and cliques developed and were sustained. Just how much these alignments affected the day-to-day workings of the union is not clear. However, there were real consequences. For example, Mikhail Matusovskii remembers meeting Solov′ev-Sedoi and feeling uneasy because he and Dunaevskii (to whom Matusovskii was close) were not on good terms either personally or creatively.14 No real explanation is available 12 Bogdanova, Pamiati, 32–33. 13 Tikhon Khrennikov, interview by the author, February 1991, audio tape (in author’s possession). 14 Solov′ev-Sedoi, 189.

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for this estrangement, but the two composers lived in Leningrad during the 1930s, and Dunaevskii was involved in the administration of the Leningrad section of the Union of Composers. Both men made their careers as songwriters and some competition may have existed between the two. Clearly, all of these composers knew and interacted with each other, if not through schooling or through friendship, then by means of the committees, creative reviews, conferences, and plenums held at the Union of Composers. The stenographs of the plenums and meetings record how professors would criticize or defend the work of former students, apparently feeling quite free to do so. In 1944, Shebalin noted that the score of his former student, Khrennikov, set to Robert Burns’s cycle of poems, failed to live up to his potential.15 Comments on work and personality were extremely direct, and in some cases blunt and even insulting. Friendships and animosities clearly existed within the group. On one occasion two composers were censured for drunken and public brawling. On May 11, 1942, Kats and Mokrousov had a fistfight near the union building; they were threatened with expulsion from the union if such behavior continued.16 Throughout the war years, members of the union called for a more collegial, cooperative environment. Whether the situation ever improved is not clear from this distance and from these sources. It must be noted that these people worked together on many occasions under stressful circumstances, including trips to the front and long concert tours. Nevertheless, they completed assignments, so it is possible that much of the squabbling was attributable more to stress and the clash of artistic temperaments than to real hatreds. In Stalinist Russia, animosities could lead to severe and sometimes irreversible consequences, so the question is an important one, especially when thinking about legacies in the postwar years.

THE POET-LYRICISTS Some fifty names make up the sample of poets who wrote war songs. Little or no data exists for seventeen of them, and the sources gathered here are less numerous than for the composers. Available sources reveal that the age ranges of the 15 Plenum of Orgkom of Union of Soviet Composers, March 28–31, 1944, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 92, 46. 16 Prikaz 3 of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, May 15, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 56.

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wartime poets are broad and similar to those of the composers.17 The oldest group born before 1900 is smaller and younger; the oldest is Sergei Alymov, born in 1892. A. Prishelets was born in 1893, while the last three are much younger: Vasilii Lebedev-Kumach (1898); and Aleksandr Gatov and Aleksei Surkov (1899). No one in the sample was older than fifty at the outbreak of the war. Alymov was involved in revolutionary activity against the Tsarist government and had been arrested and jailed. He escaped to Europe and returned only in 1926. Gatov also went abroad to France after completing his studies at the Khar′kov Institute. He wrote for the Red Army press and for the journal Ogonek. Lebedev-Kumach studied at Moscow State University (MGU), worked for the Revvoensovet (Revolutionary Military Council) during the Civil War, and later wrote for the satire group “Blue Blouse,” as well as for films. He was invited to join the Party in 1940. Surkov also worked in the Civil War and joined the Party in 1925. He was involved with RAPP, the Komsomol, and in the late thirties became a military correspondent in Belarus and Finland, spending part of the war at the western front. Some of the members of this older group were ideologically devoted to the Bolshevik cause, joining the Party earlier than their composer counterparts. Yet they also had experience abroad, often living in Europe or working with European colleagues. Sixteen poets were in their thirties in 1941. Nine poet-lyricists were between thirty-six and forty-one. They include the oldest, Mikhail Isakovskii and Aleksandr Prokof ′ev (1900); Aleksandr Churkin, Mikhail Svetlov, Ivan Molchanov, and Il′ia Frenkel′ (1903); Aleksandr Zharov and Osip Kolychev (1904); and Iakov Shvedov, the youngest in this group, born in 1905. These poets’ backgrounds did not differ significantly from their older peers. Isakovskii joined the Party in 1918 and worked as a newspaper editor and journalist in Smolensk. He moved to Moscow in 1931, where his song verses became extremely popular. Prokof ′ev came from the Leningrad region, served in the Civil War, and joined the Party in 1919. He began writing poetry in the thirties and, like Surkov, became a military correspondent later in the decade. Churkin joined the Red Army at age fifteen and stayed in for nine years. In 1927 he went to work at a magazine and also began writing poems and songs. Frenkel′, born into an exiled revolutionary family, joined the Party in 1919 and studied in the 17 Unless otherwise noted, the biographical information on the poets has been taken from four encyclopedic sources: (1) Russkie sovetskie pisateli. Poety. Biobibliograficheskii ukazatel′; (2) Kratkaia literaturnaia entsiklopediia; (3) Pisateli Moskvy: Biobibliograficheskii spravochnik; and (4) Entsiklopedicheskii slovar′ russkoi literatury s 1917 goda. See Bibliography for complete references.

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early 1930s at the Institute for Red Professors, as did Lebedev-Kumach. Svetlov also fought in the Civil War and moved to Moscow in the 1920s, where he studied at MGU and was involved in the Komsomol. These men had all written songs before the war began. Zharov joined the Party in 1920 and was heavily involved in the Komsomol, helping to organize the literary group “Molodaia gvardiia” (Young guard) in the 1920s. He spent some time abroad and by the thirties was writing for the Newspaper Komsomol′skaia pravda. Both Shvedov and Kolychev had published song collections before the war, and Kolychev penned many lyrics for Aleksandrov’s Red Banner Ensemble. The younger half of the group, seven poets aged thirty-one to thirty-six at the beginning of the war, seem to have been much less productive as songwriters, with one exception. Viktor Gusev (1909) had more than a hundred songs attributed to him prior to his death in 1944. He was part of the literary division of the radio committee during the war and also wrote film scripts and plays. Although all of the poets mentioned wrote war songs, most actually specialized in other genres. Of the three born in 1906, Agniia Barto was notable as a children’s writer and was one of the few female poet-lyricists of the period. Semen Kirsanov produced materials for factory newspapers and was close to the famous poet, Maiakovskii. Fedor Kravchenko, mainly a fiction writer, trained as a scriptwriter in the late thirties. Arsenii Tarkovskii, born in 1908, was a translator of Eastern languages. Tsezar′ Solodar′, born in 1909, first finished a law degree in Kiev and only began writing comedies and satires in the second half of the thirties. He created a libretto for a Kabalevskii operetta before the war. This group’s careers only started after the events of the Revolution and the Civil War, when they were able to participate in and shape the nascent educational, cultural, and journalistic undertakings of the new government. In contrast, the next youngest group of twelve poets—between ­twenty-six and thirty-one years old when the war started—included some extremely well-known songwriters: Sergei Vasil′ev, Anatolii Sofronov, and Vladimir Dykhovichnyi (1911); Lev Oshanin (1912); Mark Lisianskii, Sergei Mikhalkov, and Nikolai Flerov (1913); B. Laskin and Pavel Shubin (1914); and Evgenii Dolmatovskii and Konstantin Simonov (1915). This group seems to have shared common educational experiences more so than did the earlier group. A number of them studied at the Gor′kii Institute in Moscow in the mid to late 1930s. Vasil′ev, Oshanin, Mikhalkov, Dolmatovskii, and Simonov probably overlapped with one another during their stints at the institute. Lisianskii and Flerov both studied at the Moscow Institute of Journalism. Laskin attended a script-writing institute. Sofronov was in Rostov until the beginning of the war,

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where he pursued studies at the Pedagogical Institute. Shubin studied at the Pedagogical Institute in Leningrad, and was a prodigious songwriter during the war. Only Lisianskii and Sofronov were Party members before the war, joining in 1938 and 1940, respectively. Two of the poets, Dolmatovskii and Simonov, served as military correspondents in the Far East and in Belarus before the Second World War. Laskin, Mikhalkov, and Simonov wrote scripts before and during the war. Dykhovichnyi was the oddest of the lot. Working as a geologist before the war, he began his writing career with various front newspapers. The youngest group of poets, those twenty-five years of age and under, has only three members. Nikolai Bukin, born in 1916, completed studies at the Pedagogical Institute in his native Perm′ in 1940. He is best known for his military (especially naval) songs. Pavel Bogdanov (1917) completed his higher education at the Kazakh State Institute only after the war, but had apparently proven himself as a writer much earlier, as he was accepted into the Writers’ Union in 1939. The youngest, Aleksei Fat′ianov (1919), studied at the Gorkii Institute and at the State Institute of Theatrical Arts (GITIS) in the late 1930s. Devoting himself to songwriting, he has over 200 lyrics to his credit. Of these three writers, only Bukin was a Party member as of 1939. Thus, by the time war broke out, a number of well-established writers were ready and able to create new songs for the war period. As with the composers, most were union members, meeting occasionally in plenums and conferences and working together on committees. The stenographs of these meetings have not been found for this project; thus, a direct comparison cannot be made. Yet it is clear that poets who were especially involved in songwriting—such as Lebedev-Kumach, Oshanin, and Dolmatovskii—often attended the meetings of the composers in which songs were discussed. Whether the reverse is true— that composers attended the poets’ meetings—is not clear. Even more than the composers, many poets traveled widely throughout the war. Hence, they may not have seen each other as often and were not subject to the disputes and personal clashes common among composers. According to Dolmatovskii, differences among the writers in personality and style certainly existed, but during the war these differences seemed less important. “As an example,” he states, “Pasternak and Isakovskii, polar opposites, were sharing a dacha and drinking tea with honey together in evacuation . . . I don’t remember that people were mean to one another.”18

18 E. Dolmatovskii, interview by author, May 7, 1991, audio tape (in author’s possession).

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Because words are perhaps the most vital tool for political expression and influence, writers were always in the forefront of social action—and also at great risk if their activities ran counter to the current political power structure in Russia and the USSR. At the first writer’s congress in 1934 (the only such gathering before the war years), Gorky said, “The union was created to unite writers in a physical sense but also to build a professional union to make them aware of their collective strength.” He called them not to follow their own individual paths but to work together, in groups if necessary, to portray the “new reality” according to a single unified method.19 The war thus provided a new reality to address. The poets who worked on songs during the war were aware of this requirement and the risks of not complying. In fact, they were probably subject to more severe scrutiny by the Party than their musical colleagues. Music was considerably freer because it was more abstract, more difficult to critique, and therefore less subject to ideological definitions and limitations. At least publicly, then, those writers who were influenced by Tsarist times or in unfavorable political positions became silent, were eliminated altogether, or ceased writing entirely. Given that the music was more abstract, composers were more likely to continue working. Also, writers were more often Party members than composers. One evidence of this is the number of poets in the sample who were members of the Communist Party before the war. Eight were Party members: three received membership during the Civil War, three in the 1920s and 1930s, and two in 1940. In contrast, only five composers were Party members in the prewar years, and all were granted cards after 1937. During the war the figures even out, with nine writers and twelve composers receiving membership. This indicates that the writers were closely allied to Party affiliations and probably reflected ideological trends in their work more definitely than did their composer counterparts. However, the war years revealed to the leadership the necessity of bringing all artists, not just the warriors of the pen, into closer contact. Undoubtedly, the power of song did much to influence this shift. Additionally, some of the writers and composers who worked on songs were extremely well known and held high positions in the unions, which allowed them to influence policies and trends inside their organizations. Those who were also Party members served as the link between Party policies and 19 John and Carol Garrard, Inside the Soviet Writers’ Union (New York: The Free Press, 1990), 41.

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the creative organizations. Those who were still young—in some cases, still in school—would make their names in the war years. The younger and perhaps lesser-known members of the unions were often those who joined the military, traveled extensively to the fronts, and brought their war experiences directly back to the commissions and committees located in Moscow. This diversity in rank and status, along with personality and artistic differences, played a role in determining who had influence on policy, who got published or recorded, and who was evacuated or given the choicest assignments.

RELATIONS BETWEEN COMPOSERS AND POETS As war broke out, those song lyricists who were members of the Union of Writers joined the military immediately. Dolmatovskii recalls that twenty or thirty of the poets signed up and, in a matter of days or at most a couple of weeks, were serving at new posts, often staffing army and front newspapers. Among these were Surkov, Zharov, Lebedev-Kumach, Svetlov, Shubin, Simonov, Aleksandr Prokof ′ev, Dolmatovskii, and Iosif Utkin.20 All would become the best-known lyricists. Dolmatovskii himself was in the western Ukraine in early July, and by August had been captured by the Germans. After his escape and debriefing, he was assigned in 1942 to the front paper Krasnaia armiia (Red Army) and traveled in retreat from Voronezh to Stalingrad, then back west all the way to Berlin. He also wrote for the central paper Komsomol′skaia pravda.21 Dolmatovskii’s experience was common, since most professional poet/ songwriters worked as newspaper correspondents during at least part of the war. Simonov and Svetlov wrote for the central military paper, Krasnaia zvezda (Red star). Svetlov covered Leningrad for part of the war. Surkov wrote for the western front paper Krasnoarmeiskaia pravda (Red Army truth) in 1941 and 1942. In 1944, he was named main editor of Literaturnaia gazeta (Literary gazette), a more prestigious—and safer—post in the rear. Lisianskii was editor of a division paper, V boi za rodinu (To battle for the motherland) at the Kalinin front. Shubin wrote for a paper produced at the Volkhov front, and also was at the Karelian and Far East fronts during the course of the war. Mikhalkov and Frenkel′ wrote for the southern front newspaper Vo slavu rodiny (Glory to the motherland). The Navy also had its newspapers and poet recruits. Zharov was 20 E. A. Dolmatovskii, Bylo: Zapiski poeta. Novye stranitsy (Moscow: Sovetskii pisatel′, 1988), 200; Dolmatovskii, interview, May 7, 1991. 21 Dolmatovskii, Bylo, 228.

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with the Black Sea fleet, then wrote for the Northern fleet paper Krasnoflotets (Red sailor). Flerov and Bukin also served at different papers in the north. Dykhovichnyi and Churkin served for a time in the Baltic fleet. LebedevKumach was assigned as a staff member of the main political administration of the Navy and traveled to numerous fronts in this capacity. Many poets/songwriters were assigned to military newspapers and wrote songs as a part of their duties. Others, though, concentrated on writing and were not in the military. Sofronov began in the military ranks on a newspaper editorial board, but after suffering wounds in the early days of the war he was sent into the “political reserves” in Moscow, where he sent reports from the front as a staff member of Izvestiia. Isakovskii was evacuated to Chistopol′ in Tataria, joining many writers and their families. Oshanin’s poor eyesight kept him out of the military, so at the war’s outset he volunteered as a civilian political worker for the Pacific Fleet Ensemble. He returned to Moscow only in spring 1942 and was immediately sent to the western front by the political administration. He visited several fronts, including the Karelian and the third Belorussian.22 In many cases, little or no information has been found to help identify the assignments, movements, and duties of particular songwriters. For example, Fat′ianov, one of the most prodigious songwriters of the war years, served in the regular ranks and traveled from Orenburg to Hungary. He worked with the Ensemble of Song and Dance of the Urals military district in its literary section, but it is unclear how much of his time and duties were dedicated to writing and how much to fighting. It is also unclear whether he was assigned to a military paper. There are records of many poets who served or at least visited certain fronts, but exactly what they did, how long they were there, and how they incorporated songwriting into their work is unclear. In general, writers and poets all served as lyricists during the war years. A professional journalist would write far more articles and editorials than he would produce song texts. In other cases, as was seen in Chapter 1, a poet’s work would be adapted for a song with or without his consent. Professionals and amateurs alike submitted their verses to regional and national newspapers. Central or widely read papers would often select the best verses from the smaller papers to reprint for a wider audience. The broader circulation of texts gave composers more opportunities to discover and use them for songs. This is not to say, however, that the poets played passive roles in the songwriting process. 22 Lev Oshanin, interview with author, audio tape (in author’s possession).

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Dolmatovskii recounted how in the early days of the war, before the front was stabilized, composers were not sent to the front, but poets in possession of press credentials were. They would take well-known melodies of folk, soldier, and popular songs and rewrite the lyrics to apply to the new wartime situation. He recalled with pride that this was a time when poets acted without benefit of composers.23 As we will see later, though, some of the older, more prominent poets, as well as younger civilian poets, actively worked on songwriting and collaborated closely with composers to create political, lyrical, and stage music. Turning now from the poets’ opportunities and experiences with songwriting to the composers’ situation during the war, there are both similarities and differences. As seen in Chapter 1, the early days of the war saw a flurry of activity to create new songs that suited war conditions. Primarily, this involved professional composers who were members of composers’ unions and organizations but not in the armed forces. The hundreds of songs that went through the bureaucratic review process serve as proof of their creative efforts. Novikov recalled how, in the initial days of the war, composers would meet in one another’s basements— wherever they could find a decent piano—to try out new works: Everyone was drawn to action and felt that they should either go to the front to fight or participate by creating art as a weapon . . . [T]he patriotic feeling united us. We met and showed each other songs. Poets came and read their work. . . . Everyone gave their opinions as to what worked and what didn’t.24

However, there were those who doubted the usefulness of songwriting in the initial phase of the war. One Leningrad composer, Orest Evlakhov, put it well: I remember that my first impression was a feeling of complete incapacity to compose. It seemed to me then that the danger for the Motherland was so serious and great that only direct involvement in the events might serve some sort of real use to the country. The work and creative production of a composer seemed to me completely unneeded. Only gradually did this difficult feeling recede, and I was able to return to my work. . . .25 23 Dolmatovskii, interview with author. 24 Krasil′shchik, Muzy, 124. 25 “O. Evlakhov,” in Polianovskii, Sovetskie kompozitory—frontu, 10, cited in Kiril Tomoff, Creative Union: The Professional Organization of Soviet Composers, 1939–1953 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2006), 74.

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Undoubtedly, the closer one was to the frontline action, the more likely one felt other duties superseded songwriting. And many did help in civil defense, digging trenches, serving on fire watches, and helping in the early impromptu musical performances. One of Evlakhov’s earliest musical contributions was to arrange “arias, romances, and Soviet songs” for a string quartet attached to the Leningrad conservatory that went out to accompany vocalists in brigade performances.26 Many composers also sat on the committees and commissions that reviewed new works or handled the union’s other administrative duties. In the first weeks of the war, some of these commissions met daily. Novikov and Blanter were members of the Defense Commission responsible for sorting out all defense songs. The Orgkom then held a second review. Members of this committee included Khachaturian, Kabalevskii, Muradeli, and Belyi. Khrennikov, as a member of the administrative board of Muzfond, was also included in these meetings.27 Novikov noted, “The war gave us a new rhythm of life. Time was compressed. What earlier took a week, now was done in a few hours. The battle songs hardly were born when they were heard over the air and in concerts for soldiers.”28 Some composers worked as directors and arrangers for performing ensembles and continued to have responsibilities connected with that work. Dunaevskii directed the Ensemble of Railway Workers, and the Pokrass brothers worked occasionally with this group. Zakharov directed the Piatnitskii Folk Choir. Novikov, as of 1942, headed the Ensemble of the Central Union of Trade Unions. These large groups were often sent on lengthy tours at the rear. The best known during the war was the leading army ensemble: the Red Banner Ensemble of Red Army Song and Dance. It was directed by A.V. Aleksandrov, whose son, Boris, also worked as an assistant director and arranger. Despite other responsibilities, these composers regularly contributed to the growing body of new songs. Other composers performed with smaller brigades in Moscow, in their local regions, and, as time went on, at the front. Novikov recounted how his ensemble was sent by the Moscow Party Committee from train station to train station in the first weeks of the war to sing for new recruits as they left for the

26 Ibid. 27 RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 37. 28 Novikov is cited in K. G. Bogemskaia et al., Samodeiatel′noe khudozhestvennoe tvorchestvo v SSSR: Ocherki istorii 1930–1950 gg. (Moscow: Gosudarstvennyi institut iskusstvoznaniia, 1995), 87.

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western front.29 These assignments came under the auspices of shefskaia rabota (patronage work), in which organizations would be paired with a unit, recruiting center, garrison, or hospital to offer assistance. In the case of the composers’ and performers’ organizations, this meant performing in concerts or helping amateur musical efforts. But the members also helped in other ways. They often assisted in hospitals with cleaning duties or performing basic nursing aid. Patronage performances apparently supplemented regular duties and were voluntary and unpaid. Organizing was considered part of the composers’ duties. A list of hospital performances for May 1942 to May 1943 in Moscow indicates that Bakalov put on about eighty concerts while Kats gave around thirty performances. Lepin participated in nineteen concerts, Morozov eighteen, and Fradkin thirteen during the year. These five men took on the lion’s share of the work, presenting 160 of the 212 concerts listed. It is probable that at least Bakalov was paid by the Composers’ Union for his efforts, because he spent so much time serving the Moscow hospitals and presented half of all the concerts given by these five composers. Another fifty concerts were shared among sixteen other composers.30 If the schedule of April 1942 is any example, these were probably not all patronage concerts. The Moscow Composers’ Union planned only two concerts for its patronage hospital that month.31 Again, it is unclear whether the performers were paid. Other brigades and groups were formed to travel to military units and the front. In December 1941, a concert brigade visited Voronezh at the southwestern front with composers Belyi, Kabalevskii, and Dzerzhinskii in tow.32 A Moscow brigade of composers, including Muradeli, traveled to the northwestern front from December 1941 to March 1942.33 Solov′ev-Sedoi made several trips to the front, including a tour with the group Iastrebok in 1942 and a trip with the Leningrad concert brigade through the Baltics and eastern Prussia in 1945. 29 Krasil′shchik, Muzy, 125–26. 30 These are my calculations based on lists and concert reviews found in RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 52. 31 Protocol 8, March 31, 1942, meeting of the board of the Moscow Composers’ Union, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 52. 32 Biriukov, PVD, 160; Iu V. Vorontsov and N. G. Didenko, comps., Muzykanty Velikoi Otechestvennoi (Voronezh: Tsentral′no-chernozemnoe knizhnoe izdatel′stvo, 1980), 22. There appears to be a discrepancy here. Biriukov claims the three were in Voronezh in December 1941, whereas Vorontsov and Didenko place them in the city on an extended trip in March 1942. It is possible that they made two separate trips. 33 Protocol 8, March 31, 1942, meeting of the board of Moscow Composers’ Union, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 52.

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Vadim Kochetov (1898) can serve here as an example of the fairly typical life of a professional composer during the war. Working and living in Moscow when the war broke out, he noted in his journal that he wrote a couple of songs with his own texts since poets he knew were already out of town. “Pesnia bor′ by” (Song of struggle) and “Pesnia protivovozdushnoi oborony” (Song of the anti-aircraft defense) were among them. He worked to protect his apartment building from fires, noting that there was little time for composition. Toward the end of 1941 he and his family were evacuated to Sverdlovsk, where he worked with the conservatory and finished a song cycle “Pesni nenavisti” (Songs of hate) with the poet Surkov as well as other nonvocal works. He returned to Moscow in June 1942 without his family, and was then sent to the northern fleet, where he spent ten months working first with the artillery units and then the submarine units. Musically, he worked with the professional navy jazz band and numerous amateur groups, arranging musical scores for a variety of instruments, working with choirs and orchestras, and composing, often with amateur navy poets. After returning to Moscow he traveled with the composer Novikov and the poet Oshanin as they moved toward Berlin.34 A number of composers were mobilized into the military and the home guard, but their tasks, at least in the initial months of the war, generally did not include writing songs. With poets working solo—borrowing familiar melodies for new songs—and the temporary removal of members’ names from the roles of the Moscow Composers’ Union when they were called to active duty, it is apparent that professional commissions at the front were quite limited early in the war. Eleven composers who joined the army and eight who joined the home guard were deleted from the roles of the Moscow Composers’ Union at its August 9, 1941 meeting.35 This meant they were not available for commission orders for songs or other compositions. Yet members who joined the military were not abandoned altogether; recruits to the home guard were given support grants, and families of composers in the military also received some financial assistance.36 On occasion, the unions could petition the Committee on Art Affairs for military deferments to enable composers to continue their 34 T. M. Goriaeva et al., comps., Muzy v shineliakh: Sovetskaia intelligentsiia v gody Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny. Dokumenty, teksty, vospominaniia (Moscow: Rossiiskaia politicheskaia entsiklopediia [ROSSPEN], 2006), 191–200. 35 Protocol of the presidium of the Moscow Composers’ Union, August 9, 1941, RGALI, f. 2007, op. 1, d. 38. 36 Protocol of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers of the USSR, August 2, 1941, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 37.

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creative work. A request was made by the Moscow Composers’ Union to keep Lepin and six other composers out of the draft in December 1941.37 Composers receiving deferments or exemptions from service took part in the defense effort in other ways. In summer 1941, Kats worked shifts in the antiaircraft watches, composing music during lulls. Composers, like members of other organizations, also kept watch over their own buildings, serving in fire brigades to minimize damage during air raids. Some composers served the military directly in a professional capacity by writing songs and other forms of music, as well as by assisting with military ensembles (both amateur and professional). Budashkin, Zharkovskii, Slonov, Mokrousov, and Terent′ev all were assigned to work in the political administration of the Navy.38 Listov was appointed senior musical consultant for the same department. Zharkovskii and Terent′ev started out at the Northern fleet, while Mokrousov and Slonov went to the Black Sea. Many of these mobilized composers stayed in service throughout the war. For example, Zharkovskii served in the north until 1944, when he was transferred to the Black Sea fleet for the remainder of the war.39 Muradeli directed the Central Ensemble of the Navy from 1942 to 1944. In the army, Fradkin was assigned to the Ensemble of Song and Dance of the southwestern front, while Kats assisted the Briansk Front Ensemble on a short assignment. Kruchinin visited the Ensemble of the First Cavalry Corps with the poet Oshanin in summer 1942 and was commissioned to write its songs. Many factors contributed to the songwriting environment and the conditions that led to creating new material. The composers and writers sent to the front not only brought back their own new songs for review, publication, and distribution, but also returned with vivid impressions of front life, firsthand experience of what the soldiers liked and wanted in the way of music, and what kind of music was required for the war effort. These views and opinions became part of the debates and critiques held at the creative unions and helped influence songs written far away from the front. At a plenum held in April 1942, the composer Rechmenskii told of his experience: The news from the front, newspaper articles and meetings with heroes in the rear are only part of the material . . . Participate in the lives of the 37 Protocol 3, meeting of the presidium of the Moscow Composers’ Union, December 5, 1941, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 39. 38 Protocol 29, meeting of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers of the USSR, July 29,1941, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 37. 39 Zharkovskii, Liudi, 85.

The Soldiers of the Song Front    CHAPTER 2 front soldiers. Meet there with them. This is an inexhaustible source for new impressions. It is difficult to transmit with words what the brigade survived during our time at the front. . . . It isn’t what we survived in Moscow during the air raids. It is more—a completely new level of survival. Words fail me.40

Other composers echoed this view at the same plenum. Solodukha noted that the soldiers also were interested in artistic works and requested more songs about home, girlfriends, and families—all while surrounded by misery and destruction. These pictures and contrasts could not be found in newspapers and had to be observed firsthand by the Soviet artists because “they [left] indelible impressions.”41 Vasil′iev-Buglai encouraged all composers to adopt a unit or regiment and write for it from the heart.42 This plea was apparently taken seriously, for by August 1943 composers were asking to be allowed to remain with the units about which they had written. At a meeting of the military commission (a replacement of the earlier defense commission), Kats suggested a change in how tours were organized, taking into account both the preferences of the composers and their previous contacts. Novikov, a member of the Orgkom, assured the commission that this would be taken up with the political administration (the organization with final responsibility for tours).43 The professional poets and composers who came in from the front for short visits also received critiques of their work and returned to the front with the latest official perspective on what genres, themes, and moods were required. For example, on August 8, 1942, the Defense/Creative Commission of the Union of Composers heard and reviewed works by Zharkovskii and Terent′ev, who were on leave from the Northern fleet in Moscow. A number of prominent songwriters were present at the review and offered their opinions. The two received generally favorable reviews, although it was noted that their works were sloppily presented and their compositions, in most cases, could not yet be said to be effective as rousing songs for the masses. Zharkovskii, in turn, 40 Rechmenskii, stenograph of the open session of the meeting of the presidium of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, April 27, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 57, 126. 41 Stenograph of the open session of the presidium of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, April 27,1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 57, 66. 42 Stenograph of open session of the presidium of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, April 27, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 57, 10. 43 Meeting of the Voennaia Komissiia of the Union of Soviet Composers with the aktiv, August 25, 1943, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 82.

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shared with those present the difficulties of working at the front: the necessity of writing on specific themes very quickly, and having to work under the supervision of the ensemble director.44 The commission also held a meeting on November 20, 1942, to evaluate the songs composed for a Black Sea fleet political department song collection. They reviewed songs by Slonov, Makarov, and Chaplygin.45 The Defense/Creative Commission did not limit its meetings to composers. In May 1942, it invited the poets Zharov and Oshanin to meet with them to share works and discuss how to bring poets and composers closer together in their creative songwriting efforts. The meetings of this commission were open to poets in general.46 This review process and exchange of ideas could also take place on a less formal level. Songwriters would meet each other in hotels on trips through Moscow as they went from one assignment to another, sharing texts, melodies, and ideas. They also met on trains, in other cities, or as members of concert brigades. Sometimes these meetings were fortuitous, bringing together artists who previously had not worked together to form new creative partnerships. Dolmatovskii and Fradkin began a longtime collaboration with the creation of “Song about the Dnieper” in fall 1941, when Fradkin’s ensemble arrived in the town where Dolmatovskii was undergoing a debriefing. Solov′evSedoi met Fat′ianov on his arrival in Chkalov (now Orenburg), where he had been evacuated, and the two wrote numerous songs to great success during the war;47 the relationship, in fact, almost totally excluded other collaborations.48 Sometimes artists knew of one another’s reputations, but often new talents were discovered. In other cases, poets or composers sought each other out to finish a song. Listov stopped in to see if his old friend and collaborator Surkov could provide him with new texts that would work as song lyrics. Surkov gave him the only thing he had at hand, the text to “In the Dugout,” a poem he himself had not considered good song material. Fat′ianov came to Moscow for a few days on leave from Hungary in 1944 and showed Solov′ev-Sedoi some new texts. 44 Protocol of a creative review held by the Oboronnaia/Tvorcheskaia Komissiia of the Union of Soviet Composers, August 8, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 60. 45 Protocol of a special meeting held by the Oboronnaia/Tvorcheskaia Komissiia, November 20, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 60. 46 Meeting of Oboronnaia/Tvorcheskaia Komissiia, May 5, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 60. 47 Solov′ev-Sedoi estimated that they wrote eighty songs together during the war years Biriukov, PVD, 230. Clearly, not all of these songs were successful. 48 I have found only one song by Fat′ianov written during the war with a different composer. Kruchinin set the text “Serdtse tankista”(Heart of a tankist) to music in August 1944, when the two met at the front. Biriukov, POV, 209–10.

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“Nightingales” was thus born in a hotel room and first performed in the twelfthfloor lobby of Hotel Moskva.49 Oshanin recalled how he decided not to call on Novikov, the coauthor of their successful song “Oh Roads,” to write new music because he regarded his new piece, “Ekhal ia iz Berlina” (I traveled back from Berlin), as more in the style of another composer he knew, Dunaevskii.50 Other artists corresponded by mail or exchanged ideas over the telephone. Zakharov and Isakovskii corresponded through letters about “Oh Mists, My Mists,” while Blanter and Isakovskii worked via the telephone on “Goodbye, Cities and Village Huts” at the beginning of the war and “Under the Balkan Stars” toward the war’s end.51 Evacuation also may have led to friendships and collaborations within and across unions. Vissarion Shebalin noted that even after their return from Frunze (now Bishkek) certain composers who had been there together formed social circles that lasted long after evacuation. Moreover, as the war progressed and composers and writers were able to take time at the various creative camps and sanatoria, friendships and collaborative creativity were fostered. Composers could receive up to two months at no cost at these various creative retreats and could pay in full or in part a per diem rate for up to two more months. The rate depended on the project they were working on. They could bring collaborators such as song lyricists, but they had to pay full price: forty-two rubles a day.52 As with any artistic retreat, these allowed people to work on creative projects while relaxing in generally peaceful settings with nature around them, athletic fields and equipment provided, and meals shared in a cafeteria-style dining hall. Clearly, there was no single process or method by which composers and poets could find each other. Composers would often read texts published in newspapers and journals and compose songs without even knowing the lyricist. In other cases, selections were made based on reputation, prior collaborations, or friendship. Composers and poets were sometimes assigned to travel together in brigades and create new songs. Regarding such a situation, it is not clear whether individuals had any role in shaping the group’s makeup. Throughout the war the Composers’ Union worked to bring composers and poets closer together in their work and their aims. Complaints were heard about inferior texts or music inappropriate to the text. Emissaries sent from composers met with writers to discuss these issues. Writers attended the plenums on music and 49 Krasil’shchik, Liudi, 160; Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 218–19. 50 L. Oshanin, interview with author. 51 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 210–11. 52 Tomoff, Creative Union, 71, 219–20.

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particularly on song. Special evenings were set aside to hear texts and finished songs. Thus, in addition to the personal contacts and coincidental meetings of musicians and lyricists, creative organizations matched artists to meet the changing needs for songs. The most famous composer/poet teams, such as Solov′ev-Sedoi and Fat′ianov, Blanter and Isakovskii, and Zakharov and Isakovskii, are well known because they created a number of successful songs. They collaborated frequently, and an ongoing relationship offered a greater opportunity to create good material. Solov′ev-Sedoi and Fat′ianov wrote eleven successful songs together during the war—fully half of Solov′ev-Sedoi’s extant output for the four-year period.53 The poet Isakovskii wrote six songs with Blanter and as many with Zakharov. Frequency, however, did not always spell success. Blanter wrote ten songs based on texts by Simonov, but only one has endured, and it is unclear how successful the others were at the time. In examining the composer/poet teams, it is clear that some composers preferred to work regularly with one or two lyricists. Khrennikov created seventeen songs with Gusev. Many were commissioned for films, and the assignment was made by a director. Even so, the two chose to work together on other occasions. Kats wrote seven songs with Sofronov. Belyi worked with Shvedov on five. Novikov collaborated mostly with Alymov and LebedevKumach. Budashkin wrote four songs with N. Braun. Fradkin was unique in that he used at least five of his own texts for songs. He also wrote as many with Dolmatovskii. The fact that the composers and poets frequently worked with one or two individuals did not limit their occasional work with other people. For example, although Listov created twelve songs with Lebedev-Kumach and nine with Zharov—nearly a third of his wartime songs—he also worked with twenty other poets, including Alymov, Solodar′, and V. Krakht, as well as two amateur poets from the Navy. Excluding the work he did with Simonov, Blanter wrote thirty-two songs with fourteen different poets. Aleksandrov wrote primarily with Lebedev-Kumach, Kolychev, and Shilov, but also with nine other poets. Kruchinin wrote five songs with Oshanin and distributed his other eight songs among six poets. Bogoslovskii wrote seven of his songs with Shubin and Laskin; the other seven texts were written by five different poets. Zharkovskii collaborated with Ia. Rodionov before the poet’s death; in addition, he produced 53 The estimates of songs written during the war and the numbers of songs composed by specific teams are approximate. They are based on the archives, memoirs, and other materials consulted in the research for this project. Some songs and texts may have been written before June 22, 1941, but were sung or published during the war.

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sixteen songs with fourteen different poets, including four amateurs from the military. A number of composers did not write primarily with any one poet but spread their work among several artists. Dunaevskii’s eleven songs were written with ten different poets; Miliutin wrote ten songs with six poets; Bakalov, Morozov, Shostakovich, Mokrousov, Kabalevskii, Khachaturian, and Lepin all produced no more than two songs with any writer. In part, this may be due to the fact that many of these composers were younger or worked primarily in genres other than song. These patterns repeat with the poet/composer teams. Some poets clearly had favorite composers. The best example is Fat′ianov, who wrote almost exclusively with Solov′ev-Sedoi. Vinnikov worked mainly with Blanter. Others had clear favorites but wrote with other, sometimes numerous, composers. Lebedev-Kumach produced twelve songs with Listov and five with Aleksandrov, but he also worked with twenty-five other composers. Krakht wrote most often with Listov but he also produced nine other songs, each with a different composer. Oshanin wrote with twenty composers, mostly with Kruchinin (five songs), but also three each with Fradkin and Gol′ts. Alymov’s nineteen wartime songs were written with four composers: Novikov, Listov, Chaplygin, and Akulenko. Seventeen other songs were distributed among fourteen composers. Isakovskii wrote more than half of his with Blanter and Zakharov, but he also wrote with seven other composers. Whereas Gusev wrote mostly with Khrennikov (seventeen songs), the poet wrote at least eleven works with four other composers. There were also poets whose work was dispersed among many composers; Surkov, for example, wrote twelve songs with nine composers, while M. Golodnyi’s five songs were composed by four different musicians. Interestingly enough, age and generational attachments appear to have played little if any role in determining who worked with whom. Of course, older and younger friends and colleagues did seek one another out, as evidenced by connections between Blanter, Zakharov, and Isakovskii (born within four years of each other), and Bogoslovskii’s collaborations with Shubin and Laskin (all only a year apart in age). Other teams, however, crossed generations frequently and with no apparent pattern. Oshanin and Kruchinin were twenty years apart; Solov′ev-Sedoi and Fat′ianov were separated by twelve years. When an individual had more than a few artistic associations, patterns based on age or generational allegiances become totally random. Clearly this was not a significant determinant in finding creative partnerships. It is impossible to state definitively how many composers and poets worked on songs during the war, or how many pieces they finished.

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This is particularly true because amateur composers would freely borrow poems by well-known writers. Texts by Surkov, Zharov, Oshanin, LebedevKumach, and Alymov were appropriated by soldiers and sailors given to songwriting. In the sample collected here, in which specific titles could be matched with both composers and poets, 451 songs were created by sixty-five composers (ten of whom were amateurs or lesser-known professionals) and ninety-five poets (thirty of whom were amateurs or not well known). Among the professional composers, the leading songwriters were Listov with sixty-four songs, Blanter with forty-two, and Aleksandrov and Khrennikov with twenty-seven each. Solov′ev-Sedoi composed twenty-two songs during the war years. The leading poets were Lebedev-Kumach with fifty-three songs; Alymov with thirty-six; and Oshanin with thirty. Gusev’s output was twenty-eight songs, while Zharov and Isakovskii tied for fifth place with twenty songs apiece. The remaining songwriters follow with a wide range of productivity. Those composers known for their classical work tend to have the fewest songs. Shostakovich and Kabalevskii wrote only four songs each. Only seven have been attributed to Khachaturian. Of the lyricists of popular song, the fewest—five—were written by Golodnyi, though no reason for his limited output has been given. Most amateurs and lesser-known composers were responsible for a single song apiece.54 Many factors contribute to the difficulty of determining the actual number of songs created during the war. If the source of a lyric is undocumented, that song has not been included in this census, so the output of some composers may be underrepresented. Regionally based composers worked throughout the Soviet Union, and it is impossible to determine their numbers without extensive local archival research. Composers and poets in the military, as well as amateurs in the ranks, wrote and even published songs that received limited dissemination in a division or front newspaper. Finally, only some of the many versions of songs have been included here. Many are lost or were only remembered in snatches by those who sang them.

REMUNERATION: CONTRACTS AND CONTESTS Songwriting was fairly lucrative for professionals during the war years. Composers and poets were commissioned with contracts under which they received an advance, were paid a second portion after review of the work, and were given final payment after publication. If the work was incomplete, or if 54 All of the calculations here are the author’s own, based on the research for this project.

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the composer had failed to pay his union dues, or had committed other indiscretions in the eyes of the union, he might lose all or part of his compensation. Contract terms were set by individual organizations and, in the case of composers, final decisions as to who received the grants and who finally received payment were made by the Orgkom of the Composers’ Union. Because of the evacuations of individual composers and of institutions that hired them, the Composers’ Union and the financial arm Muzfond created a special fund for composers “engaged in creative work” to help support its members. This was curtailed when evacuations ended. Muzfond still gave out grants to composers for creative work but now it was based on their creative plans.55 Compensation varied depending on the work ordered, the status of the composer or poet, and the length of time given for completion. For example, Kats was awarded a contract for two songs to be written for the political section of the 16th Army in the amount of 1,000 rubles. No time limits were established, and each song was therefore worth 500 rubles. Liuban and Kruchinin received the same amount per song for their Army commission. Later, Kats was given a contract for a cycle of seven songs to be composed in three months, for which he received 3,600 rubles, which also averages to about 500 rubles per song. B. Aleksandrov received 3,000 rubles for three months’ work on six songs, matching the 500-ruble fee. A. V. Aleksandrov, however, received 4,000 rubles for two months’ work on a cycle of three songs, which averages to approximately 1,300 rubles per song. Dunaevskii was compensated in the amount of 10,000 rubles for twelve songs and a rhapsody for brass band over a four-month period. If each work was equally compensated, the average would have been around 770 rubles per work; it is more likely, however, that the usual 500-ruble fee was paid per song, while the rhapsody, a large complex work for many instruments, brought its composer a fee of 4,000 rubles. Liuban, however, received only 5,000 rubles for twelve songs in four months, earning less than the 500ruble average. The Pokrasses both earned 4,000 rubles for seven songs, exceeding the normal standard.56 Shostakovich was awarded ten times the usual honorarium for one early wartime song, “Oath to the People’s Commissar,” with text by Vissarion Saianov, despite the fact that it was originally rejected by the Leningrad branch of Muzgiz. The director apparently singlehandedly 55 Tomoff, Creative Union, 53, 56. 56 A decree by the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, included in minutes of meetings of the Creative Commission of the Union of Soviet Composers, October 21, 1943, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 53. I calculated the averages.

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changed the decision.57 Alymov was under contract to at least five organizations during the war: the Radio Committee, Muzgiz, the Central Theater of the Red Army, the Ensemble of Song and Dance of the USSR (probably Aleksandrov’s Red Banner Ensemble), and Mosfilm. Contracts with Muzgiz specified payments from 350 to 1,400 rubles, but others followed the standard of 500 rubles. No explanation is given for fluctuating fees, but compensation seems to be independent of edition size or whether the song was published in a collection. It is unclear whether the composers were paid contract rates on an individual basis or were paid a standard rate.58 The question of compensation for defense songs came up at least once in Composers’ Union meetings. In December 1941 it was decided that several composers should study the fee structure of the Radio Committee and Muzgiz so that a uniform rate could be set.59 The outcome of this study is not known. Composers who traveled to the front on short trips also received some payment. In April 1942, the Board of the Moscow Composers’ Union decided that a per diem rate of forty-three rubles would be awarded by Muzfond and thirteen rubles by the main political administration through the Central House of the Red Army. Composers making these trips were engaging in “creative business.”60 However, a lack of information on traveling costs makes it impossible to determine how far this money went in supporting the composers on the road. Apparently some composers occasionally wrote songs without payment. At a song conference in June 1943, Leveshev (probably a writer assigned to the western front) and the poet Vaniushin were requested by their command to write lyrics for outstanding guard units at the western front. Leveshev recounts that he called on his favorite composers and produced fourteen songs of various genres to take back to the front, where they became quite popular. According to the writer, the composers Solov′ev-Sedoi, Mokrousov, Iordanskii, and Morozov “didn’t earn a single kopek for their efforts, but they earned great glory.”61 It is not clear from the minutes whether this was an isolated case of volunteerism for a friend or a part of the patronage work required during the war. In this case, at least, the songs bypassed a Moscow review and went straight to the front. 57 Laurel E. Fay, Shostakovich: A Life (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 124. 58 File on S. Alymov, RGALI, f. 1885, op. 5, d. 5. 59 Meeting of the board of the Moscow Composers’ Union, Protocol 4, December 13, 1941, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 39. 60 Meeting of the board of the Moscow Composers’ Union, April 7, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 52. 61 Stenograph of conference on song, June 18, 1943, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 83, 213–14.

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Topics and themes for songs varied throughout the war, as was seen in Chapter 1. Sometimes contracts specified song content. Alymov and Novikov signed a contract with the Central House of the Red Army in July 1944 for a song about “the great commander, Marshal of the Soviet Union, Comrade Stalin.” Another contract with the same organization for Alymov and Kats stated that the duo would write a heroic march dedicated to units being given titles as a reward for valor. Both contracts specify that advances would be returned within one week if the song’s ideological or artistic content did not meet contract requirements.62 Who determined whether those criteria had been met is not stated. Efforts were also made to put together songbooks and concert programs in a brochure format to be used by performing groups. The programs on specific topics required relevant song materials. In May 1942, the Union of Soviet Composers sponsored the compilation of four programs. Muradeli was assigned the partisan theme. Kabalevskii was asked to create a program for the pilots and Khachaturian one for the Navy, while Belyi was to create a concert program of lyrical songs.63 It is not clear whether the contributors to such collections received additional remuneration. Contests were another means by which the creation of songs was encouraged. This was not a new phenomenon in the USSR. Contests had been held for music written during the Civil War and in the 1930s. Sergei Prokof ′ev submitted a group of six mass songs to a contest sponsored by the composers and ­writers’ unions and by Pravda in the summer of 1935.64 Defense song contests were sponsored in 1940 and the spring of 1941, prior to the war. The contests could be lucrative, in terms of both money and prestige. Those under the auspices of all-union organizations usually offered better prizes than did local events. They also allowed the sponsors to define themes and genres to be created. Contests at the national level, however, were often “closed”—that is, only members of the Composers’ Union or select artists were invited to submit entries. The earliest contest held during the war years, a competition soliciting mass songs, was announced by the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers in mid-September 1941. Ostensibly an “open” contest, the Orgkom also invited fifteen prominent Moscow songwriters, including Blanter, the Pokrasses, Listov, Kruchinin, Novikov, Belyi, and Kats, to submit defense songs. The Composers’ 62 File on S. Alymov, RGALI, f. 1885, op. 5, d. 3. 63 Meeting of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, Protocol 4, May 25, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 52. 64 Simon Morrison, The People’s Artist: Prokofiev’s Soviet Years (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 40.

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Union contacted the Writers’ Union through Lebedev-Kumach to procure texts for the contest and offered poets 250 rubles for every unpublished text provided. Prizes were large; first place was 5,000 rubles, to be split between the composer (3,000) and the poet (2,000). All prizes, in fact, favored the composer with the larger award. Two second-place prizes of 4,000 rubles were awarded, and three third-place prizes were offered at 3,000 rubles each. In addition, any work entered and then accepted for publication received an honorarium of 500 rubles for the music, with 200 rubles offered for texts. A jury of members of the Composers’ Union determined the winner. Glière served as chair, and other members included Shebalin, Khachaturian, and Kabalevskii. Vladimir Surin from the Committee on Art Affairs was added later. The October 1 deadline for submissions meant that composers had only a little over two weeks to prepare their entries.65 The results of this contest have not been found. The Orgkom of the Union of Composers was evacuated from Moscow and had moved to Sverdlovsk by November 1941, so it is possible that this contest never took place or was postponed until after the transfer to Sverdlovsk. A mass song contest was held there and prizes were presented on December 25, 1941. Sixty-eight entries were received, some of which came from those invited to participate in the earlier contest. Two members of the September jury remained—Glière and Shebalin— whereas the other member had been replaced. It also appears that no one from outside the Composers’ Union was involved. The amount of prize money was unlisted in the material available, so no comparison can be made there. Seven songs were awarded prizes. Among the winning composers were D. Pokrass, Kabalevskii, and Miliutin, along with several composers from Sverdlovsk. Other works were selected for publication.66 While in Sverdlovsk, the Orgkom and the defense committee sponsored a contest for a Urals song in which Khrennikov won first prize with “The People of the Urals Fight Hard,” with text by Barto. Khrennikov claimed that all the songs were written to this text, but other sources suggest that a number of songs from the contest were soon published in a collection. Barto’s text was likely one of those available to composers.67 65 Meetings of the presidium of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, Protocol 36, Sept. 13, 1941, Protocol 37, Sept 20, 1941, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 37. 66 Meeting of the Voennaia Komissiia of the Union of Soviet Composers, report by SalimanVladimirov on Sverdlovsk activities, April 7, 1943, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 82; L. N. Lebedinskii, comp., V. A. Belyi: Ocherki zhizni i tvorchestva; stat′i,vospominaniia, materialy (Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1987), 142. 67 Meeting of the presidium of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, report by Lempert on Moscow composers in Sverdlovsk, Protocol 4, May 25, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 52; Khrennikov, interview with author, February 1991.

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After the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers was evacuated from Moscow, a contingent of composers was left behind in the capital. This group, known as the Moscow Composers’ Union, was reduced to approximately 100 members. Among other activities, it sponsored a song contest.68 Vasil′ev-Buglai was in charge of organizing the contest and finding cosponsors. In the end, the Composers’ Union, the Writers’ Union, and the Radio Committee were all designated sponsors sharing costs equally. The Committee on Art Affairs was also a sponsor, apparently without financial participation. Entry requirements specified that songs must be written about a defense theme concerned with the branches of the military, weapons, or the guard units, and written in any style. Works could be scored for soloist or chorus. Priority, however, would be given to songs about Moscow and its heroic defenders (the Germans had just been repelled from the capital). Prizes again were fairly large: first place brought a 3,000-ruble award, second was 2,000, and two third prizes were valued at 1,000 rubles each. Poets would receive 50 percent of the prize amount.69 All entries were to be submitted by December 20, 1941, and were coded to preserve anonymity. The jury was to be made up of nine members: three from the Composers’ Union, two each from Muzgiz and the Radio Committee, and one each from the Writers’ Union and the Central House of the Red Army. Three names were listed eventually as having come from the Composers’ Union, but only one name was put forward by each of the other organizations, making a total of seven members on the jury, yet with only five votes on record. The jury held its first round of judging on December 23 at 10:30 a.m. and finished sometime in the next week. Out of forty-three songs entered, only five made it to the final round of meetings; out of these, only two received a clear majority of favorable votes. Considering the overall quality of submissions to be inferior, the jury did not award top honors. Two songs by Morozov and Lepin were given third prizes. The remaining three works were designated for publication and performance but with no monetary award. It is clear that the Moscow Composers’ Union was unhappy with the quality of the entries, for on January 2, 1942, the board

68 Open session of Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, April 27, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 57, 8. 69 It is not clear here whether they were given an additional 50 percent or whether the original sum was to be split. It should be noted here that although the Writers’ Union was an equal member in the financial burden of the contest, the poets received smaller prizes. No explanation for this has been found.

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asked Aleksandr Gedike, one of the jury members, to analyze the songs’ deficiencies and present his report for the edification of all the composers.70 During the first year of the war, several contests for songs and other musical works were held in the besieged city of Leningrad, despite extremely severe conditions that included cold, famine, and relentless German bombing. On November 5, 1941, the jury for a contest sponsored by the board of the Leningrad Composers’ Union and the administration of the Committee on Art Affairs met in member Asaf ′ev’s dressing room to discuss the approximately fifty submissions. It is reported that five board members—Asaf ′ev, Bogdanov-Berezovskii, Kochurov, Kruts (from the political administration of the Baltic fleet), and Leman (from the Board of Art Affairs)—did not remove their coats in the cold, unheated theater. The contest was held in honor of the twenty-fourth anniversary of the October Revolution, observed two days later. As in the Moscow contest, the jury failed to award a first prize, but second went to Vitlin and Pritsker for their two contributions. A conservatory professor won second prize in the march category,71 and two third prizes were awarded. The Leningrad Board on Art Affairs and the Composers’ Union announced a contest for campaign songs and marches in February 1942 to honor the twentyfourth anniversary of the Red Army. Asaf ′ev and Kochurov were in charge of the jury of eight members. More than sixty entries were submitted. The winning composers in the song category were Budashkin, Gol′ts, Iudin, Leman, and Bogdanov-Berezovskii. There were two march categories, one for orchestra and one for brass band. One of the prizes awarded was a grocery ration—a valuable premium in a time of privation. Gol′ts never received his prize, for he died soon after the contest ended. By then, however, he had already published several defense songs. His prize-winning song was “Gotov′tes′, baltiitsy, v pokhod” (Baltic sailors, prepare for the campaign).72 In May 1942, the next contest announcement in Leningrad included many more genres. The Leningrad Composers’ Union, the Radio Committee, and the Board on Art Affairs announced a contest for the celebration of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the October Revolution, with a theme of the heroic struggle of Leningrad. This time, composers had more than five months to come up with quality 70 Meetings of the Board of Moscow Composers’ Union, Protocol 3, December 5, 1941; plan for December work of the board, Protocol 6, December 21, 1941, Protocol 1, January 2, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 39; report of contest results, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 40; report by Vasil′ev-Buglai to Committee on Art Affairs, December 24, 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 951. 71 A. N. Kriukov, Muzyka v gorode-fronte (Leningrad: Muzyka, 1975), 33–34. 72 Kriukov, Muzyka, 64; Bogdanova, Pamiati, 33.

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submissions. Some composers entered in more than one category. The contest was completed in time to allow for the recording of winning works, which were played on the radio during the holidays in November. Kochurov and Glukh won first-prize honors; Matveev, Mitiushin, and A. Vladimirtsov received second-place awards; and Evlakhov and Levi came in third place.73 Early 1942 ushered in more contests across the USSR. The Moscow Composers’ Union planned a competition for a marching song in January; unfortunately, no other details have been found.74 In spring 1942, the Voronezh Composers’ Organization and the political administration of the Army held a closed contest for the best front song. The jury was headed by the director of the Ensemble of Song and Dance of the southwestern front, Major Sheinin. First prize was awarded to Konstantin Massalitinov, the head of the Voronezh Composers’ Union, for a song he wrote with a junior politruk (political officer), N. Baukov. Fradkin also received an award.75 In May, the paper Krasnaia zvezda reprinted a call for texts for a contest looking for Crimean partisan song-marches. The ad originally had been circulated in the Crimea to 10,000 readers of Krymskii partizan.76 A change in competition options took place in July and August 1942, with the Sverdlovsk branch of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers undertaking sponsorship of a contest. Mass and stage songs were only one category of the works considered. By the summer of 1942, the emphasis was already moving away from exclusively promoting songs. Now, symphonic, chamber, and large choral works reasserted themselves as compositional priorities.77 One incident indicates how things had also changed vis-à-vis songwriting since the beginning of the war. In Sverdlovsk, the Composers’ Union pointed out in a discussion with writers that no entries had been received for the song contest honoring the twenty-fifth anniversary of the October Revolution.78 It is difficult to believe that absolutely no entries had been submitted; possibly the speaker meant that no entries from outside Sverdlovsk had been received, since the discussion at the meeting covered that question as well. It is also possible 73 Meeting of the presidium of the Union of Soviet Composers, report by BogdanovBerezovskii, Protocol 9, July 23, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 52; Kriukov, Muzyka, 114. 74 Meeting of the Board of Moscow Composers’ Union, Protocol 1, January 2, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 39. 75 Vorontsov and Didenko, comps., Muzykanty, 43. 76 Krasnaia zvezda, May 5, 1942, 3. 77 Meeting of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, Lempert’s report on Sverdlovsk activities, Protocol 11, August 30, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 52. 78 Meeting of the Sverdlovsk Composers’ Union, Protocol 12, January 16, 1943, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 72.

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that composers were now concentrating on other genres and did not submit songs. Whatever the case, it is clear that songs had lost center stage; the pendulum had swung too far for the taste of the Committee on Art Affairs. At a conference on song held in Moscow in June 1943, Surin announced that two new song contests would be held: one for a Komsomol song, and one for a song and a march for the MPVO (Moscow antiaircraft units) sponsored by the Moscow Party Committee. Surin called on the composers to pick up Stalin’s slogan, “Decisively crush the enemy,” and he exhorted the conference not to forget about songwriting, although composers were turning more and more to other kinds of work.79 This relative freedom in choice of genre emphasized the difference between songwriters and composers of larger works. The latter often referred to songwriters as melodisty, and considered them somewhat less accomplished composers. Such friction also began appearing in the issue of membership in the composer’s union. The Orgkom considered it important to admit talented songwriters but harbored serious reservations about their professional qualifications. Given this burgeoning rift, the Orgkom still tried to raise the level of professionalism for songwriters. For example, Tabachnikov was admitted to Muzfond, but full membership to the union was held up in order for the military commission to provide him with a review and training.80 Nevertheless, contests for songs continued during this period. The Orgkom of the Union of Composers approved payment to the Chuvash Composers’ Union for a 1,000-ruble first prize in a song contest commemorating the twenty-fifth anniversary of the October Revolution.81 They also heard plans for a partisan song contest to be sponsored by the Belorussian Composers’ Union. Plans moved forward on the Komsomol song contest as a budget of 125,000 rubles was approved, and the military commission took charge of the planning.82 Contest themes tended to broaden somewhat from defense slogans and hero celebrations of earlier offerings. In January 1944, the results of a contest for arrangements of a Russian song sponsored by the 79 Stenograph of conference on song, June 16–18, 1943, June 17, V. Surin, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 83, 148. 80 Tomoff, Creative Union, 70–71. 81 Meeting of the Presidium of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, Protocol 16, November 19, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 52. 82 Meeting of the Presidium of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, Protocol 10, August 12, 1943, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 71; Meeting of Voennaia Komissiia of the Union of Soviet Composers, September 7, 1943, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 82.

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Committee on Art Affairs were announced. Works had been solicited for voice and piano, vocal ensemble, and choir, as well as two categories for instrumental works. Prizes were substantial: 5,000 rubles for first prize in vocal/piano, and 2,000 rubles for third prize. This surely indicates the importance placed on the theme. One hundred and eight entries were received, a number far exceeding the norm and demonstrating a new emphasis on Russia, its history, and its culture. Concerts were organized to showcase the new works.83 In spring 1944, the Committee on Art Affairs called for the creation of new repertories for Estrada—light stage music similar to cabaret—in all genres. Preobrazhenskii, the head of the all-union concert tour organization, VGKO, was to undertake the competition planning. The closed contests reflected new themes, including the advance of the Red Army and the escalating mood of victory throughout the country.84 The VGKO sponsored another contest for the best song of 1944. Solov′ev-Sedoi’s work, “Nightingales,” placed first out of the sixty songs entered. Kabalevskii, Bakalov, and Blanter took home second prizes. In all, forty composers submitted songs reflecting a variety of styles and themes.85 The largest and most lucrative contest of the war period was held to create a new Soviet anthem. The Council of People’s Commissars wished to replace the old “Internationale” with something more ideologically current. The contest sought both appropriate music and texts. The winning poet and composer were paid 100,000 rubles apiece for their efforts. All submissions earned their creators 4,000 rubles; and if they were performed by a chorus during the final phase of the competition, the composers would receive another 4,000 rubles. One hundred sixty-six composers and forty poets responded by entering their best efforts.86 Work on the anthem had begun as early as August 1943, when the political administration voiced complaints that composers, preoccupied with the new assignment, had ceased to fulfill their obligations to visit the front. Dunaevskii was assigned to reassure the head of the political administration, Tsaritsyn, that after September 1 the composers would resume their front duties; until then, however, they were too busy.87 The winning entry, by A. V. Aleksandrov, Sergei Mikhalkov, and G. El-Registan, was first heard 83 Literatura i iskusstvo, January 8, 1944. 84 Order from the head of the Committee on Art Affairs, Khrapchenko, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1282. 85 Krasnaia zvezda, January 6, 1945, 3. 86 Krasnaia zvezda, January 4, 1944, 1. 87 Meeting of the presidium of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, Protocol 10, August 12, 1943, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 71.

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publicly on a radio broadcast by the Bol′shoi Theater as it ushered in the new year of 1944. Between January 1 and March 15, every effort was made to teach the country the new anthem: on January 1, the text and score were published on the front pages of the central newspapers; musicians went out to assist military and civilian organizations alike; a seminar was held to teach the new anthem to lead singers (zapevala), who in turn took it back to their units;88 and posters of the text were hung in the cabins of the Baltic fleet. Then, on March 15, 1944, the anthem was premiered all across the USSR. From that day on, it received official status.89 Later, the words to this winning anthem were changed as part of the de-Stalinization process. After the fall of the Soviet Union it disappeared, but later the music was revived with yet another set of lyrics as the current Anthem of the Russian Federation. Thus, wartime music is directly linked to current Russian political symbolism. As victory drew nearer, song themes and contest topics changed to meet new conditions. Songs were created for liberated cities, the conquest of Berlin, and, finally, returning home. Oshanin and the composer Mokrousov won a contest devoted to victories with the song “Vozvrashchenie” (Return). Mokrousov received second prize for a song written with Isakovskii. Oshanin was especially proud of his first-place showing because he had bested Isakovskii, whom he considered one of the greatest poets.90 It is unclear how many contests took place throughout the war because they could be held at national, regional, and local levels by both military and civilian organizations. It is certain that they were held during all stages of the campaign for all types of songs. They were an excellent vehicle for promoting specific ideas and themes. The larger contests with their valuable prizes offered considerable material incentive to enter. If a song was published and performed, it would earn its creators royalties. Winners gained some measure of prestige out of post-competition publicity. The most prestigious prize of all was the award of the title “Laureate of the Stalin Prize.” A number of artists received this honor for works they created before and during the war, including the poets Gusev, Isakovskii, LebedevKumach, Mikhalkov, A. Prokof ′ev, Simonov, and Surkov, and the composers Aleksandrov, Dunaevskii, Shebalin, Shostakovich, Zakharov, Solov′ev-Sedoi, 88 Krasnoarmeiskaia pravda, February 26, 1944, 2. 89 Krasnaia zvezda, December 21, 1943, 1, December 29, 1943, 3, January 14, 1944, 4; Pravda, March 16, 1944, 4. 90 Oshanin, interview, May 1991.

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and Khrennikov. Blanter was recommended for it during the war, but did not receive it until 1946.91 Unlike the earlier Lenin prize, the Stalin prize, initiated just prior to the war, added the arts, including music, to the sciences. Unlike the manner in which other song contests operated, the Stalin Prize was based on the merit of a body of work. One had to be nominated for candidacy by an organization such as the Composers’ Union or the main political administration. The awards were selected by a committee of experts based on nominations, but then reviewed by various levels of the Party and State, up to and including the Politburo and Stalin. Winners received one hundred thousand rubles and the title of Laureate. The monetary reward would be split among the several awardees if the prize was given to a project, such as a film or opera.92 The prize could be given to composers, poets, and performers. Even in the first round, announced in spring 1941 for work completed from 1934 to 1940, several winners would be involved with song during the war. Although most prizes went to large-scale works, two song composers, Dm. Pokrass and I. Dunaevskii, won prizes for their film scores that included songs. V. Lebedev-Kumach was awarded a prize for several song lyrics. For their work in 1941, A. Aleksandrov, director of the Red Army Ensemble, and V. Zakharov, director of the Piatnitskii Folk Choir, received awards for various songs. One of Aleksandrov’s contributions was the Bolshevik Party Anthem, which would become the music for the new national anthem in 1944. For his work in 1942, V. Solov′ev-Sedoi got an award for several songs, including “Vecher na reide” (Evening on the quay). Awards given for 1943 and 1944 (announced in 1946) went to both V. Zakharov and A. Novikov for multiple songs. M. Blanter received the only prize for 1945 awarded for songs, including several that outlasted the war: “Under the Balkan Stars,” “In the Forest at the Front,” and “Moia liubimaia” (My beloved). Aleksandrov received a second award as a choral conductor for 1945.93 91 No explanation has been found for this delay, as most of the songs that received the award were Blanter’s wartime efforts. Vladimir Zak, Blanter’s colleague and biographer, stated in a telephone conversation with the author that they had never discussed this issue. Zak noted that Blanter had a fairly difficult personality and many found him hard to get along with. Nevertheless, his songs were among the leading wartime favorites and, in the opinions of both Zak and this author, the prize was well deserved and the delay in awarding it is perplexing. 92 Marina Frolova-Walker, Stalin’s Music Prize: Soviet Culture and Politics (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2016), 11–13. 93 Frolova-Walker, Stalin’s Music Prize, 312–17, appendix 3. In the war years there were only two classes of the prize, with Class I carrying the higher honor; only later in 1949 was a third class added. See ibid., 32.

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Although some songs that earned prizes were quite popular during and after the war, such as “Katiusha,” “Little Vasia,” “I kto ego znaet” (Who knows why), and “Igrai, moi baian” (Play, my baian), some never seemed to gain popularity; these included “Dva sokola” (Two falcons, Zakharov / Isakovskii) about Lenin and Stalin, two paeans to Stalin and Molotov, and “Slava narodu” (Glory to the people, Dolmatovskii / Ostrovskii). The initial approval came from the Stalin prize committee made up in part of professional musicians who mainly concentrated their efforts and gave their respect to “high-brow” music over songs. The fact that some songs were given this honor helps support the point that songs did play a key role in music of the war years. However, they were in stiff competition with larger works. All factors—popularity, quality of the work, political meaning—were clearly considered by the members of the committee, who had to find a balance and make a final list. The experts did not have the final word, though. The Party propaganda machine, the Central Committee, and other layers, including Stalin, could and would eliminate names, add in works or individuals, and finalize the list to be awarded. As the war came to an end, songwriters began to be honored as a group by being included in the privileges awarded to the elite in society. Starting in April 1944 various perks were offered to composers of all genres. These included discounts (which were subsequently shrunk for all groups) and entry to special restaurants, especially the closed restaurant offered only to the members of the composers' union. Writers also had similar privileges, but the extension of such things to the composers as a whole group showed the advancement they had made during the war, as well as the respect music and song had earned. These perks were a sign of honor as well as a way to deal with the shortages and deficits that existed during the war and after.94

AMATEUR SONG WRITING As noted above, quantifying and assessing the true impact of amateur songwriting is quite difficult. Most literature on amateur activity refers more to performing than to creating music. However, it is clear that whether with professionals or on their own, citizens did write songs to reflect their own experiences and emotions. One author noted that during the war, the “activation of oral forms and the spread of songs . . . from amateur song creation was connected with the 94 For a detailed description, see Tomoff, Creative Union, 90–93.

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sharp decline of the functioning of the basic mechanisms of the state musical culture, primarily the means of mass communication.”95 This would then lead to the conclusion that independent amateur activity got started early on in the chaotic days of the rapid invasion. The musicologist Izrail′ Nest′ev wrote after the war, “Songs on the [Russian] front in 1941–42 were on such a scale that one could say that no epoch or army in the world saw the like. The rank-and-file soldiers, commanders of all types of weapons, successfully performed as poet songwriters and independent composers. They saw this labor as fighting work, necessary for the front. And they were absolutely correct.” He noted that Mikhail Maksimenko, a sergeant in his letter, wrote, “Just as we need gunpowder, we need good dynamic inspirational songs.” Nest′ev added, “And no difficulties stop these people in their creative inspiration.” Offering yet another example, Nest′ev cites senior politruk I. Krasov, author of “Stavropol′skii Partisan,” who wrote in his composer’s diary, “It was hard for me since I was wounded, but I wrote things in my head at least and dreamed to give it to the glorius stavropol′skii partisan cavalry, that I could get it to them so they could sing it.”96 Amateur songwriting may have had a stronger place in the culture than usual but it was not completely new in Russian culture or in the military. Nevertheless, just as with the professionals, there was some questioning as to what was appropriate during the dark days. Some doubts were expressed about the appropriateness of some usual amateur activities in the war atmosphere. In January 1942, the writer Solodar′ noted that even a few months earlier the media was doubtful that anything humorous should be allowed. In the January editions of Literatura i iskusstvo, amateur works passed around aurally like chastushki, both cheerful and satirical, and often set to music were printed. Solodar′ marveled, “And now we have become witnesses to a huge flood of red army material. . . .”97 Partisans, especially in the early years of the war when they truly were cut off, were credited with a number of songs. One fighter, Evgenyi Marinov, created a sort of song diary about his unit’s activities.98 95 Bogemskaia et al., Samodeiatel′noe, 93. 96 “I. Nest′ev,” in Muzyka i muzykanty na frontakh Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny: Stat′i, vospomi‑ naniia, comp. E. Alekseeva and ed. I. Bobykina (Moscow: Muzyka, 1978), 29. 97 Bogemskaia et al., Samodeiatelnoe, 55. 98 Noted in a May 1, 1942 article from Literatura i iskustvo, cited in Bogemskaia et al., Samodeiatel′noe, 57–58.

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The creative process varied. As seen already, amateur poets could use existing and familiar songs for their own texts. One popular tune performed by jazzman Utesov, “Krutitsia, vertitsia shar goluboi” (The world turns and spins), was a light waltz melody that served as the tune for many new wartime verses.99 As noted previously, “Katiusha” was used for numerous versions both on the original theme and with new twists, turns, and responses. Other songs that had these variant “cycles” were “The Blue Kerchief,” “In the Dugout,” and “Little Flame.” Many of the versions that did not gain wide publicity or popularity were identified by folklore expeditions during or soon after the war.100 Most likely there was a broader amateur participation in lyrical creations, since nonmusical would-be poets could use already existing melodies. Moreover, the lyricists could be paired up with a composer who would work with their texts, as seen with the reports at the composers’ union meetings, described above. Nevertheless, some did work out their own melodies along with a text. One example comes from the commander of a partisan cavalry unit, A.I. Inchin, who created the song “Partizanskaia kavaleriskaia” (Partisan cavalry song) in 1943. He recalled: . . . the music of the song was born at the campfire: the whisper of the leaves, the recent battles, all the severe romanticism of the partisan life, inspired at that moment the words and the melody of the new song. I had a guitar and I started singing the motif of the song and the comrades joined in.

Inchin also noted that the musical arrangement was done later by the amateur composer A. Shvid′.101 Another example from the partisans also shows that melodies along with texts had different versions. One account said that when two units met and had different melodies to the same text—in this case, “Kliatva” (The oath)—they would pick the better melody or even combine the two to create a new and better third version.102 Another amateur composer worked in the besieged   99 Bogemskaia et al., Samodeiatel′noe, 57. 100 Some collectors noted are L. Mucharinskaia and Prof. I. N. Rozanov. See ibid., 94, 95. K. V. Vitkaia of the Moscow conservatory made collections in Kaluga in 1949. Other material was collected in the Briansk and Moscow regions. For more detail, see Nezabyvaemye gody. Russkii pesennyi fol′klor Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny (Moscow: Sovetskii Kompozitor 1985), 3–5. 101 Bogemskaia et al., Samodeiatel′noe, 93. 102 Ibid., 93–94.

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city of Leningrad. Ten-year-old German Okunev (who later studied with Shostakovich and Evlakhov to become a professional composer) wrote songs in his music school, including songs about Leningrad that were heard on the radio, and he sang them in concerts. For participation in military patronage work he got a medal for the defense of Leningrad. He was twelve at the time.103 It is not clear if he wrote his own texts or found them somewhere else. In the texts published in some of these collections, it is clear that the themes reflect real life experience. Nest′ev notes: Many of the song texts of front poets contain concrete descriptions, almost documents. Very often there are names of villages, rivers, lakes, and cities where they traveled or fought. This is especially characteristic of songs created for their own regiments or divisions. . . . The junior politruk Poidenenko sings of the Valdai forest. . . . The senior lieutenant A. Cherenkov, in his “Boevaia Sibirskaia” [Fighting Siberian song], talks about Altai. The poet from Karelia, G. Tiuvaev, tenderly draws pictures of Karelia.104

Most of these were not published and were found in letters and albums or recorded on wax cylinders after the war was over. Clearly, though, people poured out their experiences in these song verses. Themes ranged from the hopeful—waiting for a loved one, sending a note home, smoking with a buddy, and even about singing itself—to more ominous themes: descriptions of burned-out villages, lost family members, calling for a nurse so as not to be alone while dying. One described a mother who had lost all three of her sons wearing dark clothes and sitting by the window. Songs, written new, revised from old songs with changed texts or responses to songs, all helped people to express their emotions, to describe the things that were going on around them, and to pour out their souls, whether in grief, anger or hopefulness.105

CRITIQUES AND DEBATES ON SONG Once the songs were created—through contests, by commissions, or for films—they went through a review and distribution process. If a song was 103 Ibid., 105. 104 “I. Nest′ev,” 31. 105 Most of these songs are found in Nezabyvaemye gody. Russkii pesennyi fol′klor Velikoi Otechest‑ vennoi voiny. Numerous song versions and chastushki collected during the war at the front and in hospitals can be found in L. N. Pushkarev, Po dorogam voiny: Vospominaniia fol′kloristafrontovika (Moscow: Rossiiskaia akademiia nauk, Institut rossiiskoi istorii, 1995).

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not a contest winner, it usually went before one of the commissions of the Composers’ Union for review. Most of the specifically military songs went to the Defense Commission and later the Military Commission. Larger works and some songs went to the Creative Commission. In this forum, each individual song or group of songs submitted by a composer was critiqued and sent on its way. Songs were often rejected, or their creators were asked to revise and resubmit them. Others were sent for publication (either within or outside the Composers’ Union) or approved for performance, broadcast, or any combination of these variants. The commission meetings in the area of song review rarely extended their discussions to theoretical topics, except perhaps to call for songs of a certain genre. The forum for broader discussions of music, song, and their roles in the war was the conference, or plenum. Several were held throughout the war years at the Composers’ Union. Lasting several days, they were open to poets and representatives of any organization interested in music. Groups such as the Writers’ Union and the Central House of Art Workers also held conferences and plenums that included songs in their purview, but the Composers’ Union dealt most directly with songs. Most meetings covered all musical genres, although a four-day conference in June 1943 was dedicated entirely to songs.106 A keynote address apparently was delivered by a member of the presidium of the Orgkom (though these addresses cannot be found in the archives) and discussion followed. Each year had its issues and concerns unique to that stage of the war. In April 1942, debates revealed a sense of transition into wartime. Concerns were expressed about certain composers, particularly Dunaevskii, who had not written much since war broke out. Calls went out for simple yet noble songs for all the fronts that would reflect anger, revenge, and hatred toward the enemy. Although lyrical songs were recognized as morale boosters, the creation of battle and heroic songs took precedence. A number of speeches recounted and praised the efforts of the composers who remained in Moscow over the difficult winter. Some who had remained felt slighted because they were not mentioned in the keynote report.107

106 Archival records for five such conferences have been used here: April 1942, April 1943, June 1943, March 1944, and April 1944. References in the minutes and other sources indicate there were others as well, including a song conference at the Union of Writers, but no records have been found. 107 Stenograph of an open conference of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, April 27, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 57.

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The plenum in June 1943 concentrated on songs and their function during the war. It went on for four days and included speakers from many organizations. The speeches conveyed a general feeling that songwriting had entered a slump. Some felt it was because composers had turned to larger works, but others attributed it to laziness and cockiness on the part of some composers. Fradkin was especially criticized for resting on his laurels after writing “Song of the Dnieper” and afterward composing only “crass waltzes” (a reference to “The Chance Waltz”). Kats, Lepin, and Morozov also were under fire for criticizing others’ efforts while their own were deficient. Despite such denunciations, a general call throughout the plenum asked for critiques to be a continuing part of the song creation process. It also asked for closer cooperation among composers, poets, performers, and the organizations that distributed music. Because this plenum concentrated specifically on songs, its debates and discussions are the most detailed of any conference. Yet some issues raised were not unique to this period and persisted throughout the war years. One such question was the role that jazz played in the overall musical picture. Jazz was broadly defined by different speakers as light music, tangos and waltzes, music using saxophones, and entertainment music. A dichotomy was established by Novikov and Kabalevskii between jazz and the Western tradition on the one hand, and folk and the Russian heritage on the other. Many others argued in favor of one or another of these parallels. In one camp, Kats, Tsfasman, Sofronov, and Shaporin claimed that the popularity of jazz made it an essential genre at the front, no less valuable than other genres. Others felt that jazz was a secondary genre. Colonel Tsaritsyn of the Political Administration joined Kabalevskii in the view that its Western roots made it undeserving of inclusion in Russian culture (despite the fact that the West and Russia were allies during the war). The musicologists Rabinovich, Levitin, and Khrapchenko of the Committee on Art Affairs granted that although jazz had been incorporated into Russian and possibly even folk styles, it was still a form of light entertainment incapable of encompassing the breadth of emotion intrinsic to song art and could, therefore, play only a limited role. Another view expressed by Lebedev-Kumach, Oshanin, Tsfasman, Shlifshtein, and Levitin was that any genre, including jazz, could be acceptable if the theme and musical form of a song corresponded exactly. Apparently most agreed with this statement, at least in theory. But putting it into practice was another matter. Some asked whether light music could serve as an appropriate setting for such themes as nurses undertaking their arduous work and the suffering of Leningrad, or even if jazz were appropriate in songs about

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shoes, foot wrappings, and other mundane yet essential items. Those who thought not vehemently labeled practitioners of jazz as tasteless and, even worse, unpatriotic. It is difficult to assess exactly what each composer and poet took away from this meeting that could aid the songwriting process, but in the summary written by Khachaturian, Russian folkness and folk style received an official nod of approval. This was in keeping with the emphasis on Russian nationalism, Russia’s great past history, and even the Russian church with its emphasis on the people. Non-Russian ethnicities were also given a nod under these criteria. Khachaturian conceded that diversity was necessary, thereby enabling those who wished to continue to work in light genres to do so. Several calls went out for composers to develop personal styles and not act like herd animals, as Dunaevskii put it, following first one style and then another. The message seemed to be: Work independently to support the creation of songs to secure victory and buoy up the troops and those at the home front, but do not stray too far from Russian cultural roots or risk being deemed tasteless in any way.108 Another debate raged throughout the war about the value of lyrical songs versus songs to raise courage and fighting spirit. The poet Iosif Utkin argued that the soldiers have a motherland Russia and they have loves—wives, girlfriends, children, mothers. The soldier has heritage. The art of the war must address this.109 Khrapchenko, the chair of the Committee on Art Affairs, countered in an article: If you listen to some theorists it seems that nothing but lyrical content in songs has a right to exist. No other songs but lyrical ones are acknowledged in the Red Army, on the radio, etc. . . . This is doubtless an incorrect and dangerous opinion. Nothing one could say from theory or psychology can be opposed to the task of creating heroic art which would raise the battle spirit.110

In these debates, the question of song content, quality of text and music, and the function and effect of song all contributed to a complex and sometimes vitriolic discounting of songs, writers, composers, and performers. The position of the speaker—head of the committee on art affairs, or, in other cases, 108 Plenum on songs held by the Union of Soviet Composers, June 16–19, 1943, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d 83. 109 Bogemskaia et al., Samodeiatel′noe, 59. 110 Quoted from a May 16, 1942, article from Literatura i iskustvo, cited in ibid., 60.

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heads of commissions, or Party members—may have helped sway their cases. However, although it could arguably be dangerous to stand up for a counterposition politically, debates did seem to go on freely. Another issue facing wartime composers was the question of how songwriters did or did not fit into the wider musical scene. A pervasive feeling existed that songwriters were somehow lesser composers. At a number of conferences, songs were declared to be a genre equal to any other. Songwriting, it was asserted, was a complex activity. A short piece of music must convey a particular mood and perfectly match its text. Unity among composers of all genres was promoted on this issue, in part to encourage composers who wrote mostly in other areas to contribute songs. It was urged that songs be judged solely on their merits and not on the reputations of their composers. As we have seen, many composers worked almost exclusively in song; others rarely did. The question of the relative importance of song was not new. But the political and ideological needs of the war years, along with grassroots desires for songs, brought the question forward more sharply in composers’ discussions than had been the case during peacetime. In his journal, the composer Vadim Kochetov observed, In those severe months I didn’t want to write music that didn’t relate to the war. The concreteness and clear function of songs created in those days at the front were then needed more than quartets and symphonies. Their temporariness, like articles or lines in the newspaper, proved their worth, since they indirectly served the purpose to guarantee victory. Only much later I started wishing to work on more large works, uniting the thoughts and feelings I had experienced, and to expand the framework of my work which had earlier been like a musical newspaper.111

The composers and poets carried out multiple and varied tasks during the war but clearly understood the critical part that song played in their own wartime careers and in the musical life of the nation. From March 28 to April 7, 1944, a plenum was held by the Orgkom of the Composers’ Union, in part as a continuation of the large song plenum in June 1943. Shostakovich summarized the point of view that most of the early war songs were hurriedly written and lacked quality. Songs were now 111 Goriaeva et al., comps., Muzy v shineliakh, 199.

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perceived as improved, though signs of dilettantism remained among some of the ­professionals. A report on mass songs by Dunaevskii attributed the greater success to three factors: the 1943 discussions on song, the large-scale contest for the new anthem, and the advance and successes of the Red Army.112 Despite the optimism expressed here, the political administration of the Army asserted that there was a serious deficiency of songs for units and regiments, as well as victory and satirical songs. The representative B. Iarustovskii exhorted the military commission and the Orgkom to serve the armed forces more actively by promoting the kinds of music that were needed and to foster closer ties with poets. Songs for the front were stressed because orchestras and choirs were not always available.113 This need countered the tendency of composers to return to larger and more complicated works. At the plenum, some complaints were voiced that although representatives from the musical organizations of the Soviet republics had been invited, the discussion still centered only on Moscow composers. A call went out to pay more attention to the music created by and about all nationalities, as well as to that which extolled the workers and farmers toiling at the home front for the war effort. The plenum closed with a statement that the military commission and the Orgkom should work more closely as one unit. Songs were still considered a crucial part of the war effort and should not be ignored in favor of other musical genres. It is unclear whether this was the final plenum concerned with war songs that convened before victory. Russian troops had just crossed into Romania as the 1944 meetings unfolded and war efforts moved significantly toward victory. If they had not done so already, composers and their families were returning to Moscow from evacuation. Composers were given leave to stay at the Union’s House of Creativity, a country inn and artists’ retreat. Prokof ′ev, Miaskovskii, Shostakovich, Khachaturian, Muradeli, and Kabalevskii spent time there in the summer of 1944 working, walking in the woods, and playing volleyball.114 The war already seemed far removed from this peaceful setting, where work was concentrated not on songs but on symphonies, operas, and film scores. Of course, composers continued to write songs right up through the armistice and still traveled to the front, following the soldiers’ move w ­ estward. 112 Plenum of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, March 28–31, 1944, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 92, pp. 810 (for Shostakovich), 348–64 (for Dunaevskii). 113 Plenum of the Orgkom of the Union of Composers, April 1–7, 1944, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 93, pp. 192–201. 114 “Sergei Prokof ′ev,” in V. P. Varunts, ed. and comp., Prokof′ev o Prokof′eve: Stat′i, interv′iu (Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1991), 208–9.

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The tone, however, was shifting gradually away from the urgency and ­immediacy of the earliest war years. Songs, except perhaps for those devoted to victory, lost ­priority in the compositional hierarchy. A debate had raged throughout the war on the role and status of songs in relation to other musical works. In the initial stages of the war, the song as a means of unifying and inspiring the population was accorded paramount importance. As theaters, choirs, orchestras, and ensembles settled in evacuation or began touring, the need for larger works was reasserted. But the importance of songs did not diminish, especially for frontline troops and the partisans. As the war years drew to a close, however, it appeared that songs were in danger of being relegated to the status of entertainment or patriotic symbol—no longer viewed as an integral weapon and crucial support for the troops and the home front. Nevertheless, this did not fully occur. The medium of song permitted music and lyrics to mix and express a succinct picture of events. A song could be sung by an individual soldier returning home, a mother who would never see her son again, or a girlfriend waiting for her love to return. It could express the hopes of young people meeting for the first time as peace began to be a reality. Unlike large choral works, individuals and amateurs could easily sing the songs. As Iarustovskii of the political administration put it, “When they open the history books about the era of the Great Patriotic War, our era, their glance will fall not just on large-scale music works but on songs. . . . Our duty and sacred responsibility is to ensure that they will study songs that are worthy of the era.”115 Songwriters worked, traveled, quarreled, and sacrificed to ensure that Iarustovskii’s wish would come true. Artists left a heritage of melodic lyrical and patriotic songs that genuinely moved the hearts of soldiers and civilians both during the war years and beyond. Some songs initially regarded as lesser efforts have outlasted others that were given the highest praise. Still others have remained popular throughout the war and beyond. The professionals and amateurs who added to the huge collection of new and revised songs of the war years not only buoyed up their own spirits but also gave an outlet of expression for their fellow citizens and soldiers. They left behind works for all generations to remember in honoring and grieving for those lost and in celebrating the victory attained.

115 Plenum of the Orgkom of the Union of Soviet Composers, April 1944, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 93, 201.

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CHAPTER 3

Command and Control: Official Policy and Institutional Responsibility over Song

O

nce new war songs and revisions of old songs were created, they had somehow to be transmitted to the troops at the front and to the civilians working to support the war effort at home. This chapter examines the distribution process and the organizations, policies, and decisions that determined which songs went out to the public and in which medium. In considering this question the words of a Soviet musicologist, Vladimir Zak, ring strong: “All, repeat: all, organizations were under the Central Committee of the Communist Party and its department of agitation and propaganda, and the Department of Culture. These organs led everything, including GlavPURKKA [the main political administration of the Army].”1 What Zak does not say is that these organs in turn were at least implicitly if not explicitly led by the head of the communist party, Joseph Stalin. Concerning communication and policy setting, Sheila Fitzpatrick, a prominent scholar of the Stalin era, noted that “important policy changes were often ‘signaled’ rather than communicated in the form of a clear and detailed directive,” and that “there was an atmosphere of mystery in the party’s oblique forms of communication, only fully comprehensible to the initiated, and [in] its Aesopian language practices.”2 In the postwar era, the writer Vasilii Aksyonov described top bureaucrats in the Writer’s Union as living in their own special country, called “telefonia.” The term “telephone law” is also used in the press to indicate that party officials used the phone to bring 1 Vladimir Zak, in discussion with the author, February 22, 1995. 2 Sheila Fitzpatrick, Everyday Stalinism: Ordinary Life in Extraordinary Times: Soviet Russia in the 1930s (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 19, 26.

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about changes—even to tell a judge how to rule in a given case. And no ­written records would be maintained. This went on at all levels.3 Even with this caveat, though, it is worth investigating the various agencies and individuals who worked directly with song creation, distribution and performance, as well as how structure, bureaucracy, hierarchy, and competition played into the factors determining a song’s success or failure. Quite a web of organizations played a role in promoting and distributing wartime songs once they were created. This network is not always clear-cut. Some organizations were linked vertically, that is, under the subordination of a higher-ranking body. Others were laterally linked, providing different services or offering services to different audiences. Sometimes organizations paralleled each other, with resulting overlaps and confusion. But for the most part, each organ had a specific niche in the hierarchy and bureaucracy to ensure that songs found their audience.

THE CREATIVE UNIONS As stated in Chapter 2, the Union of Composers (SSK) and the Union of Writers (SSP) were the organizations with the most direct responsibility for seeing that professional songs were created by their memberships. Each had an internal review process to determine whether a work should be distributed, reworked, or rejected. Recommendations were also made as to the format for distribution (i.e., publishing, recording, or performing). Whether these recommendations were always fully binding is not clear, but the reviews and committee meetings definitely made up the center of the world of song creation. Poets and composers also signed contracts for songs outside these two organizations, but, again, it is not clear whether the songs written for these external contracts were also subject to review by the creative unions. Even if the unions did not have direct control over all songs, they did know about the existence of works in progress because members had to regularly present plans and updates of their professional activities, often revealing their works to the unions to establish plans and show progress—much like the current American university tenure review process. Thus, the creative unions were directly involved with the process and progress of formulating and creating songs.

3

John Garrard and Carol Garrard, Inside the Soviet Writers’ Union (New York: The Free Press, 1990), 96, 97.

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The creative unions were born in 1932 with a resolution by the Central Committee of the Party, and the 1934 Congress of Writers signaled the beginning of their full activity. The Composers’ Union started as municipal groups and only formed the all-union body in 1939, with Reinhold Glière named as head. Aram Khachaturian, younger and more energetic, was initially named assistant chair of the Orgkom but became the de facto leader until 1948; thus, he was highly involved during the war years. Some songwriters were also named in the original group or soon became leaders of the organization, including Viktor Belyi, Dmitrii Kabalevskii, and Isaak Dunaevskii.4 By wartime, “the Composers’ Union became a bureaucratic institution juridically distinct from both government oversight committees and the Communist Party.”5 As they evolved, they became truly professional unions in that all their members were of the specific profession. In the case of the Composers Union during the war period, the term “composers” included songwriters (melodisty), musicologists, and performing musicians.6 The unions were funded by Muzfond and Litfond, respectively, which provided administrative and financial services. The members often earned salaries from jobs they held at other institutions, such as conservatories, theaters, educational institutions, etc., but were augmented with stipends, loans, publishing subventions, stays at resorts for creative work, and other material and administrative assistance through the Muzfond and Litfond organizations. Services rendered included health care, education for the member or his family at all levels, membership in sports clubs or resorts and sanatoria, death benefits for remaining family members, and—critical to the war period—a payment for draftees’ families. Personal loans could also be given on a case-by-case basis.7 Union members also participated in the governing boards for these parallel institutions. Vano Muradelli headed the seven-member board of Muzfond from its inception in 1939. With composer Levon Atovm′ian as main administrator, this body proved to be a critical element during the war, helping composers find relatives, secure 4 For a more detailed description of the formation and history of the union of composers see Tomoff, Creative Union, 18–25. 5 Ibid., 14. 6 Tomoff describes a debate and a vote in 1943–44 in which musicians proposed a broader “musicians’ union” that would include a section of composers. This was voted down and at the same time excluded performers from the existing SSK. This mainly affected the classical performers rather than performers of Estrada or light genres. See ibid., 32–34. 7 Ibid., 27–28.

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housing, improve living conditions, and the like. V. A. Lempert, apparently not a composer himself, appears frequently in minutes concerning material provisioning, property management, and other Muzfond projects during the war years.8 Although the unions were legal entities that could buy and sell property and make contracts independently, and members were to be professional experts, their leadership included a number of state and party bureaucrats. In the SSP, Dmitrii Polikarpov, an ideologue working alongside writers, purportedly was offended at being called a writer; he called himself a politruk (political director) instead.9 The secretariats and presidia were in charge of running affairs and making policy, but, again, the Party and Stalin himself could and did intervene. The SSP, for example, was to have a congress every three years and elect its boards, as noted in its statutes. However, after 1934 it did not meet for twenty years.10 No explanation has been found. During the war the leadership of the SSP included Vladimir Stavskii, who died at the front in 1943; Nikolai Tikhonov, secretary from 1944–46; and Aleksandr Fadeev, known after the war as “the Marshal,” who was made general secretary after the war in 1946.11 Key songwriters do not appear among the SSP leadership during the war, although Aleksei Surkov was made first secretary after Stalin’s death. The war had its effects on the unions. First, both Moscow and Leningrad suffered under the enemy to such an extent that evacuations of prominent creative figures was considered necessary. Established writers, composers, and musicians were evacuated to various cities throughout the USSR. Composers alone were sent to twelve different cities, some of which had to be evacuated again with the advance of the German army. The largest contingents were in Sverdlovsk under the Orgkom and later under Shaporin and in Tashkent with the Leningrad Conservatory.12 The creative organizations had to worry about transportation, housing, and providing professional opportunities in new locations. Families were often separated and the union members would turn to the unions for help in finding and reuniting family members in different locations, as well as locating missing persons. Memoirs are full of these poignant vignettes. Professional activities also were curtailed. Regular meetings, readings, and auditions were preempted. By the time the SSK returned to Moscow in 1943,   8   9 10 11 12

Ibid., 30, 66. Garrard and Garrard, Inside the Soviet Writers’ Union, 84, 87. Ibid., 32, 43, 45–46, 63. Ibid., 51–53. For a full list of cities where composers were sent see Tomoff, Creative Union, 66–67.

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it had streamlined its committees from eleven sections based on genre down to three staffed by experts in each section: the Military Commission, the Creative Commission, and the Children’s Music Section. The Military Commission was most linked to war song creation from beginning to end of the process.13 In 1944 it was headed by Dunaevskii and was restricted to dealing with military songs; after the war it became the Mass Music Commission. At about the same time a new Consultative Commission was created for composers to obtain tutoring/mentoring in a number of areas. One reason for this was the large number of composers who had joined the SSK as songwriters. The SSK was afraid of lowering professional standards, and the new commission sometimes acted as a step for would-be members to pass through before their approval as full members.14 As the war moved out of Soviet territory, genre sections were slowly reintroduced and the split between song composers and composers of larger works grew once again. As seen earlier, the height of song in the SSK was felt in the first few years of the war, then declined again to a position less favored by the “highbrow” composers.15 Such splits have not been so evident in the SSP. Song lyrics are, after all, a type of poetry, and although poets and prose writers may have felt divided in some ways, the implication that songs are “popular” and “lowbrow” did not apply to song lyrics; poetry is much loved in all spheres of Russian society. The creative unions also had links to a number of other organizations and committees. It sent representatives to them and also invited representatives to attend their plenums and meetings. The Radio Committee (VRK), the Union of Artistic Workers (Rabis), and the State Concert Tour Organization (VGKO) generally fell under the Committee on Artistic Affairs (KDI) but interacted regularly with each other. The SSK Orgkom and Muzfond quickly established five new funds for wartime needs that would “support musical brigades, stimulate work on military themes, help evacuated composers, musicians, and musical collectives, support civil defense volunteers, and fund a pioneer camp for children evacuated in early July [1941].” The new funds also assisted KDI and other organizations.16 During the war, writers and composers alike felt that their duty was to provide art for the war effort. Writers were officially exempt from joining the 13 Ibid., 39. 14 For a detailed description, see ibid., 40. The commission addressed all composers, not just songwriters, and prominent composers volunteered to work as mentors. The application concerning songwriters directly would have been the study of composition. 15 Tomoff explains this process quite succinctly but is not focused on song. See ibid., 40–42. 16 Ibid., 66.

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military, but many did so voluntarily. Records show that 417 members of the SSP died during the war and that 962 were given some kind of wartime honors. Dolmatovskii estimated that the SSP had approximately 1,000 members during the war, and noted that about thirty of them joined up right away in June 1941. Besides himself, these included the songwriters Surkov, Zharov, Svetlov, Utkin, Lebedev-Kumach, Simonov, and Shubin.17 Some went to the front as part of brigades to perform or read for the troops. Others worked as war correspondents for central, regional, and military newspapers and journals. For some this was not a new experience; for example, K. Simonov had served as a military correspondent at Khalkhin Gol in 1939 and knew his way around the military and its institutions.18 Nevertheless, the experience of covering the war and heading into harm’s way alongside the military had to be daunting. Composers also sacrificed their lives. Twenty-one members of the Leningrad SSK perished during the first blockade winter.19 By 1943 twenty had died after joining the military, while only thirty composers were left in Leningrad in that year. In the early months of the war, a total of fifty-eight composers from the Leningrad, Moscow, and Ukrainian branches of the SSK joined the Red Army. By the end of the war at least five percent of the Composers Union members listed in the prewar records had died. A higher percentage of Muzfond members—nearly 9 percent—perished. Others were to be trapped in occupied territory or go missing in action.20 Composers could also be exempted from service, although Tomoff notes that the military didn’t always grant students exceptions. They could also be inducted into the military but placed in special musical units. The creative unions were not, however, the complete overarching link between the creators and the distributors. They had the responsibility of ensuring some semblance of quality in the works of their individual members and complying with creative themes “suggested” from above. But the unions, though formally independent creative organizations, were—like the myriad other organizations connected with song distribution and production—only lateral links in the whole process. Once a song was created, the unions did not have complete control over its progress. Rather, an overarching structure saw to 17 Dolmatovskii, Bylo, 199–200. 18 K. M. Simonov, Glazami cheloveka moego pokoleniia: Razmyshleniia o I. V. Staline (Moscow: Kniga, 1990), 272–73. 19 Garrard and Garrard, Inside the Soviet Writers’ Union, 61–63. 20 Tomoff, Creative Union, 74–75. Not all Muzfond members were members of the SSK. Students were a large group of those who belonged to one and not the other body.

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the needs of all the organizations concerned with song distribution. One exception to this involves the first few months of the war and the process for getting newly created songs approved and distributed. Tomoff has pieced together that the Orgkom of the SSK controlled not only its regular commissions and hearings but also subordinated the radio committee and the music publisher Muzgiz under its purview to deal with songs. This only lasted until the fall of 1941, when the Central Committee’s cultural administrator D. Polikarpov came to the SSK to suggest changes to separate and strengthen the outside organizations. Composers from SSK would be assigned to work with the other institutions.21 The Orgkom was also busy with helping its membership with evacuation issues—and its own evacuation to Sverdlovsk—so it probably welcomed the changes. One other outside organization critical to song creators, composers, and poets alike was the institution that managed both copyright and royalties for works of music, theater, and literature: the All-Union Administration for the Preservation of Authors’ Rights (VUOAP, the Copyright Administration). Founded in 1938, and centrally administered by a governing council of composers, playwrights, and writers, its job was to administer copyright protection for the publication and performance of all artistic works, including song, to collect royalties from publishers and performance institutions, and to pay artists those royalties.22 From Tomoff’s assessment, it appears that the regulations were spotty and inconsistent at best, especially during the war. Sometimes songwriters who were popular and whose works appeared in films or all over the country in performances received very high payments, which could generate resentment from those who created lengthy and complex works that weren’t published or performed frequently. The financial side of the creative unions then was fairly complex and complicated. Muzfond, Litfond, VUOAP, and the orgkoms of the unions could make a great deal of difference in the material well-being of a composer or poet.

PARTY AND STATE STRUCTURES The Soviet governmental system had dual branches: (1) the Communist Party organization, which fanned out from the Central Committee at the apex down to the Party political workers at local levels; and (2) the government branch, radiating out from the Sovnarkom (Council of Peoples’ Commissars). 21 Ibid., 81–82. 22 Ibid., 227–29.

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The Party side had the primary role in policymaking. The organs most concerned with songs and song policy were the Department of Agitation and Propaganda (Agit/Prop) and the Department of Culture. According to Vladimir Zak, these two departments controlled all aspects of policymaking over song, as directed by the Party’s Central Committee.23 In the active military, these Central Committee decisions were carried out through the Main Political Administration of the Workers’ and Peasants’ Red Army (Glavnoe Politicheskoe Upravlenie Raboche-Krest′ianskoi Krasnoi Armii, or GlavPURKKA). There was also a corresponding organization for the Navy. Initially, 2,500 leading party workers and students of the higher party schools and Lenin courses were sent to the front to oversee these activities in GlavPURKKA. In addition, in June 1941 every krai (region) was ordered to send 40 percent of its active Communists to the front to act as political workers and commissars. And in August and December 1941, changes were instituted by the Central Committee making it easier to become a Party member. Thus, some outstanding soldiers and officers who had not formerly been involved in the Party transferred into political work. By the end of 1941, there were 130,000 political soldiers.24 Music was not necessarily their primary orientation, but it certainly was one of the fundamental tools the political commissars used to achieve their goal of fostering patriotism, loyalty to the motherland, and hatred of the enemy. Political workers were also involved in the agitation brigades that went from unit to unit. They were involved in promoting amateur activity, which included music and even some amateur composing. Individual party functionaries outside the political administration could also influence the status of a song, brigade, or program. P. K. Ponomarenko, the Communist Party Secretary of the Belorussian Republic, for example, personally enjoyed jazz and supported Eddie Rozner jazz orchestra by ensuring that quality musicians were recruited for it, even if that meant taking people off troop trains.25 Apparently, the poet Surkov, on hearing 23 V. I. Zak, a musicologist and author active in the Union of Soviet Composers after the war, provided a rare insight into the organizational structure of the musical world. Although his direct experience relates to a later period, his biographies of older composers, particularly M. Blanter, gave him knowledge of the war years as well. Zak, discussion with the author, February 1995. 24 I. I. Roshchin, Partorgi voennoi pory (Moscow: Politizdat, 1990), 18–20. 25 Iurii Vladimirovich Tseitlin, interview by author, February 5, 1991, Moscow, audio tape (in author’s possession).

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of the categorical rejection of his song “In the Dugout,” presented it to an acquaintance who worked closely with the Defense Council. This individual somehow showed the rejected song to Stalin, after which it was subsequently approved and widely published.26 On the government side, the organization predominantly responsible for music was the Committee on Art Affairs of the Council of People’s Commissars of the USSR (Komitet po Delam Iskusstv pri Sovnarkome SSSR, or KDI). Created in 1936, the KDI was located at the highest level of the purely governmental structure (as opposed to the Communist Party structure) of the USSR as a part of the Council of People’s Commissars. In later years it became the Ministry of Culture. A number of organizations related to art work served the KDI in a variety of areas. Throughout the war years the committee was chaired by Mikhail Borisovich Khrapchenko; members included the heads of organizations that carried out the directives of the committee. Some assistant chairs during the war were A. V. Solodovnikov, L. Shapovalov (who handled financial matters), and A. Konstantinov (who handled affairs of amateur music). The KDI had its corresponding institutions in the form of boards (upravlenie) and departments (otdel) of art affairs. These were located in republics, krais, and oblasts as well as in major cities.27 This research has not uncovered exactly how the wishes and demands of the Party as determined by the Central Committee were transmitted to the government organizations responsible for carrying out the plans. Probably the conduit ran between the Central Committee and GlavPURKKA directly to the top levels of the KDI. It is clear, however, that the highest level of government directive came from the KDI, which sent these directives to— and maintained some control over—artistic organizations both regionally and according to genre. One directive sent early in the war (the exact date is not known) serves as an example. Sent to all boards and departments of art affairs at the republic, krai, and oblast levels, as well as to the directors of all theaters, 26 Zak, discussion. No confirmation of this has been found, but evidence that the song was severely criticized at first does exist, and without any explanation it was then widely published, recorded, and performed. 27 The USSR during World War II was divided into fifteen or fewer republics, the largest of which contained smaller administrative subunits. Oblasts, krais, and so-called autonomous republics correspond to provinces within these republics; oblasts were the more common, and usually contained several cities and the surrounding areas. Raions were further regions within oblasts and in cities of more than 100,000.

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museums, circuses, and concert organizations, it called for all art activity to be completely restructured for the purpose of serving the country’s defense needs. This included developing new programs, throwing out any repertory that did not fit the needs of war, cutting staffs and performers when they were unnecessary or unqualified, and creating small, flexible brigades with relevant repertories to serve the troops. To save money, the KDI changed its system of payment from a norm-based system—in which individuals and collectives could earn bonuses if they worked over their norms—to a set wage system. Sanctions were enforced if the artists did not fulfill the established norm, but no overtime was paid in the case of higher-than-mandated quotas.28 Just how much effect these kinds of directives had on the huge system of artistic organizations is unclear. At the outbreak of war, the KDI had the responsibility of organizing the evacuation of the arts and deciding just who and what should be evacuated. Music was only a small part of their domain. Yet, given the importance of mobilizing the troops, the creation of new works and providing them directly was also imperative. Regarding the SSK, “Institutions, employees, and their families were broken up and scattered across the Soviet Union until November 1941, when as many as possible were relocated to Sverdlovsk, in the Urals.”29 That first half year was quite chaotic for institutions and individuals alike. The Piatnitskii choir was “lost,” and the Estrada concert tour organization had no home base.30 Concerning finances, by mid-1942 the KDI was still writing letters stating that the theaters and other organizations were not cutting spending sufficiently. The directors were ordered to reexamine the plan for the second half of 1942 and, without decreasing activity, had to reduce the amount of income they received from the state in favor of income from open programming or other means.31 In this letter the consequences of noncompliance are not spelled out; in other places, the threat of sanctions is clear. Evacuated theaters were told in a letter, “The presence of new anti-fascist material in the repertory will determine the right of theaters to return to their permanent place of work. . . . The fate of the evacuated theaters will be determined by the creative enthusiasm and the high quality of the actors.” The letter goes on to list such tasks as fulfilling production and financial plans while cutting 28 Directive letter from KDI, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1005. 29 Tomoff, Creative Union, 65. 30 Ibid. 31 Letter from Khrapchenko, July 25, 1942, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1005.

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spending, training new staff m ­ embers, and participating in patronage work. “Only by completing these tasks,” stated the letter, “The theaters may consider that they have earned the trust of Party and State, who have allowed them to work normally. Only by fulfilling these tasks may they return to their permanent cities and strive for the further development of art.”32 Whether these threats were actually carried out is not discernible from the sources gathered here, but it is clear from the directive that the KDI wielded power of the strongest kind in assigning status, privilege, or sanction to various artistic organizations. In addition to overseeing the boards and departments of art affairs throughout the country, the KDI also had several musical collectives under its direct jurisdiction. The two groups that dealt specifically with songs were the State Folk Choir named for Piatnitskii, a prominent choir director of late Tsarist Russia, and the State Choir of Russian Folk Song. In June 1943, the head of the KDI, Khrapchenko, applied directly to the Sovnarkom to obtain special privileges concerning food for the soloists and artistic directing staff in each collective. He argued that the collectives should be on a par with the Radio Committee collectives in terms of benefits.33 (The Radio Committee did not fall under the KDI’s jurisdiction; it was a separate committee of the Sovnarkom.) The KDI also applied for rail tickets in the initial months of the war for brigades to travel on the extremely overtaxed rail system being used simultaneously to carry troops to the front and evacuate key industries eastward. Whether this fairly bureaucratic job was continued by the KDI is not clear, but probably these mundane tasks were picked up later by organizations under the umbrella of the KDI. The organization that was the direct extension and arm of the KDI in most cases was the State Board of Musical Institutions (Gosudarstvennoe Upravlenie Muzykal′nykh Uchrezhdenii; GUMU). During most of the war it was headed by Vladimir Surin, who, like Khrapchenko, occasionally appeared at plenums on music and song. Surin was also a member of the Committee on Art Affairs, so it is clear how his organization received its marching orders. Zak asserts that these two organizations were in fact one, but the documents do maintain at least a superficial distance between them.34 32 Letter from Khrapchenko, April 30, 1942, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1005. 33 Letter from Khrapchenko to assistant chair of Sovnarkom A. I. Mikoian, June 19, 1943, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1282. 34 Zak, discussion, February 22, 1995.

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By 1943, GUMU was distributing plans that concerned the formation of brigades (often in the form of orders from the KDI to establish new or extend already existing brigades) and their service to the front, the rear, and the liberated areas. The organization sent out the basic plan for concert organizations for 1944, calling for expanded concert work at the front and in liberated areas. This included reestablishing organizations and collectives in the recently occupied territories, forming ten new choir collectives to serve these regions, and sending at least 120 concert brigades into these areas in the course of the year. The plan also targeted the front by increasing brigade work to at least fifty trips a month. The coal and industrial regions and the health resorts were targeted as well; inspectors were sent from GUMU, and concert tours by top national performing groups were organized. Seminars at the leading philharmonics and musical organizations were to be conducted for performers—professional and amateur alike—in order to raise performance standards. Special emphasis was to be given to choral works. In addition to tackling the perceived weaknesses in performance and brigade work, GUMU’s plan also dealt with improving repertory—“raising the political, ideological, and artistic quality of concert work” in several areas. Creative orders were established in a number of musical areas, including 100 reworkings of songs by the various peoples of the USSR, and no fewer than 150 new Estrada works, including songs. Three conferences were called for: one as a review of work during the war by Soviet composers; another concerned with music and its relation to mass artistic taste in the sound media (radio, recording, film, and stage); and a third to improve composers’ work in collecting and arranging Russian folk songs. Several reviews were held to ensure a higher quality of performers. To this end, a review of folk choirs and soloists, and an all-union contest of Estrada performers, was initiated.35 Another factor that supports the close link between the KDI and GUMU are the letters of complaint and requests for assistance sent to both ­concerning the running of organizations, the treatment of workers, and the ­appropriation of funds. The director of Lengosestrada, the Leningrad State Estrada Organization, wrote to Khrapchenko and Surin in August 1941 stating that the Estrada brigades were working but no funds were available to pay them.

35 Basic tasks for concert organizations for 1944 signed by V. Surin of GUMU, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1282.

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He asked that the KDI and GUMU review the work and send funds.36 One woman who was assigned to the All-Union Concert Tour Organization (VGKO) as a brigade director complained to the KDI that she was not accustomed to working in that capacity. She also asserted that VGKO leaders should be examined as to their attitudes toward the Communists.37 The assistant head of the VGKO, I. Il′in, wrote to the KDI to report on the failure of an Uzbek brigade to arrive on time in Moscow for Soviet Army Day. He requested rescheduling for some of the brigade members, but also asked that a reprimand be given to the board of art affairs responsible for the late arrival and for the poor quality of some of the artists who did not pass their review in front of the VGKO and GlavPURKKA representatives.38 The Komsomol organizers at a Moscow factory submitted a complaint to the KDI about the Moscow department of the VGKO when most of the artists for a scheduled concert did not show up.39 In this case the situation was resolved not by the KDI but with an order from the head of the VGKO, S. N. Preobrazhenskii, requiring changes in the procedure for selecting artists in the first place and instructing the Moscow department of the VGKO to do a second performance for the factories.40 Organizations were often instructed by the KDI to have their budgets approved by GUMU after the KDI had already approved a project or brigade. Yet, despite the close cooperation in administrative affairs, it is clear that the KDI did have authority over GUMU from a document concerning the directorship of front theaters of the Moscow City Executive Committee. In a letter to Khrapchenko, Surin asserted that the directorship, despite using the title “front theater” and receiving 1,250,000 rubles designated exclusively for front work, along with other material benefits and the right to exemption from active military service for its collectives’ members, had sent no brigades to the front in 1943, and that only three 36 Letter from P. Radchik, director of Lengosestrada, to Khrapchenko, Surin, and Khristiansen at the KDI, August 25, 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 950. 37 Letter from E. Arskaia to A. V. Solodovnikov at the KDI, September 15, 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 950. 38 Letter from I. Il′in, assistant head of VGKO, to A.V. Solodovnikov, assistant chair of KDI, March 18, 1942, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1059. 39 Letter from Komsomol organizer of Voroshilov Factory N. Lishtvan and Secretary of the Komsomol at Kalibr Factory A. Ignat′eva to A.V. Solodovnikov at KDI, July 28, 1944, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1282. 40 Order 407-A from S. N. Preobrazhenskii of VGKO, August 4, 1944, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1282.

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theaters out of the seven or eight involved had gone in 1944. In addition, it was noted that the repertory in several of these theaters had been banned even after lengthy rehearsals, so the theaters had nothing to perform. Surin assured Khrapchenko that GUMU had been working on this situation, though with little response. He requested that the KDI approve a commission to investigate the directorship of front theaters of the Board of Art Affairs of the Moscow City Executive Committee.41 These examples show the capability the KDI had—sometimes singly, sometimes acting through GUMU—to control, direct, and punish the organizations under its authority. Despite its wide-ranging power, the KDI was not completely autonomous. It had to apply for certain services to other commissariats, such as Narkomfin (Finance), NPS (Railway), and the Commissariat of Defense. The Radio Committee and even its artistic collectives were not under the control of the KDI. In late 1944, Khrapchenko had to apply for permission to use a new theater for the VGKO because its former theater was taken over by the Radio Committee. He requested that the Central Committee of the Communist Party make the new assignment.42 Some other organizations ranked above the KDI could require service from it. For example, the Military Council of the Western Front and the Secretary of the Moscow Committee of the Communist Party, A. S. Shcherbakov, through the house of the Red Army of the Western front, submitted a request (i.e., an order) to Khrapchenko to form and send out eight brigades to serve the Western front.43 In other cases, however, the KDI appeared to work with different organizations on a more or less equal basis. It wrote to the Moscow City Soviet in December 1941 explaining that after the evacuation of many artistic organizations, a number of artists and students were left in the capital who were without work and could make up additional brigades to meet the needs of the army and the city. The KDI also requested financial support from the Mossovet and suggested salary rates to be used.44 41 Letter from V. Surin of GUMU to Khrapchenko of the KDI, August 21,1944, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1282. 42 Letter from the head of the KDI, Khrapchenko, to the Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party, A. S. Shcherbakov, date unclear (probably late summer 1944), RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1282. 43 Letter from the head of the DKA of the Western front battalion, Commissar Guskin, to the chair of the KDI, Khrapchenko, November 4, 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 950. 44 Letter from L. Shapovalov of the KDI to the chairman of the Executive Committee of the Moscow City Soviet, V. P. Pronin, December 12, 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 950.

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In November 1942, the KDI and the Komsomol co-sponsored a resolution asking for more involvement of youths and young factory workers in art appreciation and artistic amateur activity. The respective art affairs organizations were to select appropriate repertories and form several brigades using youth to perform for factories, dormitories, and trade schools. The youthful workers were expected to attend one or two programs a month. The Komsomol and other organizations, the Houses of Peoples Creativity (Dom Narodnogo Tvorchestva, or DNTs) and the Trade Union of Art Workers (Profsoiuz Rabotnikov Iskusstva, or Rabis) were to assist in the area of promoting reviews of existing amateur work and the initiation of new circles.45 It is clear that the KDI, GUMU, and VGKO made up the driving force directing and pushing for the arts to be incorporated into all aspects of life; they themselves were driven by the Party, the Military, and the state. They would find other groups to implement their directives.

TRADE UNIONS AND OTHER ORGANIZATIONS Many other organizations, both under the auspices of KDI and outside its direct control, worked together to provide the artistic needs of the war years. Many of the orders initiated by the KDI were also cosigned by Rabis. This trade union worked hand in hand with the KDI and, like the latter, had branches throughout the republics, regions, major cities, and local areas. As an example of the cooperative work between these two organizations, a directive was issued jointly by Khrapchenko and E. Vakman, the a­ ssistant chair of Rabis, encouraging all art workers to participate in patronage work for the Army, Navy, Aeroflot, the People’s Commissariat of Internal Affairs (the NKVD), and hospitals. Rabis was in charge of the patronage commission, while the KDI held ultimate responsibility for the ideological and artistic content of all programs. The two organizations were also jointly responsible for the formation of front brigades, the selection of participants and brigade leaders, and the review of repertory.46 45 Resolution by the head of the KDI, Khrapchenko, and Secretary of the Central Committee of the Komsomol, Mishakova, November 4,1942, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1009. 46 Order from Khrapchenko of the KDI and E. Vakman, assistant chairman of the Central Committee of the Trade Union of Art Workers, May 26, 1942; Order from Khrapchenko of the KDI and the chairman of the Central Committee of the Trade Union of Art Workers, A. Pokrovskii, September 10,1942; Order from Khrapchenko and Pokrovskii, February 1, 1943, to all levels of KDI and Rabis; RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1005.

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The concert tour organization VGKO, under the control of the KDI, was headed first by R. V. Bakhrakh and later by S. N. Preobrazhenskii. During the war years, it handled much of the practical work involved with selecting, keeping track of, and managing personnel for the front concert brigades. An example is the case already mentioned above concerning the Uzbek brigade’s late arrival and unsuccessful review in Moscow for Red Army Day. The VGKO did reschedule those who passed the review for twelve to fifteen days of concerts for the military units stationed outside Moscow.47 In spring 1942, it organized an informational/methodological team to study and document the experience of the front brigades. With the recorded, photographed, and written material collected, the team was to assist new brigades and distribute information to the general public about the brigade work. The KDI provided funding (5,500 rubles per month), photo labs at the Pushkin Museum, and permission to use the media.48 The VGKO also had primary responsibility for the genre of estrada performance, which is similar to cabaret shows. This meant holding contests for performers and repertory, especially toward the end of the war. Most if not all jazz collectives were under the jurisdiction of the VGKO, including Utesov’s jazz orchestra and Shul′zhenko’s jazz ensemble (see Chapter 5 for details of these groups). In its role as mouthpiece for stage art, the VGKO called for more attention to be given to the genre by the composers’ and writers’ unions and by the central and specialized press critics. It also requested permanent space for performance, more material incentives such as salary increases, and opportunities for awards, including the Stalin Prize for estrada artists, composers, and writers.49 Clearly, this organization was highly involved in promoting song during the war years. The All-Russian Theatrical Society (Vserossiiskoe Teatral’noe Obshchestvo, or VTO), was formally an independent organization with analogous bodies in every republic. Nevertheless, it had close links with the KDI. This organization, in charge of theaters, formed a number of brigades 47 Letter from Il′in to Solodovnikov (cf. footnote 38), March 18, 1942, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1059. 48 Letter from head of VGKO, R. Bakhrakh, to assistant chair of KDI, Solodovnikov, March 19, 1942; letter from Solodovnikov to Bakhrakh, March 28,1942; RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1060. 49 Report by head of VGKO, S. N. Preobrazhenskii to KDI, March 24,1944; Order of KDI, signed by Khrapchenko, concerning repertory of VGKO, date is not clear (probably early 1944); RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1282.

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under its authority, some of which were purely dramatic and thus were not involved with the issue of songs. But some theaters did produce musical works, and their brigades were mixed, using musicians, singers, and dancers along with the actors. The VTO organized a fundraising effort among the theaters for the Defense Fund, asking them to donate from the door and for their individual performers to volunteer their time—in essence, giving up days of pay toward the goal and holding special concerts to raise funds. It also used its resources to assist other organizations, and turned over its sound recording studios for use by the Red Army. In Moscow, it took over organizing amateur brigades in November 1941, when the House of Peoples’ Creativity was closed (probably due to the evacuation of Moscow). A special section of the VTO was set up to manage the amateur brigades and consult on repertory and other matters that involved serving the military and civilian populations in the capital.50 The Trade Union of Art Workers had several commissions under its control. As stated above, the commission for patronage work was part of Rabis, which organized and reviewed the plans and personnel to travel to the front to provide patronage concerts. Rabis also had control of the Central House of Art Workers (TsDRI), which was a center for artistic life. One function of the TsDRI was to provide political education and opportunities to participate in political work for the art workers themselves. This involved sixteen to twenty events a month, including political and educational lectures, presentations about and by brigades that had been at the front, and discussions with poets, composers, and other artists. There were also evenings with the Red Army when Moscow defenders as well as soldiers and officers from other campaigns and fronts recounted their experiences to the audience of artists, who in turn would share their works with the soldiers. Twenty-six such events were held in November and December 1941. Films were also shown at the TsDRI. Beginning in late 1941, Wednesday evenings at the House of Art Workers were open to artists of all genres. People would speak or share their work, and a log of visitors’ comments was kept in which artists expressed appreciation for a chance to relax and concentrate on art. Yet another function of the TsDRI was to serve externally. One report mentions the Headquarters for Artistic Service to the Red Army (most likely an arm of GUMU) under the KDI as being the organizer for their direct service in 50 Report by head of administrative affairs of VTO, Subbotin, to KDI, Sukhanashvili, December 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 951.

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the trenches, in the units, at recruiting points, and in the hospitals. At the time of this report, the TsDRI had formed fourteen new brigades made up of both students and professional artists to be used in this work. Boris Filippov head of TsDRI, claimed in his memoir that his organization was given a certificate for performing 35,000 concerts in the Moscow region during the war years. Artists also donated funds through TsDRI for tanks and other gifts to the Red Army, while women did sewing for the soldiers and provided aid to children of military families.51 The Komsomol also helped in recruiting young people and encouraging participation as performers and as audience members.

MILITARY INVOLVEMENT As stated above, government organizations were not the only players in the management of the arts. GlavPURKKA, a military/political organization, had control over the ideological and artistic work of the military personnel. The division of cultural enlightenment organizations within the Administration of Agitation and Propaganda section of GlavPURKKA (Agit/Prop) was headed by Colonel Tsaritsyn, who often served as GlavPURKKA’s representative at artistic plenums. This division had a role in reviewing the civilian brigades and groups that served the military, but it also had its own military personnel involved in art work, which was carried out in the Central House of the Red Army (TsDKA) and the Theater of the Red Army, as well as in corresponding organizations in the Navy. The Houses of the Red Army, or DKAs, and the Houses of the Navy, Domflota, also controlled some publishing of songbooks and scores for military use. Concerts were organized by the Houses of the Red Army and Navy using their own performers as well as touring groups provided through the KDI, GUMU, and the VGKO. By an agreement signed in January 1943, the TsDKA was also to provide a number of basic services to brigades arriving in Moscow on their way to serve at the front, even if they were under the VGKO’s control. The reverse was also true: military performers, on occasion, would work temporarily in civilian groups. As an example, GUMU requested from the Moscow Front Military Council that a soloist from the front ensemble,

51 Report about the work of TsDRI, by head of TsDRI Saakov, December 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 951; B. M. Filippov, Tvorcheskie vstrechi: Ocherki o deiatel′nosti TsDRI SSSR (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1951), 88, 92–96.

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N. S. Pushkar′, be allowed to go on leave in order to tour as vocal soloist for the Russian State Orchestra on its tour to the Urals from June 8 to July 25, 1943.52 These exchanges and joint efforts did not always go smoothly. In one case, problems arose from parallel scheduling between the KDI and the DKAs in Vladivostok and Khabarovsk. The KDI and the VGKO felt that the Navy was abusing the ensembles and brigades sent there by persuading them to give unscheduled concerts, charging higher costs, and ignoring the official plans and schedules of the groups involved. The KDI felt that the theatrical/musical sections of the houses were redundant and asked GlavPURKKA to either liquidate them or ban them from hiring any concert groups without the approval of the VGKO.53 Despite the numerous references to this problem, the resolution is never noted in the archival sources reviewed. In other cases, GlavPURKKA and the Houses of the Red Army and Navy would request ensembles and brigades to be sent at extremely short notice, requiring GUMU and the VGKO to scramble to fulfill the orders. It is clear even from these few examples that territoriality did seep into the complex web of organizations responsible for providing artistic services at the front and in the rear.

CENSORSHIP CONTROL One organization affected all of the agencies dealing with performance, creation, and distribution of songs: the censor. Documents refer to two ­different titles: Glavrepertkom, the main administration of control over shows and repertory; and GURK (Glavnoe Upravlenie Repertuarnogo Kontrolia), the main repertory control commission. Glavrepertkom was created following the order of the Sovnarkom dated February 9, 1923, as a department of the Glavlit, a united body for all types of censorship. In 1934 Glavrepertkom was separated from Glavlit and became an independent authority, acquiring the name GURK. GURK answered directly to Narkompros (the People’s Comissary for Enlightenment); in 1936 it was relocated under 52 Letter from head of GUMU, Surin, to member of the Military Council of the Moscow Front, General-Major Grishin, May 5, 1943, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1172. 53 Letter from head of Department of Art Affairs of the Primorskii Krai, Molchanova, chair of the Oblast Committee of Rabis, Riabenkova, and inspector of theaters for Primorskii Krai, Iasnomorskii, to Chair of KDI Khrapchenko, April 4, 1943; letter from head of GUMU, Surin, to assistant head of GlavPUR, General-Major L. V. Shikin, April 28, 1943; letter from Chair of KDI, Khrapchenko, to assistant head of Glavpur, L. V. Shikin, May (exact date unclear), 1943; letter from head of GUMU, Surin, to head of the fourth department of the main political administration of the Navy, Col. Portnoi, May 20,1943; RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1172.

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the control of the Committee for Art Affairs of the Soviet Sovnarkom54. The sources whom the author personally interviewed easily recognize Glavrepertkom, but do not know GURK, as the old name was widely used even after 1934. It is certain that this organization was under Communist Party control and that the representatives were Party members, since the issues involved with reviews were not only of artistic quality but concerned ideological and political content as well as mood and tone. The procedures and rules for reviews changed over the course of the war, judging from a document sent out by Khrapchenko in December 1942 that confirmed the temporary instructions to all levels of GURK representatives in accordance with Order #312 “to the Censor” in May of that year. This order was probably from the Party Central Committee, but the actual document has not been found for this project. If changes were made, it is unclear what they were and why they were made because documents concerning the process prior to this order also have not been found. It is possible as well that a systematic procedure did not exist, given the chaos and huge retreats of the initial months of the war. Nevertheless, after this order was released, GURK—at least in theory—held all control over what was performed at all levels of society. Orders stated that GURK representatives were responsible solely to the head of GURK, and that they controlled all aspects—political and artistic—of all art forms. They had the power to approve or ban all works in all genres: estrada concerts and repertories, circuses, all fine art, and amateur art. GURK had authority over all artistic institutions, both under the KDI and separate from it, and over the shows in DKAs and hospitals, as well as control of printed and recorded artistic materials. The organization was responsible for seeing that any banned records, scores, or posters were removed from display, sale, or rental (suggesting a connection with the NKVD to enforce such bans). All soloists, b­ rigades, and ­programs had to go through a review. Any concert was to be registered with either the VGKO or the relevant level of the KDI, and each brigade performer had to have a GURK-approved repertory in order to perform. Changes in repertory not approved by GURK were categorically forbidden, especially in the case of concerts for the military and for hospitals. Amateurs submitted their work for review by the Houses of Peoples’ Creativity and by local Party workers. 54 A. Blium, “Stat′i dlia entsyklopedii ‘Tsenzura,’” NLO 112 ( June 2011), http://www.nlobooks.ru/node/1554, accessed February 17, 2018.

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The ideological purpose of GURK as stated in the instructions was “to battle ideas and tendencies antithetical to the Soviet people or which falsely depict Soviet reality in the arts.”55 Yet these instructions contain no definition or set standards by which to evaluate a given work. GURK representatives either got this information through another channel or were left to their own devices to make such judgments. Even if criteria were set, the compartmentalization of GURK authority worked against standardization across a broad spectrum of genres and geographic regions. Thus, despite the stern tone in the instructions, groups may have been able to work around the rules by getting approval for changes or new shows in different areas. This also might have meant differences in programs, depending on the area in which they were performed. Whether or not performers consciously used this possible disparity for their own ends is neither supported nor rejected by the documents available. It is clear, however, that individuals, both artists and censors, with their own sense of taste and ethics did play a large role in making the system of music distribution work. Despite efforts to regulate everything strictly from the top down, personality and personal taste, as well as the measure of political vigilance each individual displayed, concretely shaped the musical environment. One counterbalance that minimized the influence of personal taste on the part of an inspector for GURK and Glavrepertkom—or conversely, that prevented manipulations of the inspectors by artists—was that the reviews were, at least sometimes, held by boards. Technically, though, an inspector was still held personally responsible for any decision made by him or by a board. A concert brigade from the Omsk State Philharmonic sent by GUMU to Moscow for review was rejected for front service by a committee of representatives from GlavPURKKA, TsDKA, and Glavrepertkom.56 In another case, the Central Review Commission, made up of representatives from the KDI, Glavrepertkom, the TsDKA, and GlavPURKKA, sent a Kirgiz concert brigade of artistic masters back to the Kirgiz Board of Art Affairs with instructions to reform it. They listed the artists who were to remain in the new brigade, but noted that quality in the other performers and in much of the repertory was

55 Order #509 from head of KDI, Khrapchenko, confirming temporary instructions signed by Acting Director of GURK, Babin, to all republic, oblast, and krai representatives of the main administration of control of shows and repertory, GURK, September 23, 1942, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1005. 56 Letter from head of TsDKA named for Frunze, Maksimov, to head of GUMU, Surin, July 27,1943, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1172.

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severely lacking.57 In a slightly different situation, the KDI ordered that the VGKO should have a special political editor assigned to it from Glavrepertkom to assist the work of improving the Estrada repertory. The areas noted by the KDI as needing assistance included works on heroic battles and victories both at the front and the rear; works on current significant themes, rather than “shallow daily life topics”; works appropriate for the conditions in liberated areas; and works for children.58 This new arrangement meant that the individual editor would work with already existing staff to bring all work into closer alignment with the necessary political and ideological direction to fulfill the officially established social needs. The content of a single piece or an entire program, or the appropriateness of a song or series of songs for a given performer, could be reviewed. A program could be rejected, or parts of a show could be eliminated for not matching the show’s theme. A performer could be rejected altogether for lack of talent; in fact, there were cases in which entire brigades were sent home due to the poor quality of the artists. In other cases, the repertory did not suit the style or technique of a performer and thus was kept out of his or her personal list. Each performer’s repertory had to be approved and, in accordance with the GURK instructions, had to be available for inspection at all times. Again, it is impossible to state just how strictly these review results and lists were maintained. If an entire show was not approved, it is unlikely that it would slip past in an unapproved performance. But a performer might be able to slip in a piece unnoticed, especially as a request. One performer, Elizaveta, recalled that if someone requested it, she would sing “The Sacred War” even though it was not in her repertory. Clearly the song was omitted from her personal performance list not because of its content but rather because of its style—it is better suited to group performance as an anthem than to a lyrical solo piece. However, she indicated that this did not cause her any problems with inspectors or political workers, and added that these additions and substitutions were possible with patriotic songs but not with Western ones. She herself did not, and could not, sing any Western songs, though she did recognize many of them. The estrada singer Klavdiia Shul′zhenko added a new song to her repertory apparently without having it reviewed. In April 1942 she and her 57 Letter from head of the Department of Artistic Service to the Front of GUMU, V. Endrzheevskii, to head of Board of Art Affairs of Kirgiz SSR, Dzhakishev, with copy to Kirgiz philharmonic, November 15, 1943, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1172. 58 Report and orders by head of the KDI, Khrapchenko, on the work of the VGKO, date unclear (probably early 1944), RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1182.

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ensemble were at the Volkhov front to perform for a unit recently awarded the title of “Guard” when she received a new text to the tune of “The Blue Kerchief.” The versions vary as to whether she herself requested the rewrite or whether the young lieutenant and novice journalist M. A. Maksimov, who was to write a review of the upcoming concert, presented his text as an unsolicited gift to her. Whatever the case, after only one rehearsal she added it to her program and performed it the same day. “The response,” she says, “was unanimous: ‘Sing it again!’” She claims she never did another show afterward in which the song was not sung at least once and often was repeated by request several times.59 No mention is made of having the song approved or reviewed by any KDI or GURK inspectors or GlavPURKKA officials. It is possible that Maksimov had the lyrics approved before he turned them over to her, but no evidence substantiates this. Some self-censorship, or at least self-selection, occurred alongside the official regulations. Before the war, Elizaveta’s musical repertory consisted mostly of romances that, according to her, were no longer appropriate once the war broke out. She noted that she had to change her entire repertory to perform in a front brigade to suit the new wartime mood and needs. Her own personal views may have been influenced by official positions, but she did not disagree and took out styles and numbers she felt were not appropriate for the serious mood of the war. She also changed her performance style to accommodate the need to travel, and began using the accordion instead of piano to accompany herself. Yet as the war went on and she gave concerts in hospitals, she would occasionally sing her old romances by request, and she encountered no repercussions from the censors.60 There were other cases of performance censorship in varying degrees concerning lyrics, concert programs, and performing styles. Elizaveta recounted that she was told not to make gestures when she sang certain songs; she should just stand and sing the words. She also noted that no Jewish songs, either in theme or in language, were ever sung in public, although people did know and sing them in private. Another performer, Iurii Tseitlin, a trumpet player and amateur poet, recalled that when Eddie Rozner orchestra, in which he was playing, was asked to produce a record in July 1944 at the House of Sound Recording in Moscow, the Artistic Council rejected two performers, one for 59 K. Shul′zhenko, Kogda vy sprosite menia (Moscow: Molodaia Gvardiia, 1985), 93–95; Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 60–63; Biriukov, POV, 213–14; Biriukov, PVD, 237–40. 60 Elizaveta (last name not used by request), interview with author, Brooklyn, New York, August 13, 1989, audio tape (in author’s possession).

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voice quality and the other because he had a Polish accent. As a result, four of Tseitlin’s songs written with the Garis brothers’ music were to be excluded from the record. For some reason, the director of the House of Sound Recording decided to try to record the songs anyway by bringing in another singer. Without any real rehearsal, a soldier in rough dress checked over the score and then recorded the songs. It was Georgii Vinogradov of the Red Banner Ensemble, who was by chance temporarily in Moscow. The new recordings consequently passed muster in the artistic council.61 Exactly why the director decided to help these songs become approved is not clear. Did he take pity on the author Tseitlin, or did he personally like the songs and want to hear them recorded? Whatever the case, this example points out the possibility for working around the official censor’s decisions. Performers sometimes were not permitted to travel with brigades. Elizaveta noted that she and her husband never traveled to the front or to border areas. The explanation given her was that she had two small children (who were with her mother) and thus she should not be at risk. She herself did not believe this and claimed she was forbidden because she was Jewish. E. Arskaia complained in a letter to A. V. Solodovnikov that the VGKO would not allow her to take on the job of brigade director because she was a woman and the front was too dangerous. She countered that argument, stating that the brigade had also traveled to the Urals regions far from the front without her.62 A logical explanation for denying her participation is never given. With regard to censorship, obedience to rules and regulations, and participation in brigades, patronage work, or “voluntary” fund-raising, the motivating factors may not always have been positive. Denunciations, arrests, and imprisonment were certainly not far from the consciousness of the artistic intelligentsia after the purges in the late 1930s, and were a possible consequence for noncompliant behavior. Little concrete evidence has been gathered in this research, but hints of this awareness and the reality of the possibilities are present. Dolmatovskii had to go through a debriefing process after being behind enemy lines. It was suggested to him that his writing of poetry might assist his case and also let everyone know that he was still alive.63 The composer Shebalin, in a hand-delivered letter to his wife, who was already in evacuation, wrote to tell her she should prepare 61 Iurii Vladimirovich Tseitlin, interview with author, February 5, 1991, Moscow, audio tape (in author’s possession). 62 Arskaia to Solodovnikov, September 15, 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 950. 63 Dolmatovskii, Rasskazy, 192, 193.

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herself to become the head of the family: “It is difficult to say what my fate will be in the current situation. Unfortunately we know much too little, and perhaps it isn’t for us, those famous ones who were earlier spoiled with attentions . . . Not always in our times can we remain the masters of our own lives.” Regarding his papers, he adds, “The most important are at the Union of Composers, and I will take them with me if I am sent on an involuntary trip.” It is impossible to know without further evidence whether he is referring to being sent to fight or being arrested; however, the latter scenario seems more likely, because he also states that he will try to bring as little shame as possible to himself.64 The performer Vadim Kozin was in Moscow in 1944 and helped smooth out a situation between the composer/performer Aleksandr Vertinskii and the Metropol′ Hotel director, who was a friend of Stalin’s and had threatened to send Vertinskii “to the Devil’s mother”—and apparently could have done it.65 Kozin himself, though, did not remain untouched by the Stalinist machine. Despite his popularity as a gypsy romance and folk singer, and the fact that Stalin brought him to sing regularly for him, he was arrested in May 1944 and spent nine months in Lubianka until he was sentenced and sent on his way to Magadan in February 1945. He was released in 1950, and although he continued to sing and write romances, he never returned from Magadan. Several theories were given for his arrest. His cellmate wrote that Kozin told him he had sung for a Polish general in the Far East and had been denounced as a traitor by a member of his ensemble. Kozin himself recalled being summoned into Beria’s office after he performed for Stalin in Tehran in 1943. Beria and the secretary of the Moscow Communist Party, A. S. Shcherbakov, asked him what he sang for holidays, knowing that he did only one song of any political nature: a song about Lenin’s birth. Kozin stated he was a lyrical singer and would not learn anything else. Reportedly, Beria stated, “Then you will not be.” Some theorized that he colluded with a Russian émigré singer, Iza Kremer, at the same Tehran concert for the big three. Reportedly, when the Germans surrounded the city of Brest, they played a number of Kozin’s songs they knew to be popular to influence the city’s population. This could have had later repercussions on the singer, even though he was not personally involved.66 64 Shebalin to his wife, August 22, 1941, cited in Alisa Maksimovna Shebalina, Vissarion Iakovlevich Shebalin: Gody zhizni i tvorchestva (Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1990), 114. 65 Savchenko, Kozin, 68. 66 Ibid., 67.

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There was also hearsay about affairs and homosexuality, which he denied in a later interview.67 Whatever the reasons for his arrest, he was taken out of circulation at the height of his performance career. One of the top singers of the time, he had performed at the front and the rear and had recorded several records. The implication of this is that no one—not even those in the top echelons of the art world—was exempt from possible arrest, torture, and labor camps. It is possible that the war period went through a variety of stages in the use of force, the threat of arrest, and other means to ensure compliance with official policy. As mentioned earlier, the first months and years of the war may have been chaotic enough to minimize the use of such instruments systematically. But as the tide turned and the war moved back westward and out of Soviet territory, more attention could be given to maintaining political vigilance and compliance with rules and policies set by the Party. One example of the change in policy concerns performing brigades once they had to leave Soviet territory. In July 1943, the KDI wrote to the head of the Agit/Prop section of the Central Committee of the Communist Party, G. F. Aleksandrov, seeking assistance from the secretaries of the national Communist Parties in the southern tier republics to enforce a ban on sending brigades to Iran without the sanction of the KDI and GlavPURKKA and without consideration of the artistic requirements for sending brigades abroad.68 In October 1944, Colonel Tsaritsyn, head of the cultural enlightenment section of GlavPURKKA, pointed out that the time to prepare proper clearance for brigades going abroad was significantly longer than for domestic groups—nearly three weeks.69 Unfortunately, neither the stricter artistic standards nor the process for obtaining clearance is outlined in the documents. Nor is there any mention of sanctions against those who either went abroad without such clearance or did not pass the official standards for participation. Much more research is necessary to truly understand the degree to which negative incentive was used to persuade song creators, performers, and distributors to stick with policy,

67 Ibid., 77–79, 84–85; David MacFadyen, Songs for Fat People (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2002), 67–79. 68 Head of KDI Khrapchenko to head of administration of Agit/Prop of the TsKVKPB, G. F. Aleksandrov, July 8, 1943, RGALI, f. 962 op. 3, d. 1172. 69 Head of the cultural enlightenment section of the Administration of Agit/Prop of GlavPUR, Col. Tsaritsyn, to the chairman of the KDI, Khrapchenko, October 9, 1944, RGALI, f. 962 op. 3 d. 1172.

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as well as to understand any shifts that might have occurred in this area of interaction between artists and the state.

INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS AND THE ARTS Another organization, the All-Union Society for Cultural Ties (Vsesoiuznoe Obshchestvo Kul′turnykh Sviazei, or VOKS), handled the distribution of culture, including music to and from other countries. VOKS was most certainly linked with the Party apparatus because it dealt with ideology, culture, and foreign nations. Rather than sending performance brigades off Soviet soil, a task which was undertaken mainly to serve the Soviet troops as they moved westward and later eastward into Manchuria, VOKS concentrated on sharing Soviet culture with the world and bringing a selected amount of foreign culture to the USSR. During the war the efforts were concentrated on the Allies—Great Britain and the United States. VOKS recruited assistance from the experts; in the case of music, this included the Union of Composers. The Orgkom prepared a report and a series of material for VOKS to use abroad, and the Composers’ Union also promoted events and creative activity to publicize foreign music and use foreign texts and themes in new Soviet musical compositions. The SSK prepared short biographies on seventeen prominent composers to be given to VOKS to send abroad.70 Khrennikov responded with a cycle of songs set to translated texts of Robert Burns. There were songs written in honor of the Allied sea convoys to the Northern fleet and other joint war efforts, as well as humorous songs, such as “Dzheimz Kennedi,” about a British sailor named James Kennedy. In May 1943, a gala concert sponsored by VOKS and the KDI was held at the Moscow Conservatory to honor English music. Works by British composers and songs honoring Anglo-Russian friendship were performed by Soviet artists for Russian and foreign guests. Another concert of this type held sometime in mid-1944 featured American composers’ works.71 In June 1942, a plan spearheaded by the Composers’ Union at the request of VOKS to publish an informational bulletin for the Allies on Soviet music went into action. Three musicologists were paid the highest salary level from Muzfond to prepare the journal, which was then transmitted to VOKS for distribution abroad. In addition, Viktor Belyi was assigned to prepare a list of the 70 Tomoff, Creative Union, 92. 71 Pravda, May 26, 1943, 3, October 22, 1944, 4.

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best songs to be sent abroad and broadcast overseas. The Composers’ Union also hoped to receive in exchange scores and articles from abroad that it could publish and present in lectures and concerts.72 VOKS also reported on events abroad, keeping track of how the foreign nations related to the USSR in the area of culture. An article in Krasnaia zvezda in March 1942 reviewed efforts in America to learn about the Soviet Union and its war effort. It stated, “The journal Soviet Russia has increased circulation in the U.S. significantly in the last few months. Soviet films are shown in large cities and the film Boevye podrugi (Wartime Girlfriends) is being remade in Hollywood.” The article also asserted that the biggest interest was in documentary films and radio broadcasts about the Red Army’s battle progress. In December of that same year, VOKS reported that a fund-raising reception was held in New York by the Committee on Aid to the Soviet War Effort. Hundreds of artists turned out to show support and hear Charlie Chaplin’s greeting.73 A VOKS representative told a plenum of the Union of Composers in 1944 that music was a significant link between America and the USSR. American music houses had published more than 450 Soviet works during the war, and American record companies had made hundreds of records. He noted that although the scale of distribution was large, VOKS was still receiving numerous requests for new works with which it could not keep up.74 Just how many Soviet songs were exported abroad and how many foreign songs were promoted in the USSR is difficult to know for certain. At the plenum on song held in 1943, VOKS representative Shneerson reported on the popularity of songs abroad in England, America, and China. From the songs of the war years, he noted that the melody to “Pesnia o vstrechnom” (Song about the reciprocatory plan) by Shostakovich was used in a new text by American author Harold Rome, and that it had become “the anthem of the Allied Nations and [is] sung widely at demonstrations and meetings concerning the international war effort.” In England, Listov’s song “Tachanka” (Caissons) had become a popular favorite, and the Chinese liked Dunaevskii’s prewar song “Song of the Motherland,” while Blanter’s version of “Wait for Me” and Khrennikov’s “Song about Moscow” from the film Svinarka i pastukh (The swineherd and the shepherd) came out in the United States. Other songs released on records or published abroad included “Beloved City,” “It Doesn’t Matter,” and Zharkovskii’s 72 Meeting of the Orgkom SSK, June 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 51. 73 Krasnaia zvezda, March 28,1942, 4, December 12, 1942, 4; Plenum of the SSK, April 1–7, 1944, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 93, L. 59. 74 Plenum of the SSK, April 1–7, 1944, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 93, L. 59.

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song for Britain, “Okei Britaniia!” (OK Britannia!). Lyrical songs such as “In the Dugout,” “Farewell,” and “Evening on the Quay” were also sent out. “The Sacred War” had been sent to all the allies and “had success in ­bringing out patriotic feelings in all the nations: England, America, Australia, and China.” Shneerson added that VOKS itself was publishing two collections for England and America; he shared the list of twenty-seven songs by twenty-­three composers. Blanter, Fradkin, and Solov′ev-Sedoi were the only composers to have more than one song included.75 As seen in Chapter 1, Blanter’s version of “Katiusha” became a symbol of the Allied effort, especially in the United States. Soviet songs also went abroad with performing groups for summits. For example, Kozin sang at the Tehran Conference in honor of Churchill’s birthday. He was flown to Iran, performed that night, and returned to Moscow in less than twenty-four hours. In 1945, Soviet songs were also heard at the Allied Control Commission, and the Red Banner Ensemble traveled to Finland in January to perform a concert for Allied representatives and Finnish political and cultural leaders. On a less formal level, many professional and amateur ensembles shared concerts with their allies as they all met in victory in late spring 1945 in Berlin, on the Elbe, in Austria, and elsewhere. In one such concert, in addition to Russian songs, an amateur group performed the American national anthem, a Czech folk song, “Tipperary,” and the American tune “There Is a Tavern in the Town” (translated as “Kabachok”), which the Russians sang in Russian while the Americans joined in English. A similar concert program was performed in Vienna in October for a British, American, and Austrian audience.76 Less information is available about how many English and American songs entered Soviet performances, publications, and broadcasts. Many interviewees knew of the World War I song “Tipperary” as well as Russian translations of “There Is a Tavern in the Town” and “Comin’ in on a Wing and a Prayer.” They also stated there were others, but they did not recall the titles. At the 1943 song plenum, Shneerson mentioned several songs written by foreigners about the Soviet war effort, including “Otkroite vtoroi front” (Open the second front), “Udarim s zapada” (We will attack from the west), and “Karavan” (Caravan) dedicated to British–Russian f­riendship. 75 Plenum on song held by the SSK, June 19, 1943, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 83, L. 244–47. 76 Savchenko, Kozin, 75; Krasnaia zvezda, January 30, 1945, 4, May 26, 1945, 1, and November 1, 1945, 3.

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American songs on this theme are “Kogda krovavye snega Rossii opiat′ stanut belye” (When will the bloody snow of Russia be white again?) and “Oni vernulis′ na svoiu Ukrainu” (They returned to their Ukraine). The VOKS representative asserted that Britain had very few military songs and few good war songs. America, on the other hand, had a strong military tradition, but the current war songs were too jazzy to meet that need. He pointed out that the USSR had the best military war songs, which was one reason they were so popular abroad. His argument might shed light on why VOKS apparently did not strive to promote foreign songs at home. Nevertheless, such songs did make it to Russia and to the troops and civilians. It is not clear who translated the works that did come in. Probably much of the contact with Western music came through more informal channels. As the army moved westward it would meet foreigners, perhaps hear radio broadcasts, or pick up recordings of Western works. Visiting delegations concerned with Lend Lease, the northern convoys, or the joint Soviet-American air base near Poltava in 1944 probably also entailed meetings, informal concerts, and souvenirs in the form of records or music books. More study must be done to fully understand the roles Soviet music played abroad and foreign music played inside the USSR during the war.

CONCLUSIONS A number of other organizations were directly involved with song and the various forms of its distribution, but they were not necessarily policy setters. Some were subordinate to the KDI or Rabis. Others were directed under other auspices and took their lead from directives sent down by their respective committees of the Sovnarkom, the Party, or the main political administration. They encompassed journalistic agencies (both for newspapers and artistic journals), publishers of song collections, music histories, and monographs; and the radio and recording industry. No matter how they fit into the structure and the chain of command, these institutions contributed significantly to the distribution of songs and the current understanding of the function of song in society and in the war effort. They will be discussed in Chapter 4. The complex array of organizations that played roles in determining the guidelines and policies concerning songs, their distribution, and performance often overlapped and perhaps caused more confusion than clarity. The bureaucracy was tightly entangled and, at least from the documents studied for this research, clear authority was not always in evidence. Which organization had

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ultimate responsibility for seeing that a task or project got done was often blurred by seemingly identical tasks being assigned almost simultaneously to other organizations. Two factors perhaps helped keep things straightened out. The first, as described best by Zak,77 was that the Communist Party had ­ultimate control over every institution, no matter what the paperwork indicated. As Zak stated, each individual knew who he or she was responsible to and from whom to take orders. Thus, alongside the bureaucratic world of organizations spelled out in letters, minutes, and memos, another system of command also coexisted that, according to Zak, overrode any discrepancy. This was the system run by telephone calls, quick visits to offices, and, again, the possible threat of serious reprisal to oneself or one’s family. Given the aural nature of this second system of communications, it is difficult to clarify the balance between the official and unofficial individuals and organizations. This possible dichotomy was not new to the war years, however. The second factor that may have added clarity to the situation was new to wartime. The goal of every artistic organization, every bureaucratic functionary, every soldier, and every citizen was made clear by the fall of 1941 and was identical for all. From Stalin on down, the aim of every person was to support the war effort in some way. In music, this meant creating songs as weapons to inspire soldiers in battle, medicinal songs to heal hearts lonely from parting and sorrowed by violence, death, and destruction, and later joyous songs to celebrate the coming victory. Of course, as shown in the minutes of the creative unions as well as in letters to the KDI and other organizations, there were disagreements over how best to accomplish this, misunderstandings about who was to do which portion of the task, and philosophical debates over the best strategy and method to use. Nevertheless, the solidifying and unifying factor of a single overall aim cannot be overestimated for its power to override quarrels and confusion. The best evidence of this power is the creation of hundreds of songs performed in the armories, the hospitals, the homes, and the concert halls.

77 Zak, discussion, February 22, 1995.

Part Two Song Distribution and Performance CHAPTER 4

Print, Plastic, and Sound Waves: Mass Media and Song Distribution

O

nce songs had been created and approved by the review boards, and the various organizations were more or less set up to take on the tasks involved with publicizing the songs, the process of distribution got under way. The main methods for mass distribution were through the print media (newspapers, books, sheet music) and the sound media (radio, phonograph records, films). Each medium had its unique benefits and drawbacks, and all of them served both the military and civilian populations throughout the war. This chapter will examine these media and the role each played in ensuring that the songs reached their audiences.

SONGBOOKS AND OTHER MUSICAL PUBLICATIONS One area of song distribution was the publication of song sheets, songbook collections, and books and articles concerning music and society. A number of organizations were involved in this work on a small and large scale. Some publishing firms were either under the jurisdiction of, or closely linked to, the Committee on Art Affairs (KDI). The State Music Publisher (Muzgiz), the publisher Iskusstvo, and the Administration of Copyright (VUOAP) were all mentioned in KDI reports and plans concerning publishing and distributing music and works on art. Muzgiz published scores and collections of all genres of music. Iskusstvo handled books on the arts. The copyright administration had

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a distribution section for getting new works out to the public. The Composers’ Union sent works to be published by Muzfond (the semiautonomous internal department of the union), which printed works in Kollotype for distribution. It also worked with the Orkestrateka (publisher of orchestrations), which had its own artistic council to make selections and did publish some songs, and with Muzgiz, which was outside the union’s direct control. GlavPURKKA and the Houses of the Red Army and Navy also put out pamphlets and collections of songs. Just how they interacted, selected their material, and overlapped is not entirely clear. For example, in 1942 there was a complaint that Muzfond was exercising too much independence in its publication decisions by not consulting with the defense and creative commissions of the Composers’ Union. As a result, duplications in the work of Muzgiz and Muzfond could occur.1 Muzgiz representatives did occasionally attend the meetings of the Defense Commission, which auditioned new songs, and it is likely that other organizations’ representatives also participated. Technical problems such as lack of paper also contributed to the difficulties of publishing in all genres. Despite such obstacles, these publishers played a crucial role in the distribution of songs in written form. Sometimes organizations collaborated. For example, Muzgiz published collections with Voenizdat NKOSSSR (military publisher of the People’s Commissariat of Defense), Voenmorizdat (the Navy publisher), and the main political administration of the Navy, as well as on its own. The publisher Iskusstvo also published solo and with other organizations, such as the political administration of the Baltic Fleet. The Sverdlovsk composers’ union and the state conservatory there cooperated in producing a songbook, while the distribution section of VUOAP and the House of the Red Army of the Briansk Front produced a songbook containing songs relevant to the Briansk soldiers and partisans. Songbooks were published in Arkhangel′sk by the District House of People’s Creativity (DNT) with songs of local poets and composers, in Voronezh by the district book publishers, in Rostov by the House of the Red Army (DKA), and in Magadan by the publisher Sovetskaia Kolyma, as well as in besieged Leningrad and the capital. The Moscow Union of Soviet Composers, Muzfond, the Central House of Culture of the Railway Workers (with Transzheldorizdat, its publisher), and the Moscow and Leningrad branches of Iskusstvo all

1

Protocol 11, meeting of the board of MSK, March 3, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 54.

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­ articipated in the production of wartime songbooks.2 Clearly, cooperap tion and collaboration were prevalent during the war to ensure publication. The songs included in each collection were varied and usually included patriotic, lyrical, and lively songs. Some books concentrated on specific military branches, such as the Navy, pilots, or partisans, while others were general collections to be used broadly across military and civilian lines. Some books concentrated on the work of one composer or poet. Muzgiz published a set of Listov’s songs in 1942 and a collection of songs by Solov′ev-Sedoi in 1943.3 VUOAP also published a Solov′ev-Sedoi collection with texts by poet Viktor Gusev in 1943.4 In 1944, a collection of Vladimir Zakharov’s songs was featured in a Muzgiz publication of 10,000 copies, honoring the composer’s receipt of the Order of Lenin and the title “People’s Artist of the USSR.” He had already been awarded the Stalin Prize in 1942.5 A collection of texts by Gusev with melodies by at least five different composers was published by Muzfond in March 1944.6 Goslitizdat (the state literature publisher) issued a collection of works entitled Songs of the War (Pesni voiny) by the Kazakh poet and composer Dzhambul. The Dzhambul collection, 10,000 copies of which were issued, included twentyseven works written between 1941 and 1943 about the war, Stalin, and the defense efforts of various cities. The elderly bard’s works were translated from Kazakh into Russian.7 Undoubtedly, many more exist but have not been found. It is impossible to say exactly how many local, regional, and national institutions were involved in the endeavor, or how many songs and collections were actually published. However, some evidence illustrates the consistency and importance of publication. A month after the start of the war, the Moscow Composers’ Union reported that forty-three songs had been approved and published by the various Moscow publishing organizations.8 In the summer of 1941, the Leningrad branch of the Union of Soviet Composers held weekly meetings to hear new songs and put out a number 2 The songbooks noted here are all from the Russian National Library (formerly the Lenin Library) music division; see the Bibliography for citations. 3 Biriukov, POV, 198–99, 201. 4 Ibid., 216. 5 Literatura i iskusstvo, January 15, 1944. 6 Literatura i iskusstvo, ca. March 1944 (exact date unknown). 7 Pravda, May 29, 1944, 2. 8 Meeting of the administration of the Moscow Composers’ Union, July 21, 1941, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 38.

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of song posters, collotype printings, and song collections. After the terrible winter of 1941–42, they began working again by publishing three song collections and a front songbook (with no scores for accompanist).9 The Sverdlovsk branch planned to publish four song collections and sixty song leaflets in 1942.10 Although each area’s individual efforts may not be huge, the breadth of organizations involved, the number of cities, regions, and republics participating, and the numbers of books printed in each run show that the effort to disseminate songs to the front and to the civilian population, despite difficulties, was not insignificant. Maksakova claims that despite paper shortages, new military songs and songbooks as well as popular mass songs came out in the millions. Numerous one-page leaflets and song postcards also were printed.11 The so-called “pis′mo-pesnia” (letter-song) had blank lines for a message and address on one side and the text to a new or popular war song on the other. Nikolai Budashkin recalled seeing them in the Baltic Region and in Leningrad despite severe conditions there.12 The song “Leningrad Song” by Lepin and Shubin (1943) was first published as one of these postcards with both the text and musical score.13 Lidiia Tuaeva noted that the words were subsequently changed somewhat, although the chorus remains the same today.14 Based on the sample of songbooks collected for this research, the number of individual songbooks printed and available for use was 100,200 in 1941; 21,700 the next year; 56,700 in 1943; 47,050 in 1944; and 19,700 in 1945.15 The largest single run was 50,000 copies in 1941 of the collection V boi za rodinu! (To battle for the motherland!), published by Muzgiz and Voenizdat. A second edition was printed a month later, raising the number of copies of that particular songbook to 100,000. Another source claims   9 Protocol 9, meeting of the Presidium of the Orgkom of the SSK, July 23, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 52. 10 Protocol 11, meeting of the Presidium of the Orkgom of the SSK, August 30, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 52. 11 L. V. Maksakova, Kul′tura Sovetskoi Rossii v gody Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny (Moscow: Nauka, 1977), 33. 12 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 188–90. 13 Biriukov, POV, 228. 14 Lidiia Tuaeva, interview with author, 1995, Bloomington, Indiana, audio tape (in author’s possession). 15 Author’s calculations are based on available data on publication runs. These are the minimums for each year, because some runs are not listed and many more publications were in existence than have been collected here.

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that 150,000 copies were sent to the front in August 1941 by GlavPUR, so the reprintings may have occurred several times.16 The number of songs contained in each book ranged from four to thirty-seven, with the majority including between nine and twenty-two separate songs. It is difficult to tabulate the exact number of separate titles published, because there is some overlap in titles among the different books as well as different melodic versions of the same text in separate books. However, the total number of songs actually printed can be tallied. In 1941, eighty-seven songs were printed in five separate songbooks (one songbook was issued in identical form in two editions, so at least eighteen of the titles are repeats); in 1942, 113 songs were published in ten songbooks; 150 songs were printed in nine songbooks in 1943; twenty-one songbooks collected in 1944, with 181 songs printed; and 104 songs printed in six songbooks in 1945.17 The process of how and to whom these books were distributed has not been clearly established. Political workers and traveling ensembles distributed some of the books to the front; some were dropped by plane to partisans, some were sold, and others were given away. Out of fifty-one books, a price is given for thirty-one of them, four are listed as being no cost, and no information is available for sixteen. There is no indication as to how cost was established if songbooks were sold on the open market available to anyone who cared to buy them, or if distribution was determined before publication and limited to certain populations or regions. Where price is available, the cost ranged between zero and six rubles in the first two years of the war. Although some books were still listed as free or at low cost in 1944 (five rubles or less, as in the previous three years), the other prices jumped significantly to between seven and thirty rubles, with the majority falling between nine and twenty rubles for a single songbook. No explanation for this rise in price has been found. In addition to scores and songbooks, these publishers also produced pamphlets, brochures, and books concerning music and its role in society. In the spring of 1942, Muzfond was directed to print brochures on the themes The Composers and the Great Patriotic War, Music of the Slavic People, The Laureates of the Stalin Prize, and Twenty-Five Years of Soviet Music. At the same time, work was begun on a book detailing the history of 16 G. Pozhidaev, ed., Muzyka na frontakh Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny: Stat′i, vospominaniia (Moscow: Muzyka, 1970), 16. 17 Author’s calculations based on available wartime songbooks.

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Soviet music.18 Muzfond also printed several thematic concert programs for use by the Red Army amateur groups that included scores, texts, and an outline for a full concert show ready for use. The themes of the four published in May 1942 were partisans, pilots, the Navy, and a lyrical show. An in-house monthly bulletin for the Composers’ Union helped disseminate the latest lists of new works, statistics on music, accounts of trips to the front, patronage work, and news of Allied musical efforts abroad.19 Specialized journals such as Sovetskoe iskusstvo made this information available to the general population to the extent that circulation was not hindered by wartime conditions.

NEWSPAPERS Newspapers were another arm of the system for written agitation/propaganda and distribution of information, including songs. Although circulation was drastically cut, especially during the first half of the war, this format still probably reached more of the population through normal distribution and stengazety (newspaper bulletin boards) than either specialized journals or book publications. Maksakova claims that newspaper circulation dropped by a factor of two and a half, whereas other periodicals dropped by four with the outbreak of war. Shortages of paper, ink, and electricity, as well as the Nazi occupation of vast western territories, drastically affected production and distribution.20 Regional newspapers were hardest hit, thus leaving the more detailed accounts and stories of the war to the larger central papers.21 Conversely, at least at the front, army, division, and front newspapers concentrated on events in their specific jurisdictions and provided details on news and cultural events affecting their readers. By the end of the war, there were 150 daily military papers printed with a total circulation of 2.5 million. Fifty-six papers were in languages other than Russian to accommodate the other nationalities fighting in the Red Army.22 With regard to songs, the front newspapers had articles about visiting concert brigades, descriptions of amateur brigades set up in subdivisions and 18 Protocol 1, meeting of Orgkom SSK, April 19, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 51. 19 Protocol 4, meeting of Orgkom SSK, May 25, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 51. 20 Maksakova, Kul′tura, 45. 21 L. I. Stishova, ed., V tylu i na fronte: Zhenshchiny-kommunistki v gody Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny (Moscow: Politicheskaia literatura, 1985), 36. 22 Krasnaia zvezda, May 5, 1945, 4.

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units, announcements of seminars and contests for musicians and soloists, and information on publications of songs and the occasional song text, with or without a score. News was not always limited to the local area. On September 11, 1943, the paper for the Baltic fleet printed an article describing how the political administration of the Northern fleet had published several pamphlets containing songs of the northern sailors. Six songs and their authors were listed.23 The paper Frontovaia pravda also took articles of interest from all the front papers and reprinted them so the news of one front’s cultural activities could be read in other areas. In at least one case, a newspaper took the initiative in promoting songs the soldiers wanted. When the staff of Sovetskii boets asked the soldiers what songs they would like to see in the newspaper and in special song brochures, the paper received at least 1,000 letters requesting titles, works by particular composers and poets, or a listing of lines and verses when the titles or authors were not known. In response, forty-nine brochures were produced containing patriotic, lyrical, and humorous songs.24 The article recounting this exploit noted that this effort was important for political work as well as for giving the soldiers who were still abroad a link to their homeland. As noted in Chapter 2, some songs were written because a composer was inspired by reading a verse in a newspaper. Thus, newspapers not only served to distribute already completed songs but also they inadvertently acted as inspiration for further creative work. The well-known songs “The Sacred War,” “Song of the Brave,” “Farewell Rugged Mountains,” “Wait for Me,” and “Little Flame” all had their start as poems printed in one or more newspapers. Dunaevskii read the verse to “My Moscow” by Lisianskii in the November–December 1941 issue of the journal Novyi mir several months after publication as he traveled across Siberia with his ensemble. Lisianskii, an editor for a division newspaper, had dropped off the text with no guarantees of publication as he went through Moscow to a new assignment. He didn’t know the poem had been turned into a song until a friend heard it on the radio much later.25 Because the newspapers, especially the central press, were distributed widely and individuals read the texts independently and nearly simultaneously, the stage was set for multiple melodies to be created.

23 “Pesni severnomortsev,” in Krasnyi Baltiiskii Flot, September 11, 1943, 4. 24 Krasnaia zvezda, May 22, 1945, 3. 25 Biriukov, PVD, 153, 155; Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 80–82.

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Some other songs that are not so well known today also came into existence in this manner. For example, Ivan Molchanov a poet and correspondent with the 54th Army at the western front, published his verse “Chut′ gorit zari poloska uzkaia” (Dawn is barely breaking) in the paper Unichtozhim vraga in the fall of 1941. Sometime after that, Vecherniaia Moskva reprinted the poem, and the composer Leonid Bakalov read and liked it. The finished song with a shortened title “Dorogi” (Roads) was published with text and score in Komsomol′skaia pravda on October 21, 1942, as well as by Muzfond.26 Again, the poet learned only much later that his lines were now being sung. In 1943 Bakalov came to the southwestern front, where Molchanov had been transferred, and the two became acquainted for the first time.27 Just prior to the war, the singer Irma Iaunzem read Mikhail Isakovskii’s verse “Moriachka” (Sailor’s wife) in a local Arkhangel′sk paper and sent it to Bakalov, who composed the melody for a military ensemble. With the war starting he forgot about the lighthearted song until he unexpectedly heard it performed.28 No evidence shows whether Iaunzem ever got to sing the song she had taken the trouble to “commission.” The composer Bogoslovskii read a text by LebedevKumach in the journal Krasnoarmeets in the spring of 1944. His version of the song “Rossiia” (Russia) outlasted all the others set to the same text.29 Thus, a number of poems that were not necessarily intended to be songs came to light in local as well as central newspapers and journals and became songs in the hands of the readers. It is also unclear how the poets of these inadvertent “song teams” were rewarded for their effort since their works were not officially commissioned. As with the songbooks, it is impossible to clarify how often this phenomenon occurred. From the partial runs of Pravda, Krasnaia zvezda, Literatura i iskusstvo, and a few separate issues of Komsomol′skaia pravda, forty-two separate verses are published. Twenty-eight of the titles have no accompanying score or credit to a composer listed. Aside from five well-known titles, including “Storonka rodnaia” (Dear country), sources show that only two of these poems were turned into songs. The poem “Pesnia gvardeiskoi pekhoty” (Song of the guard infantry) by Aleksei Surkov came out in Pravda on February 2, 1943. Four days later, the composer Solodukha presented a 26 This song should not be confused with the later song “Ekh dorogi” (Oh roads) by Novikov and Oshanin, which is also sometimes called simply “Dorogi.” 27 Biriukov, POV, 201–2. 28 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 57–58. 29 Biriukov, POV, 231.

Print, Plastic, and Sound Waves: Mass Media and Song Distribution    Chapter 4

version of this song to the Defense Commission of the Moscow Composers’ Union. The review concluded that the song needed further work; whether or not it ever was approved has not been discovered.30 A more tenuous link can be drawn between a poem by Dolmatovskii, “Siren′” (Lilac), printed in Pravda on June 4, 1943, and a song that Kats submitted for review in October of the same year, “Siren′ tsvetet” (The lilac blooms). The Military Commission members gave mixed reviews to Kats’s submission, and no poet was ever named or decisions taken as to the future of the song.31 A large number of poems without scores or with no indication that they ever became songs are by Surkov; other poets include Kirsanov, Utkin, Lebedev-Kumach, an Armenian by the name of Zar′ian, and a woman from Sverdlovsk, L. Mladko. The other fourteen titles in the sample give scores, list composers, and, in one case, designate a tune to which the verse should be sung. Lebedev-Kumach’s verse “Pesnia voskresnika” in Pravda about mobilizing the Komsomol members into volunteer work days stated that the tune was “My kuznetsy” (We are blacksmiths), a revolutionary song from 1918.32 Having the full text and score printed ensured that the given song would be circulated to thousands if not millions of readers, and although it did not eliminate the possibility that new melodies would be written, it certainly lessened the probability, creating an arsenal of nationally known songs. Articles also mentioned new works, and even though the texts and scores were not given, audiences would know to look out for certain works. In addition to circulating new songs and texts, newspapers were one of the main formats for expressing policies decided by the Communist Party, GlavPURKKA, the KDI, and other organizations on song and its use. The debates and discussions held by the Composers’ Union and other groups were synthesized into concise, firm statements of policy and goals. In an article written in September 1941, song was designated as the fighting buddy of the soldier. Basing his argument on the Russian army’s and the Civil War troops’ use of song, the author called for songs to be heard in every condition possible—while marching, in moments of rest, in the heat of battle. “The song is the friend and comrade of the soldier,” he stated. The article is also a thinly veiled order to political workers to make better use of song by 30 Meeting of the Defense Commission of the SSK, February 6, 1943, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 81. 31 Meeting of the Military Commission of the SSK, October 19, 1943, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 82. 32 Pravda, August 18, 1941, 3.

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distributing garmon’s, the smallest type of baian (button accordion) to every company: “Each platoon should have a zapevala [soloist song leader], and the district ensembles and Houses of the Red Army should help all soldiers learn songs and obtain songbooks. Songs should also be distributed in the press and on the radio.” The article concluded, “Many political officers forget the mobilizing force of a good song and amateur artistic activities.” It stops short of castigating those who have not promoted song, but the message is clear: music should be on the front lines of all mobilization and political work.33 By May 1943, the basic message had not changed and was reiterated. There was a call to redouble efforts to serve the troops with concert and agitation brigades. One facet did change, however: a call for more folk songs. “Not all the directors have completely understood that one of the important tasks of their collectives is to be providers of folk songs,” proclaimed one newspaper article. “In the northwestern ensemble the folk songs are limited to ten or twenty percent of the program, and sometimes only three or four folk songs are sung—an artificial limitation.”34 This was a shift from the call for lively marching tunes and patriotic anthemlike songs from the beginning of the war. The article also implied that the newly created songs in a folk style such as those by Zakharov were preferable to such genuine folk songs as “Utes” (The cliff) or “Vdol′ po Piterskoi” (Along the Petersburg road). Soon after this, Georgii Polianovskii wrote in an article “About Song” that the best songs are those that come out of a tradition, be it Russian peasant songs, soldier songs, or urban traditions.35 In this way, he reaffirmed the tie to at least the form of old Russian song and culture, which in itself is a strong statement of patriotism. A later article extolled the Piatnitskii Choir—the foremost performer of Russian folk songs, both old and new—and called for more publishing of folk songs.36 The Red Banner Ensemble of Song and Dance announced that a new program would premier in October 1943 based on at least ten folk songs reworked by the Aleksandrovs, as well as arias from operas with Russian and early Soviet themes, such as the historical figures Pugachev, the Decembrists, and Chapaev. Only two current Soviet songs were mentioned.37 33 34 35 36 37

Krasnaia zvezda, September 5, 1941, 1. Ibid., May 22, 1943, 3. Pravda, June 16, 1943, 3. Ibid., August 4, 1943, 4. Krasnaia zvezda, September 8, 1943, 3.

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In one s­ ubdivision, the soldiers formed a choir to perform Russian soldier songs. Their soloist was a veteran of World War I and the Civil War. Accompanied by baians, they sang songs from 1812, 1905, and the Russian army.38 The Gorkii philharmonic started a choir dedicated to singing folk songs and chastushki about the Volga River. Modern songs were not excluded if they matched the theme.39 Clearly, groups and individuals were responding to the public call for folk music and Russian themes, and the newspapers continued to make note of their progress. This new emphasis on the “folk,” “past tradition,” and “Russia” in music was a piece of the shifting ideology from the internationalism of the early Soviet era to a stronger national identity with the slogan “Socialism in One Country.” The new Soviet anthem described earlier was another sign of this shift. As war went on and victory drew nearer, the trend did not slow. In August 1944 a series of regional reviews of choirs and soloists of Russian folk music in the RSFSR culminated in a national review held at the Bol′shoi theater. More than forty collectives and 400 soloists took part and the top groups were brought to Moscow to perform.40 The central newspapers gave ample coverage to the development of folk music and performance, thus encouraging it further. In addition to the folk theme, another topic was also presented strongly in the press. In his Pravda article, Polianovskii challenged the current standards for songwriting, castigating composers who settled for either cold, unfeeling texts or whining, sickly sweet melodies. He named Dunaevskii, Lepin, and Fomin in particular for compromising in certain songs. Furthermore, he stated categorically, Many good songs have been written during the war. Therefore, irresponsibility and hack work is especially unacceptable in song writing. . . . Composers often forget their responsibility for the texts of their songs. A bad text ruins a song even if the melody is good. We have the possibility of selecting good songs, so let’s reject the attempts to promote hack work.41

38 39 40 41

Ibid., December 28, 1943, 3. Sovetskoe iskusstvo, September 18, 1943, 4. Pravda, August 27, 1944, 3. Ibid., June 16, 1943, 3.

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These ideas were not new to the composers, who had been debating them since the beginning of the war, but the fact that this had reached Pravda meant that it was a public matter and the powers-that-be had taken a stand not to tolerate hack work. It is unclear whether this article had any repercussions on those mentioned. Slightly less than a year later, another article on basically the same topic, written this time by three leading composers, was printed in Pravda. Signed by Khachaturian, Shebalin, and Shostakovich, it stated that because the Party and the State took a great interest in music, strict criticism concerning music was crucial. They listed areas still not up to par and stated, “Composers have still not become regularly accustomed to making use of the richness of Russian folk songs or that of other Soviet nationalities. . . . Although mass song work was good at the start of the war, no satisfactory expression of victory has yet been found in the song form.” The military commissions of the writers’ and composers’ unions were enjoined to be more diligent in uniting the talents of the song creators, and it was stated that music criticism in general should be stricter and should be applied to everyone, even the great masters.42 Four months later, from the position of a poet/songwriter, Isakovskii wrote an article in a similar vein. He listed the good songs of the war years and stressed again the importance of song in every aspect of wartime life, but declared that both poor ideological content and lack of artistic quality plagued many of the new works. He added, “Some are monotonous, boring, even ungrammatical, and simply open hack work.” The texts of Il′ia Fink and Vladimir Dykhovichnyi, among others, were listed as examples of how not to write. Isakovskii went on to bring composers into the picture as well. He said, “Such things occur, in my view, as a result of the incorrect and uncritical relation of some composers to the texts of songs. Some composers, and we know who they are [although the reader was not given names] think that the text is only one-tenth of a song.” After calling the publishers and creative organizations to task for tolerating sloppy texts, he concluded, “If the composers want to create songs worthy of our era, then they must very carefully choose the texts and not compose for junk.”43 Again, it is not clear how or if this severe critique had any negative impact on the poets and composers who were singled out. Despite such occasional plunges into stern criticism, the overarching message carried in the newspapers about the vital role of songs never 42 Ibid., April 15, 1944, 4. 43 Ibid., September 4, 1944, 2.

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wavered throughout the war. Even as peace was attained in Berlin, an article restated their critical role: “The popularization of Soviet songs was one of the most important parts of political work with the troops.” It went on to state that this role had not ended with the cessation of hostilities, and that songs were needed as much as ever since the soldiers were still in enemy territory far from home: “The music and the texts tie them to their homeland, homes, factories, and collective farms.”44

RADIO Newspapers, both at the front and for the civilian population, played a key part in promoting songs, promulgating policies on the arts, and providing information about how these policies were being carried out. They printed nationally known works and songs written by locals, described concerts held in front conditions and in the splendor of the Moscow theaters toward the end of the war, and distributed information about the song creators, performers, and audiences to a broad spectrum of the population. Nevertheless, they were not the only medium to accomplish this task. The All-Union Radio Committee and radio broadcasts did a great deal to promote information about songs as well as airing numerous concerts and readings of artistic works. The value was increased due to ability to hear and even sing with music, which promoted patriotism and a sense of national unity. Radio had two forms in wartime Russia. At the beginning of the war, the Peoples’ Commissariat of Communications confiscated many of the radio priiomniki (radios capable of picking up different channels and wavelengths) because they were afraid of espionage and collaboration with the enemy. However, broadcasts were sent throughout the war from Moscow to the occupied territories to be picked up on non-confiscated wireless sets. The military also had access to such broadcasts. However, the civilian population in unoccupied territory theoretically had access only to the radio reproduktory, a network maintained by the state with speakers in parks, public places, and, at least after the war, in every home. There were at most only a few choices of what one could listen to, and generally the speakers could not be turned off, although the volume could be turned down. Even during the war the Sovnarkom initiated a program in August 1944 to increase the number of speakers in the network by one million over a one-year period. 44 Krasnaia zvezda, May 22, 1945, 3.

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The access to other radio broadcasts also increased when, in March 1944, the commissariat reversed its policy and began returning wireless radios to individuals and enterprises around the country.45 Radio was still relatively new in the USSR at the outbreak of war. The twentieth anniversary of broadcasting was held at the end of 1944. The Committee of Radio and Broadcast had only been established since 1933 to carry out both the technical and ideological work of radio broadcasting. This committee of the Sovnarkom was on the same level as the KDI in the bureaucratic structure. In the mid-1930s, there were seventy-six regional and republic radio committees subordinate to the All-Union Committee, with seventy-four broadcasting stations and at least 7,000 transmitting sites. The committee also opened training centers for radio specialists in several cities around the USSR and predicted that by 1938 a thousand new staff members would complete training and begin work.46 The youthfulness of the industry did not seem to affect its productivity. By 1936, 11,300 hours of cultural broadcasts had gone out over the air. Musical broadcasts made up just under half of that—5,800 hours. Two thousand hours were recorded music and 800 were broadcast live from around the capital.47 Presumably the difference was made up by live studio recordings. No information is given as to how many hours were simultaneously broadcast or how many different channels were used. At that time, the cultural department had four sections: music, literary/dramatic broadcasts, programming for selfimprovement, and children’s programs.48 When war broke out, and the majority of the radio committee was evacuated to Kuibyshev and Sverdlovsk, the demarcations between departments probably became blurred, especially since only a small artistic staff was left in Moscow. In addition, on June 29, 1941, a military section of the Radio Committee was created to prepare broadcasts especially for the Army and Navy.49 How this new section was integrated with existing departments is not clear. Emphasis on musical and literary broadcasts, including poetry readings, did not slacken. Several poets turned up unbidden during the 45 M. S. Gleizer, Radio i televidenie v SSSR: 1917–1963 (daty i fakty) (Moscow: Gosudarstvennyi Komitet Soveta Ministrov SSSR po Radioveshchaniiu i Televideniiu: NauchnoMetodicheskii Otdel, 1965), 98; M. S. Gleizer and N. M. Poshalov, eds., Radio v dni voiny (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1982), 293. 46 Kurt London, Seven Soviet Arts (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1938), 299. 47 Ibid., 298. 48 Ibid., 300. 49 Gleizer, Radio i televidenie v SSSR, 89.

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afternoon of June 22, 1941, to read encouraging works just after Molotov had announced the German attack on the country. Among them were songwriters Surkov, Zharov, and Lebedev-Kumach, who read one of his song texts.50 As evacuations began and many of the regular radio performers left the capital, all remaining artists were required to perform on the radio.51 Even in Moscow’s darkest days, when the Germans were at the outskirts of the city (the end of October–November 1941), the radio still aired soloist performers, including I. Iaunzem and O. Kovaleva performing folk and modern songs. The professional classical singers N. Obukhova, A. Nezhdanova, S. Lemeshev, S. Migai, E. Stepanova, E. Katul′skaia, and N. Rozhdestvenskaia also did solo on-air performances that undoubtedly included new wartime songs in addition to their arias. With the rebuff of the Germans, the radio committee symphonic orchestra was reestablished under the direction of N. Golovanov and A. Kovalev. The radio choir under N. Kuvykin also resumed performing.52 Even so, the number of performers was still too small to meet the demand. In the first year and a half of the war, before the evacuees began returning, some had to perform every day and even twice a day for live domestic and foreign broadcasts.53 From the beginning of the war, new programs were initiated to meet the needs of the front and the home guard. On June 23, 1941, the program Slushai, front (Listen, front) premiered. Literary figures, artists, and musical collectives were often featured on this program hosted by Nadezhda Morozova. According to another announcer, Nataliia Tolstova, who also worked with musical programming, “A special atmosphere took over these broadcasts initiated by [Morozova’s] strong, low voice inviting ‘Listen, front.’”54 Poets and composers took part in other programs as well. In November 1941 a program entitled Govorit zapadnyi front (The Western Front Speaks) came on the air that included verses and works by the poets Surkov, Solodar′, and Vasil′ev. In January 1942 the program Poety iugozapad‑ nomu frontu (Poets for the Southwestern Front) hit the airwaves with regular contributions by A. Tvardovskii, L. Pervomaiskii, and E. Dolmatovskii.55 50 Gleizer and Poshalov, Radio v dni voiny, 12. Unfortunately, the title of Lebedev-Kumach’s song is not listed in the reference. 51 Ibid., 197. 52 Maksakova, Kul′tura, 120. 53 Gleizer and Poshalov, Radio v dni voiny, 201. 54 N. A. Tolstova, Vnimanie, vkliuchaiu mikrofon (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1972), 183; Gleizer and Poshalov, Radio v dni voiny, 263. 55 Gleizer and Poshalov, Radio v dni voiny, 275, 277–78.

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Solov′ev-Sedoi created his song “Igrai, moi baian” (“Play, my baian”) in the first weeks of the war as a theme for the new character Senia Iastrebkov in a Leningrad radio show. The show was aired only a few times before the production team was evacuated, but the theme song soared to popularity.56 Unlike Moscow radio, musical productions by the Leningrad Radio Committee almost entirely ceased for the first few months of the war.57 The Moscow Composers’ Union recommended songs for the radio committee from the first days of the war and was included in planning song contests. The committee also had plans to air composers’ creative reports.58 The amalgamation of all of these activities over the radio in Moscow and in other cities must have led Viktor Belyi to his conclusion, which was stated in a report given at an expanded meeting of the Orgkom of the Composers’ Union. After ten months of war, he declared, “The radio until now has been the main distributor of Soviet song.”59 More new broadcasts appeared to share information with and from the front. In July 1941 the show Pis′ma na front (Letters to the front) began, and in August Pis′ma s fronta (Letters from the front) first came on the air. The two shows were heard three times daily until May 8, 1945, and more than two million letters were received for use on the shows—at least 800,000 of them from soldiers at the front. These two shows probably did not actually air songs, but letters may have included poems and references to songs. Another show that was totally dedicated to serving the front with music was Po zaiavkam voinov (Warriors’ requests). Soldiers requested favorite titles and composers, or quoted lines and asked to hear the work.60 Many Soviet cities were the focus of radio broadcasts from Moscow, but also had their own programs dedicated to presenting artistic work and information to both the front and the rear. Gusev worked on a show called Privet Odesse (Hi, Odessa) that began in September 1941. Odessa also had its own front show with a choir led by P. Skakovskii.61 Saratov radio had its own team of composers, P. Poliakov and P. Gadamaka, a choir and bandura orchestra, and a front show directed especially at the partisans, 56 Tat’iana Marchenko, Radioteatr: Stranitsy istorii i nekotorye problemy (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1970), 64–65. 57 A.N. Kriukov, Muzyka v gorode-fronte (Leningrad: Muzyka, 1975), 19. 58 Protocol 8, Meeting of the board of MSK, March 31, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 52. 59 Decree of the Orgkom of the SSK, from a meeting held April 27–28, 1942, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 52. 60 Gleizer and Poshalov, Radio v dni voiny, 221, 264, 299; Gleizer, Radio i televidenie v SSSR, 89. 61 Gleizer and Poshalov, Radio v dni voiny, 126, 268.

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Partizanskii perets (Partisan pepper). The composers and writers used materials sent from soldiers to create some of the works they used on the air.62 A broadcast from Sevastopol was aired in Moscow in April 1942 with contributions by the poet Sergei Alymov, while in May 1944 the central radio sponsored a special artistic broadcast for Sevastopol, Poety— Sevastopoliu (Poets for Sevastopol), featuring works by songwriters Ts. Solodar′ and Ia. Iashin, among others.63 Several programs were dedicated to Leningrad and its struggle. In October 1941, the Leningrad region in Moscow did a show for Leningraders in which they shared information about their own war efforts, while Lebedev-Kumach read a poem honoring the defenders of the city on the Neva. Later in the same month the radio committee dedicated an artistic program to Leningrad featuring the poets and writers Pavel Antokol′skii, Vsevolod Rozhdestvenskii, Gusev, and Lebedev-Kumach. Broadcasts from besieged Leningrad were also aired over central radio to the entire nation.64 Perhaps the most famous of these was the broadcast of the first performance of Shostakovich’s 7th Symphony from the Philharmonic in Leningrad, the city for which it was dedicated. On August 9, 1942, conducted by Karl Eliasberg, a mix of half-starved musicians mostly from the radio committee orchestra and military instrumentalists, known as “the crew,” performed the complex work. Although there were no vocal parts, and this was not the first time the symphony was played in the USSR, this heroic musical feat was broadcast live and sent around the world to become a signature piece of the Soviet war effort.65 The staunchest and most stalwart efforts to continue broadcasting were made by the Leningrad radio committee staff throughout the blockade, with its bitter cold and months of literal starvation. The radio did not cease broadcasting during the 900-day period of the siege, although music was not played in the worst months of the first winter. The conductor of the radio symphony, Karl Eliasberg, recalled that after September 1941 the members of the symphonic orchestra were called to build defense works and to work in antiaircraft and fire brigades. Concerts still went on the air, 62 63 64 65

Ibid., 86–87. Gleizer and Poshalov, Radio v dni voiny, 280; Gleizer, Radio i televidenie v SSSR, 97. Gleizer and Poshalov, Radio v dni voiny, 271, 273; Gleizer, Radio i televidenie v SSSR, 90. For more detail on this event see: Michael Jones, Leningrad: State of Siege (New York: Basic Books, 2008), 256–57, 260; Laurel E. Fay, Shostakovich: A Life (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 130, 133; Brian Moynahan, Leningrad Siege and Symphony (New York: Grove/Atlantic Inc., 2013), 2, 5–6.

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although they were short. Broadcasts went to the Baltic fleet and the front as well as to the city itself and abroad. Still, the situation worsened. “By the end of December,” said Eliasberg, “half the orchestra members didn’t come. We learned of the death of one and then another. I was already directing with great difficulty (no strength).” When the musicians were working, the conditions were cold and electricity lasted for only a few hours a day. Eliasberg went into a hospital in February 1942 and music only resumed again with a concert in early April. The orchestra had to be rebuilt because twenty-seven members had died and many others were too weak even to hold instruments.66 Radio concerts and special broadcasts throughout the war in all regions celebrated holidays such as May Day, New Year’s Day, and anniversaries of the Red Army and the October Revolution. As victories began occurring, special salutes were broadcast with an accompanying concert. N. Tolstova recalled that it was a great honor for an announcer to be permitted to work one of these concerts. In addition to the special programs, the regular programs continued to promote music and poetry. In 1944, a series called Kompozitory u mikrofona (Composers at the microphone) showcased works by individual composers. By the time the newspaper Sovetskoe iskusstvo publicized the series, shows had been held for Khachaturian, Glier, Kabalevskii, Solov′ev-Sedoi, and Khrennikov.67 Literaturnaia gazeta reported that in 1944, 115 separate broadcasts of poetry were aired, while a chronicle of the radio’s activities listed eighteen musical programs and three literary programs that were heard daily. The musical shows took more than ten hours of broadcast time per day, and in 1944 alone 7,000 radio concerts were broadcast showcasing various genres but concentrating primarily on Russian ­classical and folk music, music of other Soviet nationalities, and music by Soviet composers.68 Broadcasting also played a direct role in some military activities. A unique method using text and recorded music was initiated by one of the Radio Committee announcers serving at the front. Vladimir Gertsik at the Second Baltic Front used his professional skill and began a series of broadcasts from planes flying over both friendly and enemy troops. Sitting in the navigator’s seat as the plane glided, he would turn on a pathephone and play music. 66 Gleizer and Poshalov, Radio v dni voiny, 203–6. 67 Sovetskoe iskusstvo, February 19, 1944, 4. 68 Pravda, December, 16, 1944, 3; Gleizer, Radio i televidenie v SSSR, 97.

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On his maiden voyage on December 31, 1943, he played “Katiusha” and “Variag” for the Soviet troops; on the same night he played a Strauss waltz for the Germans. Then through the microphone he gave a New Year greeting from the command of the front to the Soviet troops, followed by news in German of the troops’ success. The job was risky, for the enemy antiaircraft guns immediately sought out the speaking target. Four planes were specially outfitted with transmitting equipment for the task, and Gertsik flew more than 100 missions as Vozdushnyi diktor (The flying DJ).69 The military also used the radio on occasion as a beacon for planes. One example of this was noted in the Ukraine in the fall of 1941. The long-distance bombers homed in on special prearranged signals and certain musical numbers to know they were on course coming home. The broadcast sent from Khar′kov had to be done properly, on time, and no matter what the conditions to ensure the success of the mission.70 Signs that victory was drawing near could be sensed over the radio. Live concerts were held again in the evenings rather than in the afternoons, as they were in the first years of the war. In March 1945 a second program was added to the central broadcasting for six and a half hours from 5:00 p.m. to 11:30 p.m. daily. Saturday musical broadcasts after midnight were also resumed. Finally, on April 22, 1945, the first broadcast was aired from Berlin and recordings were made of the storming of the Reichstag. The salute in honor of the fall of Berlin was broadcast live in Moscow on May 2, and the announcement of the capitulation of Germany on May 9 was aired across the USSR.71 Radio played a key role in promoting a facet of song that the newspapers and songbooks could not carry out. It provided a version of the song and music for soldiers and civilians who might not ­otherwise read music or hear a live performance. People could write down the words, memorize the tune, and pass on the song by word of mouth. More information is needed to truly understand the influence radio had in Soviet society and at the fronts during the war, because it is not certain how completely broadcasts reached the intended audience. Nevertheless, it is clear that the diligent efforts of performers and announcers did much to carry the new wartime songs to the population.

69 Gleizer and Poshalov, Radio v dni voiny, 173–77; Tolstova, Vnimanie, 197. 70 Gleizer and Poshalov, Radio v dni voiny, 83. 71 Ibid., 296–97, 299; Tolstova, Vnimanie, 201.

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RECORDS Records of songs and popular singers also played a role in promoting both old and new songs throughout the war years. Records were still played on petiphones, with one song per side on each record. They were easily broken and not always easy to replace. Soldiers and civilians alike carefully protected the records and the pathephones, listening in groups around the machines to old favorites or new hits whenever time and circumstances permitted. The recording industry reached its prewar zenith after 1935. Between 1934 and 1939, Gramplasttrest, virtually the only record producer in the USSR, recorded 7,500 different works in editions of hundreds of thousands and even millions. Many of these records were estrada and dance music. In 1935–36, 800,000 record players were sold. Prices for records were between two and four rubles—affordable for the time. Even so, Kurt London, a visitor to Moscow in the late 1930s, noted that this level of production did not come close to meeting the popular demand for recorded music, especially jazz. At about the same time a new method for producing records directly from film soundtracks was developed and added to the recording possibilities. And for those without record players, the radio began using recorded music, which meant broad distribution of a given work to a huge population.72 In 1940, Gramplasttrest was reorganized into the enterprise Metalosbitshirpotreb (metal pressing in mass production), which took over making the masters for recording. A slight setback occurred when half of the master recordings from the 1930s were discarded because they had been worn out by successive pressings. Nevertheless, in the 1940 catalogue of recordings, many works by popular artists could be found. More than fifty records had been made of Vadim Kozin—possibly the top recording artist of the prewar years. Other stars were Liubov′ Orlova, Lidiia Ruslanova, Leonid Utesov, Tamara Tsereteli, and Izabella Iur′eva. Shul′zhenko, Lemeshev, and Kozlovskii also had recordings.73 These records made up the bulk of recorded music for the initial year of the war. From all accounts, when war broke out in 1941, record production (at least of music) temporarily ceased. Mass evacuations from Moscow and other regions, the priority defense needs in Leningrad (where even orchestra members dug trenches and fought fires), and the need for plastic for military uses all 72 Skorokhodov, Zvezdy, 56; London, Seven Soviet Arts, 312, 314. 73 Stites, Soviet Popular Culture, 216; Savchenko, Vadim Kozin, 14; Skorokhodov, Zvezdy, 57.

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contributed to the shutdown of the industry. In fall 1941, the VTO turned over all of its sound recording facilities to the Red Army.74 Undoubtedly, other organizations did the same, for everything was turned toward the cause of defending the motherland. In the initial months of the war, recording music was not yet seen as a vital priority, or the production infrastructure was captured, mobilized for other uses, or dismantled for transport eastward. A drive to recycle old records for plastic was initiated. The incentive to give them up was that a person could buy one much sought-after record for every five records turned in for melting down. The customer also had to pay double the price for the given record. For two years Kozin’s records were the primary reward. They were part of the so-called “diamond fond,” records that were designated only for exchange and could not be sold outright. Later, new records by Ruslanova, Utesov, Iurovskaia, and Shul′zhenko were also given this designation.75 Gradually, records came back into production. In 1942 the Leningrad experimental record factory resumed production and for some time was the only source of new records for the country. The Moscow record industry only resumed real operation in 1943. By June of that year, a report stated that 150 songs had been recorded since the outbreak of war. Even so, the editions of records were always much smaller than in prewar days. Thirty or forty thousand was the limit, and most records came out in smaller runs.76 One performer, Iurii Tseitlin, attributed this limited power to the fact that millions of copies of Stalin’s speeches were being turned out, so music had to take a back seat.77 This has not been corroborated, but no other explanation except material shortages has been found. The last two years of the war made up for the initial lack in recording. By the end of the war, Krasnaia zvezda reported that more than 3,000 records had been made during the war by a variety of ensembles and soloists.78 In this research, only about fifty specific cases of recordings have been accounted for, and it is difficult to find information on the full contents of records. Nevertheless, a diverse mix of artists and genres was recorded. One early record produced by the Leningrad experimental factory used “Play My Bayan,” 74 Report by head of VTO, Subbotin, submitted to KDI, December 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 951. 75 Savchenko, Vadim Kozin, 69. 76 Speech by representative of the House of Sound Recording and the Narkomat of record production, L′vov, at plenum on song, June 17, 1943, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 83. 77 Tseitlin, interview, February 5, 1991. 78 Krasnaia zvezda, October 30, 1945, 3.

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sung by Efrem Flaks, and “The Sacred War,” done by Aleksandrov’s Red Banner Ensemble.79 Another contained two songs by Zharkovskii, “Partizan Morozko” (Partisan Morozko) and “Sineglazaia moriachka” (Blue-eyed sailor’s girl), sung by Utesov and his daughter Edit.80 Yet another record contained Blanter’s version of “Wait for Me,” sung by Georgii Vinogradov with piano and cello, and “The Blue Kerchief,” probably performed by Shul′zhenko.81 Other solo artists included Kozin singing at least four songs on record, Rozhdestvenskaia with at least two songs, Preobrazhenskaia, Nechaev, Bunchikov, Pirogov, and Kozlovskii. Utesov, Vinogradov, and Flaks, along with Kozin, had the most numerous recordings. Some records were produced from films. Mark Bernes’s version of “Dark Night” and Boris Chirkov’s rendition of “Na vetviakh izranennogo topolia” (In the branches of the war-torn poplar) were both from films. Besides the Red Banner Ensemble, groups that were recording included the Central Navy Ensemble, the Jazz Ensemble of the Baltic Fleet, the ensemble of the Moscow Military District, Eddie Rozner’s Jazz Ensemble, and the Piatnitskii Choir. A diversity of music was recorded during the war. Patriotic songs, such as “The Sacred War” and “Farewell Rugged Mountain,” could be found alongside satirical or humorous numbers such as “James Kennedy” and many of Utesov’s numbers, including “Baron von der Pshik” and “Partizanskaia boroda” (Partisan beard). Likewise, tender, melodic, lyrical songs were interspersed with jazzy, lively tunes. Multiple recordings were done of “Wait for Me” and “Dark Night,” and drawn-out (protiazhnaia) melodic folk songs were recorded by the Piatnitskii Choir and others. Tunes such as “Selffiring Samovars” and “The Chance Waltz,” as well as livelier folk tunes such as many sung by Ruslanova, instilled cheerful moods. Exactly how record contracts were assigned or how performers chose their material has not been clearly established, but performers did have a say in the approval of the master recording before it went into mass production. The artistic council, probably related to GURK (the censorship organs) could override any recording, as it did initially with the Rozner band’s songs, as seen in Chapter 3. Whatever the official system was, human intervention was possible and could cause serious disagreements. The history of the recording of “Dark Night” for the film Dva Boitsa (Two Warriors) serves as an example. 79 Biriukov, PVD, 265; Biriukov, POV, 223. 80 Zharkovskii, Liudi, 66. 81 Skorokhodov, Zvezdy, 65–66.

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When Bogoslovskii, the song’s composer, returned to Moscow from Tashkent where the film was still being made, he showed the new piece to Leonid Utesov. Bogoslovskii claims he did not think Utesov would learn and perform the song before the film’s release, but Utesov chose to do just that. By the time the film came out, the song was well known through the performances and recording by the bandleader’s group. This caused bitter fights between original singer Mark Bernes and film director Leonid Lukov on the one hand, and Bogoslovskii and Utesov on the other, who justified the early release by stating that the song was needed at the front. In support of this, Bogoslovskii noted that once Bernes’s version had great success, Utesov dropped it from his regular repertory. Subsequently, the song was also recorded by Vinogradov, Kozlovskii, and perhaps others as well.82 Despite these numerous versions, the song today is known as Bernes’s song because of his superb performance in the film. Yet the various versions ensured that the song reached the widest audience during the war. Whether it was learned from Utesov, straight from Bernes on the movie screen, or from another performer, according to Simonov, by mid-1943 the song was being sung by millions.83

FILM Like records, films also served to distribute songs to soldiers and civilians during the war. Artistic films, both dramatic and comedic, and documentary films sometimes had songs performed as part of the plot, or as a theme ­throughout the film. There were also short film clips, called fil′m-pesni (film-songs) or kino-kontserty (cinema concerts), that captured new songs and performances of the day and introduced them to the public. In 1941 the majority of songs that came out in films were in these song clips or in short documentary and dramatic films. In one newsreel, the singer Pirogov sang “Ballada o kapitane Gastello” (“Ballad of captain Gastello”) accompanied by the song’s composer Viktor Belyi.84 Bogoslovskii was recalled soon after his 82 Biriukov, POV, 221; Biriukov, PVD, 257–59; Skorokhodov, Zvezdy, 73; N. V. Bogoslovskii, interview, December 2, 1990, Moscow, audio tape (in author’s possession). 83 Biriukov, PVD, 258. The exact date of the release of the film is not clear. Biriukov states it only came out in October 1943, but was filmed more than a year earlier in summer 1942, when the song was composed. It is possible that the song was well known through records and performances even before Bernes’s film version came out. 84 L. N. Lebedinskii, comp., V. A. Belyi: Ocherki zhizni i tvorchestva: Stat′i, vospominaniia, mate‑ rialy (Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1987), 62.

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enlistment in the Moscow militia and reassigned to the Committee on Cinematography to work on a series of artistic film shorts in Tashkent. His first wartime song appeared in a film that premiered in December 1941. “Noch′ nad Belgradom” (Night over Belgrade) was sung by the actress Tat′iana Okunevskaia.85 Anatolii Lepin’s song “Pis′mo s fronta” (Letter from the front), which premiered in the film Patriotka (Patriotic girl), was recommended for further publication in November 1941.86 Surkov and Mokrousov’s “Song of the Moscow Defenders” was the leitmotif for one of the fifteen documentary films made while the Germans were threatening Moscow, Razgrom nemetskikh voisk pod Moskvoi (Defeat of the German troops near Moscow). Dolmatovskii saw this film while on a business trip in Moscow in January 1942.87 Whether the other fourteen films in this series had any musical components has not been determined. The work on film-songs began almost immediately after the start of the war. In mid-July 1941, Dunaevskii’s melodic version to Isakovskii’s text now known as “Goodbye, Cities and Village Huts” was recorded by his railway ensemble under the title “Komsomol′skaia pokhodnaia” (“Komsomol campaign song”) for the soundtrack of a film. The actor Boris Chirkov also sang it for the song-film series Pobeda za nami (The victory is ours). Dunaevskii wrote music for the second, third, and fourth films in this series. The only other title found of his songs in these films is “Na vraga, za rodinu, vpered!” (Forward for the motherland against the enemy!).88 One of Khrennikov’s earliest and best-known war songs, “Farewell,” with text by Fedor Kravchenko, went into a song-film Vozvrashchaisia s pobedoi (Return with victory), which came out in early fall 1941. The song was sung as the leitmotif of the film by the actress Tamara Ianko.89 The film directors I. Trauberg and A. Medvedkin 85 K. N. Tarnovskii, Kompozitor Nikita Bogoslovskii: Etapy tvorcheskoi zhizni (Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1984), 23–25; meeting of the Presidium of the MSK, August 12,1941, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 38. The song title is not listed but is probably the same as the film title. 86 Protocol 5, meeting of Tvorchesko-konsul′tatsionaia Komissiia of the Moscow Composers’ Union, November 15, 1941, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 46. 87 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 30–32; Biriukov, POV, 224; Biriukov, PVD, 149–51; E. Dolmatovskii, interview with author, May 5, 1991, audio tape (in author’s possession). In some sources the film title is Razgrom nemetsko-fashistskikh voisk pod Moskvoi. 88 Biriukov, POV, 196, 199–200. 89 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 23–24; Biriukov, PVD, 140–41; Biriukov, POV, 198; Khrennikov, interview, February 27, 1991. There is a discrepancy in the title of the film; in some cases it is called Vozvrashchaisia s pobedoi. In addition, one source claims that this song is in the film

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put together the song film My zhdem vas s pobedoi (We await your victorious return), which included the songs “The Sacred War,” performed by a small group of the Red Banner Ensemble, Zakharov’s version of “Goodbye Cities and Village Huts,” performed by the Piatnitskii Choir, and Khrennikov’s “Farewell,” again sung by Ianko.90 The composer Semen Chernetskii had several of his songs included in film-concerts before April 1942. Unfortunately, they are not specifically designated in the list of twenty works he presented to the plenum, so which titles were in films is not clear.91 The Kuibyshev film studios used Kats’s and Dykhovichnyi’s song “Two Maxims” in one film song in a series entitled Fighting Songs. The song was performed by Vinogradov and a small estrada orchestra and was filmed in the fall of 1941.92 Films were also made of live performances both at the front and in the rear. A camera crew accompanied one of the first artistic brigades to go out in August 1941. Lidiia Ruslanova, Vladimir Khenkin, and Mikhail Garkavi were captured on film for use in future productions.93 Films were made of artists performing in the Sevastopol area from November 1941 to February 1942.94 Later in 1942, the Novosibirsk documentary film studio produced a film montage of Siberian performers to send to the front with agitation brigades.95 At the Northern Fleet, a film was taken of Evgeniia Sosnova-Isaeva, the soloist of the fleet ensemble, singing “The Sailor’s Wife.” This clip was included in a later documentary film, 69th Parallel, which helped spread the song throughout the country.96 In Tashkent, a film was made of Kozin singing “Shinel′ moia pokhodnaia” (My campaign greatcoat) in a stage concert, but it is uncertain whether this clip was ever used to produce a song-film, either because Kozin didn’t like his image on film or because of his subsequent arrest and disappearance.97 My zhdem vas s pobedoi. I. Trauberg is the director of both films; thus, it is possible that the first film was incorporated into the second, or that there is only one film. 90 Biriukov, POV, 195, 198, 200; Biriukov, PVD, 137. 91 Expanded session of the Orgkom of the SSK, April 27–28, RGALI, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 571, 51. 92 Biriukov, POV, 211. 93 Boris M. Filippov, Muzy na fronte: ocherki, dnevniki, pis′ma (Moscow: Sovetskaia Rossiia, 1975), 61. 94 A. Lebedev and D. Rymarev, comps., Ikh oruzhie—kinokamera: Rasskazy frontovykh kinoop‑ eratorov (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1984), 64. 95 I. N. Sakharova, comp., Iskusstvo v boevom stroiu: vospominaniia, dnevniki, ocherki (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1985), 369.  96 Biriukov, POV, 217–18.   97 Savchenko, Vadim Kozin, 76.

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Work on artistic feature films temporarily ceased with the outbreak of war and the evacuation of film studios to both Alma-Ata (Almaty) and Tashkent. Mosfilm and Lenfilm joined with the Alma-Ata studios to form the Central Combined Film Studio of Artistic Film. The Kiev film studios evacuated to Tashkent.98 One artistic film that was finished only a day or two after the war began was released in fall 1941. The comedy The Swineherd and the Shepherd contained approximately eight light and lyrical songs by Khrennikov and Gusev, including “Song about Moscow.” Khrennikov stated that the film had great success because it was a reminder of peacetime; people had already suffered so greatly that the film was like a fairy tale. One of its tunes subsequently became the song “Est′ na severe khoroshii gorodok” (There is a nice little town in the north) when Gusev rewrote the lyrics to fit the wartime needs.99 Otherwise, all the feature films shown in 1941 were prewar films, such as Frontovye podrugi (Front girlfriends) with the song “Pesnia druzhinnits” (Song of the brigade girls) by Shebalin, and the musical comedy Anton Ivanovich serditsia (Anton Ivanovich gets angry), with score by Kabalevskii.100 Work began again in spring 1942 on full-length artistic films. The Kiev studios wanted to finish the film Aleksandr Parkhomenko, which had been under way before the war. Some revisions were made to accommodate a wartime setting, including a new song by Bogoslovskii and Dolmatovskii, “Ty zhdesh′, Lizaveta” (You wait, Lizaveta). Bogoslovskii tried his hand at lyric writing while the poet was absent, but was told in no uncertain terms that he was not a poet when Dolmatovskii returned. The film came out in honor of the twenty-fifth anniversary of the October Revolution in fall 1942 with the new song, which became a favorite of the cavalrymen.101 The year 1942 in Tashkent also saw the beginning of the work on Two Warriors, which was apparently only released in fall 1943. It contained “Dark Night” and the Odessian song soundalike “Shalandy, polnye kefali” (Scows full of grey mullet). The film studio put out a call for people to come and sing Odessian songs for Bogoslovskii and the actors so they could get a feel for the style and content   98 Maksakova, Kul′tura, 47; Tarnovskii, Kompozitor Nikita Bogoslovskii, 23.   99 Khrennikov, interview, February 27, 1991. 100 Protocol 24, meeting of Orgkom SSK, July 5, 1941, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 37; plenum on song held by SSK, June 19, 1943, f. 2077, op. 1, d. 831, 248; Krasnaia zvezda, April 23, 1941, 4; U. V. Vorontsov and N. G. Didenko, comps., Muzykanty Velikoi Otechestvennoi (Voronezh: Tsentral’no-chernozemnoe knizhnoe izdatel′stvo, 1980), 27. 101 Bogoslovskii, interview, December 2, 1990; Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 122–23; Biriukov, POV, 215.

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of real Odessa songs.102 Bogoslovskii wrote songs for some other films that were never completed, although some of the songs did succeed on their own. An example is “Chudo-kosa” (Marvelous braid), sung by Utesov in 1943. The song had been written for the film Otkrytyi sezon (Open season), which was never released, though the song itself gained popularity.103 In Alma-Ata work was also under way in 1943. A film produced especially for partisans and delivered to them in air drops along with weapons and supplies contained the song “Partizan—pereletnaia ptitsa” (The partisan—a migratory bird), sung by Nikolai Kriuchkov and created by Kompaneets and Gatov. The first new wartime musical comedy, Antosha Rybkin, was also produced by the joint studios in 1942 and starred Boris Chirkov as Antosha. The film uses several songs written by Boris Turovskii and Oskar Sandler, but the only title found is “Antosha’s Song.”104 Many other films were produced in evacuation areas, but it does not appear that they contained songs. If they had any music, it was instrumental and symphonic, as in Ivan the Terrible and War and Peace, with scores by Sergei Prokof 'ev Those films did have some choral pieces, and reportedly “Arise Russian People” was treated as a stand-alone song. No concrete evidence proves this yet. The Moscow film studio returned from evacuation in early 1943 to resume work in the capital. One of its first undertakings was a film called Kontsert frontu (Concert for the front), which collected performances from the best artists and combined them into a film concert. The film was released to correspond with the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Red Army in February 1943. Petr Kaz′min, codirector and folklorist of the Piatnitskii Choir, noted in his diary that the directors of the film attended a choir concert at the TsDKA on December 2, 1942, to gather material for the film. The actual filming took place in midJanuary, directed by Sergei Gerasimov in a cold, bare hall because most of the filming equipment and sets were still in Alma-Ata. The choir viewed the finished clip on January 28, 1943.105 The film opened with “Song of the Soviet Army,”

102 Bogoslovskii, interview, December 2, 1990; Tarnovskii, Kompozitor Nikita Bogoslovskii, 29–30; L. M. Bernes-Bodrova, comp., Stat′i: vospominaniia o M. Bernese (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1980), 59–61. 103 Tarnovskii, Kompozitor Nikita Bogoslovskii, 31. 104 Biriukov, POV, 207, 216. 105 Petr Mikhailovich Kaz′min, S pesnei: stranitsy iz dnevnika (Moscow: Sovetskaia Rossiia, 1970), 233, 236–37.

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performed by the Red Banner Ensemble, followed by “Self-firing Samovars” and “Vasia, Little Vasia.”106 Some confusion exists around the film title Kontsert frontu. Shul′zhenko performed her new wartime version of “The Blue Kerchief “ in a film by that title released in November 1942—at least three months before the film of the same name was released in Moscow. It was directed by Iu. Slutskii, not Gerasimov or the other names mentioned for the 1943 film. Shul′zhenko got fan mail about the film as early as December 1942.107 It is possible that there were two completely separate films with the same title, but references to singers participating do not make the distinction. For example, Ruslanova sang “Saratovskie stradaniia” (Saratov laments) in Kontsert frontu.108 Whether she sang with Shul′zhenko or the other groups in the second film is not clear. It’s also possible that the first film was incorporated into the second—meaning that everyone was also in the second film—but no confirmation has been found to support this theory. Many other songs also appeared in films for which little information has been found. “Wait for Me” appeared in the film Paren′ iz nashego goroda (The fellow from our town) in a scene showing a patronage concert, but the music was reviewed as unsuccessful. The same text was performed to a different melody by Gorbenko in the movie by the same title as the song sung this time by Utesov.109 The song “In the Branches of the War-torn Poplar” was in a film about the fall of Sevastopol, Ivan Nikulin—Russkii matros (Ivan Nikulin—Russian sailor). A film-song made in 1942 later contained the song “Mishka-Odessit” (Mishka the Odessian).110 Despite these efforts and others, in June 1943 at the plenum of the Composers’ Union on song, Belyi noted that films were much too silent where songs were concerned. How well his call was heeded is impossible to say without more research, but at least one film director, Ivan Pyr′ev, took the plea seriously. One of the best-known films of the war years, V shest′ chasov vechera posle voiny (Six o’clock in the evening after the war), came out in fall 1944 with numerous songs composed by Khrennikov and Gusev. As it turned out, this was Gusev’s last major work before his death. He didn’t even see the premiere. The extremely well-known song “Song of the Artillery Men” and the lyrical “Kazak ukhodil na voinu” (The Cossack left 106 Biriukov, POV, 203, 205, 223–24; Biriukov, PVD, 6–7. 107 Biriukov, POV, 213–14; Biriukov, PVD, 240; Shul′zhenko, Kogda, 190. 108 Lidiia Ruslanova v vospominaniiakh sovremennikov (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1981), 226. 109 Skorokhodov, Zvezdy, 65. 110 Biriukov, POV, 201, 209.

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for the war) were among the results of their efforts. The film was especially loved by the artillerists to whom it was dedicated, but it went to all fronts and all over the country as victory was drawing closer.111 In considering the role that film played in promoting song, it should not be forgotten that many songs sung and requested during the war were not new songs, but rather songs from films that came out in the late 1930s. Although initially many of them were silenced because of their cheerful nature, which was not considered consistent with the harsh reality of war, they nonetheless gradually reentered the repertories of singers and were listened to on the radio and on old records. In addition, some of the old films were shown with the new ones. Whether the songs entered the film genre to the degree that Belyi and others called for is not certain. It is clear, however, from letters written to the artists in the films that they brought enjoyment, joy, and hope to audiences from the front lines to the Urals factories. Records and films are a closely related mode of song distribution because they both require a high degree of technology to produce in the first place, the availability of the record itself or movie reel for presentation, and a working apparatus (record player or projector) to finally distribute the finished product. Song lyrics and even scores could be reproduced by hand and thus could be multiplied by individuals, but these media depended entirely on the official centers for production and effective distribution. The main distributors for the front were the clubs, agitational trains, and agitational centers run by the political workers under GlavPURKKA. Among the civilian population, movie houses still operated to show films and pre-show concerts. Both systems did not always operate smoothly for a variety of reasons. Movie theaters were closed and taken over for ­military or ­hospital use and equipment was requisitioned or broken down with no available repair. Shortages of spare parts and electricity also affected regular showings. Maksakova estimates that the number of working projectors declined from about 17,500 before the war to about 6,500 in 1943.112 Nevertheless, people still saw films. One paper recounted that in the Moscow oblast, 3,500 visitors in January and 22,000 in February 1942 attended military, patriotic, and agricultural films in one region; 10,000 in January and 45,000 in 111 Krasnaia zvezda, November 19, 1944, 4; Khrennikov, interview, February 27, 1991; Shekhonina, Tvorchestvo, 11, 126, 133; V. Rubtsova, rec. and comp., Tak eto bylo: Tikhon Khrennikov o vremeni i o sebe (Moscow: Muzyka, 1994), 83–84. 112 Maksakova, Kul′tura, 69.

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February attended in another region. It also noted that a new repair center for film equipment had been opened in Moscow at about the same time, which undoubtedly helped boost audience numbers.113 Artur Zagorodnev, who was growing up in Orenburg far from the front lines, stated that his city had three movie theaters for a population of 25,000. The show was changed once every three months, which meant everyone got a chance to see each film. People also went to hear the small estrada groups play music before the films.114 Outside the cities the situation was worse. By March 1944 the Sovnarkom had taken a serious interest in the problem, since film was considered one of the most important forms of mass propaganda. A Pravda article noted that in some districts up to a third of the projectors were out of order and films were being shown only ten days out of a month instead of the required twenty-eight work days. The shortage of technicians was being dealt with by training disabled veterans to take over those jobs in rural theaters.115 The conditions in the military for having access to and showing films were mixed. Although in 1944 a newspaper article claimed that every front, army, and division had film equipment, and every front and army had a well-stocked collection of artistic, documentary, and educational films, other reports were not so optimistic.116 The soldiers greatly appreciated whatever films they got, but the conditions for viewing were often far from comfortable. Ia. Khelemskii recalled how in the summer of 1944 the division club film technician showed them Two Warriors. As he describes it, “In the damp forest near Novorzhev . . . the sheet hung up in the trees shone whitely. The soldiers sat on the grass in their rain ponchos or leaned on trees. Our U-2s buzzed overhead and shooting was heard in the distance. It seemed that it all blended together and the two soldiers on the screen were not actors but our buddies.”117 Nina Kondakova recalled that they didn’t have any films until 1943, after the liberation of Krasnodar. They did see films about once a month, she added, but only because her company was stationed at the staff headquarters.118 Newspapers also raised the issue of why films were not seen more often. In September 1943 the newspaper of the Baltic fleet reported that 113 Literatura i iskusstvo, March 1942, 4. 114 A. Zagorodnev, interview by author, 1989, Bronx, New York, audio tape (in author’s possession). 115 Pravda, March 24, 1944, 1. 116 Krasnaia zvezda, January 14, 1944, 3. 117 Bernes, Stat′i, 116. 118 N. Kondakova, interview by author, 1991, Moscow, audio tape (in author’s possession).

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in one subdivision the film technician was not doing a good job even though he was excused from all watches and details to maintain radio and film equipment. The article complained that when a film was shown the equipment did not work, or there was terrible static or no sound at all. The technician’s duties also extended to the radio, which reportedly didn’t work three or four days out of the week. A few weeks later the same paper reported that the mobile hospital had little or no cultural work carried out for the patients: “The radio doesn’t work. There is no library. Newspapers are old, and if there are films, then they are shown at most once a month.”119 The central papers also noted both the accomplishments and the setbacks in film at the front. In May 1943 an article praised technicians who were conscientious workers and noted that on one front alone more than two hundred shows had been held in three months. The article criticized the system of distribution, however, stating that film technicians had sole say about which films went where, and how often. It reiterated that film was a vital cultural service to the front and was much too important to be left to such haphazard selection. In January 1944 the debate still lingered. Political workers were chastised for not ensuring that the technicians distributed films equitably among all units. They noted that there was a tendency for films, especially the new artistic films, to “lie around at headquarters in reserve for the bosses of the political sections for their personal enjoyment.” Keeping equipment in working order was still a major concern. The article closed with a call for every soldier to see at least two films per month. A few weeks later a notice appeared from the Belorussian front that soldiers at the front lines had only seen one film in two months, even though films were shown regularly at the headquarters and to troops in the rear. The author put the blame squarely with the political workers: “The political department doesn’t seem to care if the soldiers get to see films.”120 No concrete suggestions were given as to how the situation could be improved, and it is uncertain that the kinks were ever worked out completely. Nevertheless, efforts were made to distribute films at the front and the rear. At the front, the main distributer was the club made up of political workers, who had the task of bringing political and cultural information and education to the troops as well as providing some entertainment in moments of lull. One club at the front headed by Komissar Sokolov had more than 7,000 books to be lent out as well as two mobile film projectors that traveled throughout the 119 Krasnyi Baltiiskii Flot, September 15, 1943, 3, October 8, 1943, 3. 120 Krasnaia zvezda, May 30, 1943, 3 January 14, 1944, 3, and February 11, 1944, 3.

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division and that, in the second quarter of 1942, had shown films 125 times. The club was also responsible for distributing record players, musical instruments, and sheet music. Another club headed by Politruk Sotin at the western front had an “agit truck” that traveled through the subdivisions and set up for five or six days in each site. Soldiers would surround the truck, listen to the record player, play board games, read papers, or listen to and sing with the driver of the truck, who played the baian. Once it got dark, a film was shown. The club also encouraged politruks and soldiers to get involved in amateur activities. Sotin’s club had started a choir and a string orchestra and had a group of dancers led by different politruks.121 The Briansk front had an even more elaborate way to accomplish this task on a small level. It had a House of Rest for outstanding soldiers and political workers to use on three-day leaves; this was essentially a hotel with clean sheets, a barber, a tailor, and shoe repair. The soldiers could also listen to records, play games, read, and watch regularly scheduled films. By August 1942, 120 people had spent time at the House of Rest.122 This was not a form of mass distribution, since only thirty spaces were available at any time and certainly not every soldier would get a chance to visit this peaceful oasis. But it did allow those who did visit a chance to relax, catch up on current events, and enjoy some cultural activities. They probably even took much news and possibly even new songs back to their fighting buddies. Agitational trains and agitpunkty (agitational stations) also served soldiers at the front, soldiers traveling to and from the front in railway stations, and the civilian population in a given area. While waiting for transit, people could read newspapers, see films, hear lectures, and even, on occasion, hear concerts. The agit trains conversely traveled to the soldiers. One such train from GlavPURKKA went out to serve the front in March 1943 carrying both a stationary projector in a film car and a mobile film unit that traveled to hospitals. This train carried the new films Stalingrad, Sekretar′ raikoma (Secretary of the Raion Party Committee), Kotovskii (which included a folk song, “Doina”), and Aleksandr Parkhomenko (containing the song “You Wait, Lizaveta”). Concerts were also held for the soldiers along the route. In one month the train was estimated to have served tens of thousands of troops. Along with the train’s brigade, artists from other ensembles would perform in special shows or before films. The GlavPUR train car was always noticed, for it had a loud 121 Ibid., July 5, 1942, 3 and July 16, 1942, 3. 122 Ibid., August 25, 1942, 3.

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megaphone playing songs, as well as portraits of famous leaders painted on the cars. Exactly when this train started its service is not clear, but it was setting out on its third tour of the front zone with another new film, Ona zashchishchaet rodinu (She defends the motherland) in July 1943.123 Trains also took cultural programs, films, and the latest news to newly liberated areas and to the rear for those working on the labor front. Agit boats went down the Volga from Rybinsk to Astrakhan.124 These trains and boats could reach a large number of people in a relatively short time span. In addition to sending out agit brigades made up mainly of political workers, GlavPURKKA organized tours of artistic brigades and ensembles to serve the front and the labor force. These groups also carried songs to vast audiences and will be described in Chapter 5.

CONCLUSIONS The use of film, sound, and print media to distribute songs meant that large numbers of people could incorporate song into their daily lives. They could hear music on the radio or on a record player at home or in front clubs. They could watch films and learn the songs included in the stories or used as background. They could use songbooks or newspaper clippings to learn songs that interested them or for amateur groups to perform. And they could not only follow the progress of the fighting but also enjoy the artistic effort waged by composers, poets, and singers to use music to ­benefit the cause of victory. No single medium could reach everyone, of course, given the wartime constraints placed on materials and personnel, not to mention shortages, evacuations, and mobilizations. Nevertheless, in combination, the ability of these media to distribute songs on a wide scale was significant. Because of this mass distribution, a cadre of nationally known songs in all genres created a bond among people of all ages, ranks, and professions. Across the vast Soviet territory, people loved “Dark Night,” stood solemnly for “The Sacred War,” or laughed at Utesov’s satirical couplets. Through this common recognition of the new war songs, people could form stronger personal bonds whether singing or listening, and on a societal level a stronger national identity was fostered. The core of songs 123 Ibid., April 22, 1942, 3, January 11, 1943, 4, April 23, 1943, 3, May 21, 1943, 3, and July 30, 1943, 3. 124 Maksakova, Kul′tura, 109.

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that received national distribution served to unite the audiences because they built a positive common bond, something the people could share. Moreover, they could share it as a means to help defeat their common Nazi enemy. Mass distribution ensured that songs not only aided individuals in their struggle to face hardship and contribute to the war effort, but also helped a nation face its enemy and make sacrifices to achieve a national identity, which turned into a collective celebration with victory.

CHAPTER 5

Ball Gowns and Bombs: Performers and Brigades in Battle and at Home The beloved artists went out. There, where the people’s war was going on, And forever, as young as they were, Their names will remain in marble. They could joke even in the hard times. Their song was so needed by the soldiers! And bright May in the bullet-riddled greatcoat, Their names were written on marble. In battles their last chord was cut off. And after that silence descended . . . But in the noise of the days, like a kind ray of victory, Their names shine in marble.1

B

ecause they could reach thousands of people almost simultaneously, the radio and print media were successful in the mass distribution of songs. Even better than newspapers, radio’s live performances created a semi-personal link between the audience and the performers. Letters written to the artists testify to the warm feelings of appreciation the listeners felt toward them. Yet the link went only one way and was tenuous, for radio artists never saw their 1 Iakov Khaletskii, “Liubimye artisty ukhodili,” in Ob ogniakh-pozharishchakh: pesni voiny i pobedy, comp. G. P. Lobarev and M. M. Panfilova (Moscow: Respublika, 1994), 372. Author’s translation.

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audiences and the audiences only heard the performers and were never in their physical presence. The medium of distribution that provided the greatest degree of personal contact for both artist and audience was the traveling brigade. Not only were the shows live and performed directly for every viewer, but the performers and audience members alike could see and appreciate each other firsthand. They could understand the sacrifices each made to serve the war effort in his or her own particular way. A single brigade may have reached far fewer people than one issue of a newspaper or one live radio concert, but the interaction between soldier or worker and artist created lasting memories, inspired courage, and touched hearts more than any other medium. Because of this, the brigades were the backbone of the distribution system and did the most to achieve the morale-building goals set by GlavPURKKA, the KDI, and the Communist Party. There was a wide range in the composition and style of brigades. Some consisted of well-known solo artists or bands and orchestras which basically continued touring as they did in peacetime. Other brigades were called out from specific institutions to serve in their cities or regions. Still other brigades were culled from a variety of musicians, singers, dancers, and actors from different institutions to be sent to the front for short tours. The music in a brigade always included songs but might also include instrumental pieces and dance numbers. Brigades served widely at the front, for military recruiting points and hospitals, and for the labor front. Audiences could be small—even one wounded soldier—or could be a huge hall full of workers or soldiers. In all of these diverse interactions one thing was clear: both artist and audience felt the connections that these concerts made, and listener and performer alike valued these experiences well beyond the wartime stage.

DIVERSITY AND QUANTITY OF PERFORMANCE GROUPS Professional and amateur groups served the front and the rear throughout the war. The professionals were divided into military ensembles and civilian groups. Military orchestras, bands, and estrada ensembles were not new to the armed forces. They tended to be assigned to a certain front or division, where they served as part of the military structure. Civilian brigades were formed with staff from theaters, orchestras, and concert organizations, as well as with students from musical and theatrical schools. A number of well-known solo performers also joined these brigades.

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In the rear, professional musicians and actors formed brigades to serve in hospitals and recruiting centers in addition to their regular work at philharmonics, theaters, and cinemas. Amateur brigades were formed in and out of the military, with talented people willing to perform in regiments, communities, hospitals, or on the march. Reviews and competitions were held either as a reward for their efforts or as an incentive to constantly improve their work. Before turning to the individual experiences of artists and brigades, the magnitude of the overall efforts must be noted. Because there were so many brigades at local, regional, and national levels, and because of the division between professional and amateur groups, it is difficult to know exactly how many performers served and how many brigades existed during the war. Some served for the entire four years, whereas others were used for only one or two months. Maksakova estimated that 3,685 concert brigades served during the war, but she gives no precise definition of which brigades were counted in her study.2 In January 1944, one newspaper noted that 2,030 theatrical and concert brigades had served during the thirty months of war thus far. A later article stated that in the first thirty-eight months of the war, the KDI and Glavpurkka had sent out 2,550 brigades made up of 32,000 performers to serve the wartime needs.3 The journalist did not make clear whether he intended this figure to be taken as an overall total, meaning the KDI and Glavpurkka had supreme control over all brigades, or if the estimate was simply a tally of the work to date by those two organizations. During the entire period of the war, Moscow was credited with sending out 700 brigades, whereas Leningrad contributed 500 collectives.4 Teams of brigades were formed in Leningrad at the outbreak of war. Four of them left Leningrad in trucks for the northern and northwestern fronts in the summer of 1941. Each managed to give approximately 160 concerts in one month’s time.5 Other cities, oblasts, and republics also formed and sent out brigades. A report in September 1941 noted that the Rostov oblast had sent 992 individuals in thirty-six brigades to give more than 500 concerts in less than three months.6 Kuibyshev sent twenty-nine brigades to the front between November 1941 and January 1942 through the VGKO. The Moscow branch sent thirty brigades in the same period. Students and working youth also formed brigades 2 Maksakova, Kul′tura, 148. 3 Krasnaia zvezda, January 9, 1994, 3, September 23, 1944, 3. 4 Maksakova, Kul′tura, 136. 5 Pravda, September 4, 1941, 3. 6 Ibid.

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in response to orders from the KDI and with assistance from the Komsomol. In November 1942, oblasts were instructed to form creative brigades of youths, both Komsomol members and nonmembers, to perform for young people working in factories, villages, and studying in factory schools. They were not paid for this service.7 In August 1944, seventeen brigades from Moscow-area schools of higher education and the arts went out to serve newly liberated areas and Red Army units.8 Annual statistics on brigades and artists are scarce, but Maksakova claims that in 1941 there were 357 concert brigades; 1943 saw the largest number of brigades serving, with 1,215; and in 1944, some 980 brigades were touring.9 From August 1941 through January 1942, the VGKO sent about 100 brigades to the Red Army; from February through June 20, 1942, it sent 149 front brigades into service.10 Just how many individual artists served during the war is also difficult to establish. The brigades ranged in size from a few people traveling from dugout to dugout along the front lines to large touring groups of up to a hundred musicians, dancers, and singers. Using the various statistics available, it appears that the size of an average front brigade was between ten and twenty members. Sometimes larger brigades would split up into several groups to serve simultaneously in different areas. By July 1945, the estimate of participating individual artists had reached between 40,000 and 42,000.11 Using twenty as a tentative average, this means that about 2,000 brigades would have been formed if no individual served more than once. It is unlikely that this happened, though, because at least the professional artists had multiple opportunities to serve. Thus, probably many more individual brigades were formed and sent out in the four years of the war. The numbers reported in the newspaper were not specifically defined, so it is likely that the above estimate of individual artists involved in brigades is also low because of the amateurs who probably were not included in the count. The numbers of concerts performed during the four years of war have also been estimated in various sources, with few attempts to define a concert or how   7 Joint Resolution of the KDI and the Komsomol, November 4, 1942, RGALI, f. 962, Op. 3, d. 1009.   8 Letter from assistant head of GUMU, V. Endrzheevskii, to assistant chair of KDI, A. V. Solodovnikov, August 22, 1944, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1282.   9 L. V. Maksakova, “Vklad sovetskoi kul′tury v pobedu nad fashizmom,” in Sovetskaia kul′tura v gody Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny, ed. M. P. Kim et al. (Moscow: Nauka, 1976), 34. 10 Letter from head of VGKO, R. Bakhrakh, to head of KDI, Khrapchenko, June 20, 1942, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1060. 11 Krasnaia zvezda, July 21, 1945, 3; Maksakova, “Vklad sovetskoi kul′tury v pobedu nad ­fashizmom,” 36. Maksakova gives the higher estimate.

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the conclusions were derived. Maksakova estimated that 1,350,000 concerts were held during the war—436,000 of them at the front. The rest were performed in hospitals, recruiting stations, schools, and factories. It is not clear whether these figures include regular shows in theaters or are limited to mobile brigade work.12 In July 1945, Krasnaia zvezda stated that half a million concerts had been performed at the front during the war, in addition to those given at the rear and in hospitals.13 After the initial German invasion of the Soviet Union on June 22, 1941, brigades and concerts were organized almost immediately. Mikhail Khrapchenko, head of the KDI, sent a telegram to all theater directors in Moscow on June 24, asking that lists of artists be submitted to Surin at GUMU to be passed on to the Red Army for use in brigades. The forms required artists to give their name, repertory, birth date, age, nationality, and party affiliation, and the lists were to be submitted by ten o’clock that evening.14 Concerts by already existing groups, such as the Red Banner Ensemble, and by newly formed brigades also began quickly. In the first ten days of July, 1,000 concert performances were given in Moscow by the artists of the VGKO, the Moscow Estrada organization, and various ensembles of song and dance currently in the city.15 By September the number of concerts given by Moscow artists had risen to 3,000. In one year, June 1941 to June 1942, the Moscow group of VGKO artists were credited with performing 6,814 concerts in the Moscow military district to local navy units, antiaircraft posts, and hospitals.16 Other cities also mobilized artists quickly. In the first ten days of the war, 250 concerts were held in Odessa. Ordzhonikidze artists performed 140 concerts in the same period. Irkutsk reported 184 concerts and eleven special shows at recruiting points in ten days.17 In Cheliabinsk oblast in the first three months of the war, professional brigades gave 269 concerts and a number of patronage shows.18

12 Maksakova, Kul′tura, 148. 13 Krasnaia zvezda, July 21, 1945, 3. 14 Telegram from Head of KDI Khrapchenko to all directors of Moscow theaters, June 24, 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 951. 15 Maksakova, Kul′tura, 33. 16 Letter from head of VGKO Bakhrakh to head of KDI Khrapchenko, June 20, 1942, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d.1060. 17 Pravda, September 4, 1941, 3. 18 Information on Cheliabinsk and Cheliabinsk oblast submitted to the KDI, date unknown (perhaps late 1941), RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 927.

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Efforts to provide concerts at the front and rear areas continued unabated throughout the war. The Leningrad state Estrada artists performed more than 9,000 concerts for military patronage work in 1942–43, excluding regular theater performances and other public events. Hospital performances are probably included here. The actual dates are not listed, but if a full two years are used, the average is approximately twelve concerts held each day.19 In February 1945, a newspaper article stated that VGKO artists had completed 450,000 concerts during the course of the war.20 Between August 1941 and June 1942, approximately 250 VGKO brigades gave between 10,000 and 12,000 concerts to the Red Army units at the front.21 Again, yearly estimates are rare, but Maksakova claims that 150,000 concerts took place at the front in 1943, and 185,000 in 1944. These numbers obviously exclude any performances at the labor front, and it is unclear how hospital concerts for wounded soldiers are counted.22 Another source in September 1944 claimed that more than 1,000 brigades (slightly more than Maksakova’s yearly estimate of 980) at the front performed approximately 65,000 concerts in the first eight months of 1944.23 Categories of concerts existed for the purpose of planning brigade activities, keeping track of work accomplished, and ensuring that basic goals were met. The head of the Leningrad State Estrada Organization (Lengosestrada), in writing to the KDI to request either funds to pay his artists or evacuation to a place where employment was possible, used data from the brigade’s work to support his request. Eleven permanent brigades and five brigades supporting the Baltic fleet gave a total of 1,532 concerts from June 23 to August 20, 1941. Some 352 were held at recruiting points. Another 400 shows took place within units of the Baltic Fleet. The Red Army received 780 concerts in the first eight weeks of the war. All of these were given without remuneration for the performers.24 In another example, an assistant chair of the KDI confirmed a monthly plan for serving the Red Army in December 1941. Five hundred concerts were to be performed by brigades sent to the units: 250 for regular units, 100 for NKVD troops, 70 for the Moscow Military District, 50 for hospitals, and 30 for 19 Maksakova, Kul′tura, 121. 20 Krasnaia zvezda, February 10, 1945, 3. 21 Letter from Head of VGKO Bakhrakh to Head of KDI Khrapchenko, June 20, 1942, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1060. 22 Maksakova, “Vklad sovetskoi kul′tury v pobedu nad fashizmom,” 34. 23 Krasnaia zvezda, September 23, 1944, 3. 24 Letter from Director of Lengosestrada, P. Radchik, to Head of KDI Khrapchenko, with copies to Surin and Khristiansen, August 25, 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 950.

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fortified areas. The monthly funding of 162,000 rubles was to come from the VTO, the KDI, the Moscow City Executive Committee (Mosgorispolkom), and the political administration of the Moscow Military District. The brigades’ artistic directors were asked to submit plans in under two weeks, but nowhere is the number of brigades participating in the project stated.25 Unfortunately, reports of plans or results often did not distinguish between the different categories of concerts. One comparison can serve as an example. In Moscow in one month, February 1944, the artists were planning to give 45 shows in theaters, 150 concerts in the military units stationed around the capital, and 400 in area hospitals—a total of 995 concerts for the month. Likewise, 140 concerts were planned for the same month in Cheliabinsk, but no breakdown was provided.26 Thus, it is impossible to know whether this was the total of all concerts—significantly fewer than the performances in the capital—or whether the figure included just one form of concert, such as permanent theater shows or performances in hospitals. Statistics for amateur work are also sketchy. The Moscow DNT (House of People’s Creativity), with its amateur brigades, did 978 concerts before the evacuation of the city and the temporary dissolution of the DNT sometime in early fall 1941. The VTO (the theatrical society) picked up the organizing of amateur brigades in November 1941 to alleviate the gap created by the DNT’s departure. These brigades were made up of both military and civilian amateurs and served military units, hospitals, and factories in the Moscow area. Concert scheduling was overseen by the agitational section of the Moscow Party Committee. In a month’s time the VTO organized twelve brigades that performed forty concerts.27 The average of about three concerts per month per brigade indicates that at least initially the VTO amateur brigades were not working regularly. Unfortunately, the plan for January through March 1942 was not included in the archive to clarify this status. The DNT in the Omsk oblast was also closed down. The inspector of the oblast Department of Art Affairs took over the responsibility of seeing that amateur art brigades were formed, supplied with a repertory, and sent out. But this proved too big a task for one individual. At least initially, amateur work ceased altogether in the region, and only gradually resumed.28 Apparently even when groups did begin working, 25 Letter from assistant chair of KDI, L. Shapovalov, to chair of the Headquarters of Artistic Service for the Red Army, K. A. Ushakov, December 27, 1941, RGALI f. 962, op. 3, d. 950. 26 Krasnaia zvezda, February 15, 1944, 3. 27 Information on the VTO in amateur work, December 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 951. 28 Information from city of Omsk, date unknown, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 927.

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the rate of improvement in performance quality was slow. In January 1942, the KDI sent a notice to all heads of art departments requiring them to review and replace unqualified directors of amateur artistic sections of the DNTs and to improve amateur participation in the arts. The Omsk oblast, along with the city of Barnaul and the Issyk-Kul oblast in Kirgiz SSR, were noted as particularly weak. Lists and resumes of all those holding authoritative positions in the amateur arts, either in DNTs or in Departments of Art Affairs, were to be turned in to the KDI by January 25, 1942.29 Not all amateur work ceased with the outbreak of war. In Cheliabinsk oblast the amateur women’s choir of the Lenin Club gave 109 concerts in the first three months of the war, while several amateur factory groups performed 94 concerts in the same period. From July 27 to October 1, 1941, twenty-seven concerts were held at one hospital. Fifteen different performing groups participated, ten of which were amateur choirs and three of which were amateur children’s groups. In the plan submitted for the future months, the organizers hoped to have at least six to eight concerts in every hospital and at least two concerts in every military unit in the oblast. Fifty percent of the concerts were to be performed by professionals and fifty percent by amateur groups. The needs of amateurs in the military were not forgotten. Artists, instructors, and students were designated to work with the military amateur collectives in theater, voice, and music. Eighty people took on these patronage tasks in October 1941. All of these activities took place even with the temporary closure of the oblast DNT. Despite the successes, however, the report to the KDI noted that after the shutdown of the DNT, the quality of both the performances and the organization of amateur work suffered.30 The general solution in most cases for little or no amateur work or work of poor quality was to promote an influx of professionals to ensure an increase in the number of programs and improvement in their quality. To this end, professional artists were assigned in a number of cases to coach amateur brigades. Composers and poets were assigned not only to write works for the brigades but also to assist them with writing their own materials. Choir directors, talented musicians, and solo singers were encouraged to perform personally with the brigades. If and when these orders and directives were followed, the brigades took on a semi-professional status in quality, though it appears they 29 Directive to heads of all boards and departments of art affairs from assistant chair of KDI, A. Konstantinov, January 3,1942, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 951. 30 Information on Cheliabinsk and Cheliabinsk oblast submitted to the KDI, date unknown (probably late 1941), RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 927.

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remained amateur in the sense that the performers were not paid for their work. The professionals who participated did so under the guise of patronage work. If any comparison can be made between professional and amateur brigade activity with the information gathered, it is that whereas the professionals immediately started forming brigades and giving concerts, the amateurs’ initial response was mixed. Where the DNTs were strong or where another organization took over the DNT’s work, some activity was present from the first days of the war. In places where the DNTs were weak or the replacements inadequate in manpower and/or quality, amateur performance work suffered greatly. Amateur activity in the military also dwindled at the beginning of the war and only picked up again several months into it. As the war progressed and eventually moved off Soviet soil, the DNTs, schools, and professional artistic organizations reopened and gradually resumed a lifestyle more closely resembling that of peacetime. There were theater and concert seasons. Amateur choirs had an all-union review in summer 1944. Artistic clubs and circles resumed operations. The military also sponsored reviews and contests for its own amateur performers. In conclusion, without knowing more specifically how all of the quantitative estimates were figured, obtained, and tallied, it is impossible to know whether they are contradictory or depict accurate accounts of small sections of a larger picture. Nevertheless, despite the extreme difficulty—and perhaps even impossibility—of stating a definitive number of individual artists, performing brigades, or concerts held by professional and amateur groups, the available statistics do illustrate the large-scale effort exerted to ensure that the performing arts were available for soldiers and civilians alike.

THE RESPONSE TO WAR In the initial phase of the war, professionals and amateurs alike were thrown together in the need to serve their country. Although many professional artists served in brigades from the earliest days of the war, others joined the military or the home guard or became nurses and temporarily ceased their artistic activities. Only later did they reenter the world of the arts either by joining professional groups or by becoming a part of the expanding amateur work. This phenomenon was due in part to the immediate and intense need for mobilization, but it also was created by a sense of confusion among artists themselves as to what they should do as individuals and just how the arts fit into the new world of war, invasion, and evacuation. As the news of war reached them, artists in all spheres

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began discussing the proper responses they should make. Should they disband their theaters and ensembles, giving up instruments and costumes for uniforms and rifles? Or should they serve the country with their artistic abilities? Many who performed music, especially in the light music genres, felt that their sweet romances and funny ditties had no place in the current situation. The responses varied and often depended not only on the individual opinions of the artists but also on the defense needs of the area in which they were located. The Belorussian composer Liuban joined the military as a politruk and did not reveal his identity as a composer/musician until after he was wounded. He felt that the troops under him would not have taken him seriously as a leader had they known his true profession. After his recovery in spring 1942, he returned to composing and working with performance ensembles.31 (Belarus was one of the first regions overrun by the German invasion.) Aver′ian Masharskii, a first-year student at the Leningrad conservatory, initially joined an orchestra that was soon disbanded when many of the members were evacuated. He was also in the home guard, and in speaking about September 1941 he stated, “They told us to put our instruments in a barn and they gave us weapons and we went into battle as soldiers. No one even talked about music.”32 A few months later, while recovering from a battle wound, Masharskii chanced to meet his musician friends, who were also in the service, rehearsing the previously abandoned music, and he was taken into their ranks. Eventually, he became director of a regimental orchestra at the Volkhov front and then went into the front ensemble of the 54th Army as director of its estrada orchestra. Until the end of the war he remained in the system of military musical ensembles. Klara Masharskaia, Aver′ian’s wife, had just been accepted into the Leningrad conservatory to study flute when war broke out. Along with Aver′ian, she initially served in a makeshift orchestra but soon joined the home guard, where she dug trenches until August 1941. Although the conservatory was evacuated to Tashkent, her family chose to go to the city of Ufa, and so she left Leningrad with them. She only found a position related to music in summer 1942, when she began playing in a small orchestra at the local cinema before the movies were shown. She noted that most of the musicians were evacuees from across the USSR. When the members of the Kiev opera left Ufa for another evacuation site further east, she was offered a position in the Ufa opera orchestra, 31 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 77–78. 32 Aver′ian Masharskii, interview by author, August 14, 1989, New York, audio tape (in author’s possession).

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where she remained until her return to Leningrad in summer 1944, playing the flute and oboe for regular shows and in patronage concerts in hospitals and local factories.33 Although it took her some time, she was later able to enter the ranks of the professional civilian musicians working in the rear. Iurii Tseitlin was a conservatory-trained trumpet player about twenty-five years old when the war started. He was originally exempted from the military due to a positive TB test, but the critical situation near Moscow in late summer 1941 led to his joining the home guard and fighting untrained alongside the regular army. There was no music in his career until after he fell ill and was exempted by military doctors from further service. At that point he rejoined the Moscow Estrada organization and joined a concert brigade in the House of the Red Army, serving on the western front. In May 1942, he saw an announcement posted in Moscow seeking new members for the Eddie Rozner jazz orchestra. He auditioned and served with this group as a musician and lyricist for the duration of the war and beyond.34 Although many artists left the artistic scene out of necessity or out of a sense that their artistic talent was secondary to the fighting needs of the country, and chose to serve in other ways, others began serving almost immediately as performers. Still others were not permitted to leave the arena of service in the arts. In October 1941, Georgii Abramov, a baritone soloist with the Radio Committee’s estrada orchestra, tried to volunteer for the home guard because he felt that the situation was critical. The military commissar turned him down, however, saying “No, brother, you are more needed there at your post on the radio.”35 As noted above, artists’ resumes were collected to form brigades and exempt the artists from regular military service. Some articles extolling the role of art for the mobilizing army were published as early as July 1941. In Sovetskoe iskusstvo, an article noted that the mobile estrada artists were doing their part: “The artists are sending the soldiers of the Patriotic War off to the front with warm words, fiery calls for fearlessness in battle, and vicious jokes against the enemy.”36 In the same newspaper, Isaak Dunaevskii published a commentary calling for Soviet artists to pour all of their creative energy and love for the motherland into their artistic endeavors in order to assist the people in the 33 Klara Masharskaia, interview by author, August 14, 1989, New York, audio tape (in author’s possession). 34 Iurii Vladimirovich Tseitlin, interview by author, February 5, 1991, Moscow, audio tape (in author’s possession). 35 Skorokhodov, Zvezdy, 77. 36 “Boevoe ispytanie,” in Sovetskoe iskusstvo, July 3, 1941, cited in Skorokhodov, Zvezdy, 62.

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struggle against the “fascist hordes.”37 These and other articles were reflections of the growing official view that the arts had a crucial role to play in building morale and inspiring the troops. Many artists were able to serve immediately and directly from the earliest days of the war. In Moscow, the organization of brigades was headquartered at the Central House of the Art Workers, TsDRI. As one description recounted, “A telephone call to TsDRI with a request, and an assignment is made and a brigade goes out to a mobilization center, a military unit, or a railway station. The work goes on twenty-four hours a day.”38 Within the first few days of the war, the Moscow Estrada organization made a resolution to send artists to recruiting points and military units around the city. The performers were asked to prepare suitable numbers for patriotic inspirational shows. Artists from Mosestrada and the VGKO performed, as well as individuals wishing to audition. They were grouped into small mobile brigades to serve the capital region. However, the serious discussion and planning of designated traveling front brigades did not begin until the middle of July, some three weeks after the German invasion.39 Logically, the earliest brigades and ensembles to perform in Moscow were those that already existed before the outbreak of war. Their repertory was already developed, and they were well rehearsed in singing together. Often they had to adjust shows so they could perform in unusual settings, such as railway platforms or hospital wards. But these adjustments were accomplished more easily than the formation of entirely new brigades. A. V. Aleksandrov’s Red Banner Ensemble of Song and Dance, the country’s foremost military ensemble, was performing at the Belorussian train station before the first week of war was over, with well-rehearsed numbers and new wartime songs hot off the presses.40 The well-known soloist Georgii Vinogradov performed “Katiusha” and other songs with the State Jazz Orchestra of the USSR at the Leningrad train station in Moscow in July 1941. Across town at the Belorussian train station the jazz orchestra of the Radio Committee, directed by Aleksandr Tsfasman, was also performing. Leonid Utesov’s jazz group performed at the Kiev railway station.41 Brigades formed by artists of the VGKO, Mosestrada, conservatories, and institutes also traveled around the city giving shows for recruiting stations and 37 Sovetskoe iskusstvo, July 20, 1941, cited in Skorokhodov, Zvezdy, 63. 38 Skorokhodov, Zvezdy, 63. 39 Filippov, Muzy na fronte, 35–36; Sovetskoe iskusstvo, June 29, 1941, 3. 40 Lukovnikov, Druzia, 11–14; Pravda, June 27, 1941, 6. 41 Skorokhodov, Zvezdy, 61, 63.

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later hospitals. At least fifty brigades were formed in the month of July with artists from these organizations; they included brigades led by Vadim Kozin, Leonid Utesov, Ekaterina Orleneva, and Boris Renskii. In just eight days in July 1941, the VGKO reported, 124 concerts were performed, which averages out to twelve brigades giving fifteen concerts each day. From the information available, the brigades were usually made up of seven to nine people, though they could range from four to twelve members. The shows lasted for seventy-­ five to ninety minutes. There was sometimes no audience present (which canceled the concert), or the audiences could be between 500 and 600 strong. Unfortunately, reviews were not written with any consistency of information, so it is difficult to judge an average audience size. It is likely that most shows were performed for audiences of fewer than 500 people.42 Other ensembles and collectives on tour at the outbreak of war hurriedly dropped their plans and, sending telegrams and requests back to their home cities, rushed to return to be of service in the defense effort. The Kiev Philharmonic cut short its tour in Simferopol′ to begin doing concerts at recruiting and evacuation points and hospitals in Kiev. They were not evacuated from that beleaguered city until July 20, because estrada concerts were considered to be on a par with political work.43 The estrada singer Klavdiia Shul′zhenko and the Leningrad State Estrada Theater were on tour in Erevan when the war started. They immediately wired the head of the Leningrad House of the Red Army to convey their willingness to serve, left Yerevan by train the same night, and soon were known as the Leningrad Front Jazz Ensemble.44 The state ensemble of the Donbass region, headed by Aleksei Chernyshev, was on tour in Samarkand, from where they sent a telegram requesting to be assigned to the front. They managed to return to Donetsk by July 12, where two-thirds of their members were mobilized as soldiers or nurses. The remainder of the ensemble regrouped and held their first front concert on September 1, 1941. The southern front took an interest in the group and held contests for military personnel and civilians in the area of Voroshilovgrad and Stalingrad to fill out its ranks. The Ensemble of Ukrainian Song and Dance was thus formed, giving 2,850 concerts over the course of the war at five different fronts.45

42 Reviews of concerts by VGKO and Mosestrada brigades for July 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 950. 43 P. S. Darienko, ed., Kogda pushki gremeli: 1941–1945 (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1978), 249–50. 44 Ibid., 80–82. 45 Ibid., 101–5.

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The military also worked on setting up and using ensembles and brigades. The relationship between the military and the performing arts collectives was not new. Many artists had served in the armed forces or taken part in traveling brigades both in war and peacetime before June 1941. One notable example is that of Lidiia Ruslanova, the famed singer of Russian folk and folk-style songs, who went with a performing brigade to the front during the Soviet–Finnish war in the winter of 1940.46 Nevertheless, a concerted, fresh effort was made to ensure artistic service on the broadest possible scale for the combat troops in this new conflict. The already existing military ensembles continued their work on a rigorous schedule. The leading military ensemble of song and dance, Aleksandrov’s Red Banner Ensemble, divided its 250 members into four working brigades and gave approximately 1,000 concerts in the first six months of the war. By June 1943, it had split into only two groups and had completed 1,200 more concerts. Some civilian virtuoso singers such as Vinogradov joined the ensemble ranks for the duration of the war as their primary military duty.47 The Theater of the Baltic Fleet temporarily disbanded its large productions and formed small mobile brigades as well as a new jazz orchestra to serve the fleet and Leningrad.48 One touring group from the Theater of the Red Army that was under the direction of A. Shaps and had been serving the units in the Odessa district before the war continued serving under the new and more difficult wartime conditions. Because of their military training, they assisted in fighting, digging trenches, and whatever else was needed in addition to their nearly one hundred performances in six weeks. Thus, they became one of the first de facto front brigades of the war. They finally returned to Moscow to work on new material.49 Other collectives were formed or reassigned from civilian to military status. By November 1941, the political administration had assigned all armies an ensemble of song and dance and each division its own agitational brigade.50 The ensemble of song and dance of the border guards of the Karelian front was formed in September 1941 with artists from the Murmansk theaters and with 46 L. G. Bulgak, F. V. Mishin, and A. Klebanskaia, Lidiia Ruslanova: V vospominaniiakh sovre‑ mennikov (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1981), 116–19. 47 Krasnaia zvezda, April 15, 1942, 3, June 13, 1943, 3. 48 German Timofeevich Orlov, Monolog dlinnoiu v zhizn′ (Leningrad: Sovetskii Pisatel′, 1991), 76. 49 Krasnaia zvezda, August 7, 1941, 3. 50 Maksakova, Kul′tura, 133–34; Maksakova “Vklad sovetskoi kul′tury v pobedu nad fashizmom,” 35.

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the best amateur talent from the border guard units. They served Murmansk and the Northern fleet as well as their home units.51 The ensemble of song and dance of the 18th Army was formed from the regimental brass band with the addition of professional artists from the Khar′kov opera and the Moscow Musical Theater of Stanislavskii and Nemirovich-Danchenko, as well as talented soldiers. The ensemble served in the Ukraine, the Caucasus, and the Carpathians, and was demobilized in L′vov, where it found itself at the end of the war.52 Despite some early setbacks due to wartime circumstances and even some doubts on the part of performers as to their usefulness, the importance of performing artists for the war effort became clear, and promotion of brigade and patronage work was unified from the center to the periphery and in military and civilian life. Artists were a key weapon in the defense of the Motherland and the defeat of the enemy.

THE EXPERIENCE OF WAR: BRIGADE TRAVEL, PERFORMANCES, AND LIVING CONDITIONS The first new official front brigade of professional civilian artists in Moscow was formed in mid-July 1941. Boris Filippov, the director of Mosestrada, was asked to organize and lead the brigade in cooperation with the main political administration. He had a choice of artists from the estrada organization as well as negotiating power with other theaters, and his handpicked brigade included Lidiia Ruslanova, master of ceremonies and singer Mikhail Garkavi, the operetta stars and partners Ignatii Gedroits and Ekaterina Kalashnikova, the baritone singer Georgii Kapiani, and a top comedian by the name of Vladimir Khenkin. Musicians, a dancer from the Bol′shoi theater, and a magician rounded out the members of the team. After some delay, the brigade set out on August 9, 1941, heading west to the region of Gzhatsk in an open bed truck guided by a politruk assigned to the group. Later they performed in Viaz′ma, Rzhev, and Mozhaisk as well as in villages and units around these staging points, covering more than 1,700 kilometers in their short but intense travels. After performing fifty concerts in about two weeks, they returned to Moscow by plane and gave an extra concert for the antiaircraft personnel at Tushino airport. Those two weeks included travel by open truck, bus, and plane; unexpected stops to hide 51 Darienko, Kogda pushki gremeli, 128–30. 52 Ibid., 170–73.

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from enemy air attacks; and performances on stages both in and out of doors, on the beds of trucks or, in one case, on a set of planks resting on fuel tanks. (Reportedly, Garkavi gloomily pronounced the latter “a stage for nonsmokers.”) They slept in no less a variety of locales, spending nights in offices in the Houses of the Red Army, in tents, and, at one tank unit, in a large mound of hay. Illness struck several of the members, but it is unclear whether any had to abandon the group early. One tank unit rewarded Ruslanova and Khenkin for their performances with honorary membership in the 57th Tank Division, bestowing on them full uniforms as a token of their new status. The brigade performed for all types of units, including home guards, armored units, aviation units, cavalry, and border guards, and agreed to request that GlavPURKKA give it a second assignment after a few days of rest in Moscow.53 The purpose of these new brigades, as summarized by Filippov, was threefold: to inspire the troops, cheer them up, and give them respite from battle and psychological stress. Thus, from the start the task of selecting repertory and designing programs was a complex one. Shows could not rely on any single genre to fulfill the mission. The demand was clear for every sort of artistic expression: patriotic songs, serious pieces, intimate lyrical numbers, lighthearted, mindless humor, and vicious satire all fit into the recipe according to the theoretical and philosophical justifications for the creation and existence of the new brigades. Depending on the phase of the war, certain themes were stressed more than others, but this basic, general mission for the brigades did not change throughout the war. In February 1942, an article by the top brass of the Committee on Art Affairs noted the key elements for a successful brigade:

� the size of a front brigade was designated to be most efficient with ten to twelve members; � there should be a reasonable diversity among genres and numbers; � the program should be balanced between serious and light numbers, with an accomplished Master of Ceremonies to ensure smooth transitions; � the categories changed little and included heroic, lyrical, humorous, and satirical numbers as all being necessary; � more classical pieces should be included and performers were urged to stay away from melancholy, depressing numbers, though the collectives 53 Filippov, Muzy na fronte, 37–64; Krasnaia zvezda, September 5, 1941, 3; I. N. Sakharova, Iskusstvo v boevom stroiu: Vospominaniia, dnevniki, ocherki (Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1985), 26–29.

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could bring in “sincere, simple works” to remind the soldiers of their homes and loved ones.54 The performers and directors of these brigades and ensembles understood their mission and tried to perform at a professional level in large and small shows for audiences of all sizes. Utesov noted, “The performance, no matter in what conditions it was taking place, had to be a holiday; only then would it fulfill its purpose.”55 To this end, he and many other directors were strict about insisting on the full use of costumes and makeup—as if members were performing in their own home theaters—as a sign of respect for their audiences. Elizaveta, a singer and accordionist who traveled to the first Ukrainian front and to South Sakhalin, noted, “The goal was to give the soldiers a rest and to put them in a good frame of mind so they were not in a discouraged mood.”56 She added that the goal was not to “implant musical culture”; the brigades that tried to do this failed to carry out their missions. Aver′ian Masharskii, director of the estrada group of the front ensemble of the 54th Army, stated, “Everything was done in order to raise the spirits of the fighting men . . . because the situation was very bad all around.”57 The second official front brigade was the group under the direction of A. Shaps, head of the Central Theater of the Red Army, which had recently returned to Moscow to renew its repertory. This brigade went on to complete 900 concerts in ten months.58 Other brigades also went out from Moscow, including one assembled from the Theater of Satire. A brigade headed by Dmitriev was sent probably from TsDRI or the VGKO to the Western front on August 29, 1941. In two weeks, its thirteen members finished fifty-seven concerts for the troops.59 The singer Vera Barsova headed a brigade that also served units at the western front.60 The VTO formed at least five brigades in the fall of 1941. Made up of staff from Moscow theaters, each included dramatic actors, singers, musicians, a juggler, and a full puppet theater replete with musical background. Performing in military units and hospitals in and around Moscow, these artists worked full-time and received salaries ranging from 450 to 800 rubles per 54 V. Surin and R. Bakhrakh in Literatura i iskusstvo, February 15–22, 1942, 3. 55 Sakharova, Iskusstvo, 70. 56 Elizaveta, interview, New York, August 13, 1989. 57 Masharskii, interview, Brooklyn, New York, August 1989. 58 Maksakova, Kul′tura, 134. 59 Order 0235 from the Political Administration of the Active Army at the Western Front, September 22, 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 951. 60 Filippov, Muzy na fronte, 114.

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month, except for students, who received significantly less.61 Filippov’s First Front Brigade met a brigade from the Smolensk Drama Theater in Gzhatsk, which was dubbed “The Theater of the Western Front” because of its early and active service there.62 By November 1942, Shul′zhenko and Koralli’s front jazz ensemble of the Leningrad DKA had performed 650 concerts at the Leningrad, Volkhov, northern, and northwestern fronts, as well as in the besieged city itself.63 Theaters, philharmonics, cities, and republics assembled brigades to send out for both long and short terms. The composer Solov′ev-Sedoi formed a small ensemble called Iastrebok (The little hawk) in Chkalov (now Orenburg) that traveled to the front for two months. It also served the home front, with the composer acting all the while as accordionist.64 The original brigade led by Filippov was finally given a second assignment. It left for the southern front on September 17, 1941, from the Paveletskii train station. Upon arrival at the front headquarters, then in Kursk, they boarded a bus to perform concerts for air units, hospitals, and even for the editorial staff of the front newspaper Vo slavu rodiny. There the artists met many old friends who were serving as front correspondents and journalists. Leaving Kursk, they traveled to the front and nearby villages, suffering several bus breakdowns, encountering the first frost of the season, and at one point barely averting disaster when they almost drove onto a mined bridge. Several members of the brigade went right to the front lines to perform for an artillery battery, which required them to run in a crouch for 500 meters under enemy fire. The brigade attempted to help some wounded soldiers move to safety in their bus, which broke down yet again. The Germans were advancing swiftly, and towns where the brigade had been hours before became occupied or were burned. At one of their concerts for a mobile headquarters, the brigade shared the stage with members of the former ensemble of song and dance of the Odessa military district, which was now the ensemble of the political administration of the southern front. After returning to Kursk and evacuating from there to Voroshilovgrad, the brigade obtained a flight to Voronezh and then to Moscow, arriving back in the capital on October 11. The tour had lasted twenty-five days.65

61 Concert reviews and personnel lists of VTO front brigades, September–December 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 951. 62 Filippov, Muzy na fronte, 41, 44, 66; Maksakova, Kul′tura, 135. 63 Krasnaia zvezda, July 15, 1942, 3, November 29, 1942, 3. 64 Khentova, Vasilii Pavlovich Solov′ev-Sedoi, 16, 89. 65 Filippov, Muzy na fronte, 68–90.

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After this initial start, brigades went out constantly throughout the war. They were sent by the VGKO, the VTO, and the TsDKA, as well as by individual theaters and philharmonics. Members were recruited from amateur and professional talent from all over the USSR and from combined genres of all forms. Jazz orchestras performed skits and readings and often had dancers or acrobats with them. Philharmonic brigades took artistic readers and estrada or folk singers into their ranks. Only rarely was there a dramatic theater brigade that presented only plays. Thus, “concert” took on a much wider meaning than it currently holds in the West. It could include jokes, skits, puppet shows, dancing, acrobatics, magic tricks, and dramatic readings as well as classical, jazz, and modern music, both instrumental and vocal. The strengths and weaknesses of the brigades depended on the combination of material and the talent of the members. No matter what the background of the brigade—classical, jazz, or dramatic—contemporary war songs had a place in its repertory. Even the theaters usually had a fallback concert to present if large works could not be staged due to circumstances. The performance programs were neither random nor haphazard. Instead, they were planned well in advance and took into account the repertories of individual artists as well as the requirements of the review commissions. Brigades generally had one program that often had a set variation. It is not clear why the variation was necessary; perhaps it was to keep the artists from getting too bored with the same show. Larger collectives that performed more often in regular theaters had specific shows with themes and titles. German Orlov noted that the Theater of the Baltic Fleet had three collectives under it. He participated in all three: the theater, the ensemble of song and dance, and the jazz orchestra. In 1943, the jazz group put together a program called “Iasno vizhu” (I see clearly), which was one of eleven shows staged by the mobile estrada group during the war, predominantly under blockade conditions. At the same time the theater produced U sten Leningrada (At the walls of Leningrad), which contained several songs commissioned from Mokrousov.66 The NKVD Ensemble of Song and Dance led by Sergei Iutkevich split its time between trips to the front and large elaborate shows in Moscow. The program “Po rodnoi zemle” (Around the native land) premiered at the Malyi Theater in Moscow on November 23, 1941. A lively show with pieces from around the USSR—perhaps to establish that the Germans were not going to defeat the motherland—the show was released as the Germans were being 66 Orlov, Monolog, 74–75, 107–8.

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pushed back from Moscow. Sometime in spring 1942, the show “Otchizna” (Fatherland) premiered, including the song “Flashlight” by Shostakovich. The ensemble then toured the western front in May, performing at least three large concerts of current songs that included “Davai zakurim” (Let’s smoke) and “Vse za rodinu” (Everything for the Motherland), as well as Russian and Ukrainian folk songs and dances. One show alone played to several thousand troops. The brigade itself was large, with more than 100 members. In June 1944 another show, “Russkaia reka” (Russian river), honored the Volga River and the course of the war from the onset to the rout of the Germans at Stalingrad. Along with a choir led by Aleksandr Sveshnikov, the show made use of films of the Stalingrad battles and the victory salutes in Moscow. In spring 1945 Iutkevich began work on a new show for the ensemble, “Vesna pobednaia” (Victorious spring), for which the song “Oh Roads” was commissioned.67 The Ensemble of Song and Dance of the Red Fleet, the Navy’s equivalent of the Red Banner Ensemble, was formed in 1941 and gave 900 concerts to sailors before bringing its program to the Malyi Theater in Moscow in July 1942. The show “Flot v boiakh za rodinu” (The fleet in battles for the motherland) contained monologues, dances, and numerous songs dedicated to the various fleets of the Navy and to sailors’ lives and heroism. The musical director was Iakov Skomorovskii.68 Shul′zhenko’s jazz group was called to Moscow to prepare a program dedicated to cities around the USSR for the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Red Army. The show “Goroda-geroi” (Hero cities) had many contemporary songs dedicated to Leningrad, Stalingrad, Sevastopol′, and Odessa, among others, along with such popular tunes as “Let’s Smoke” and Shul′zhenko’s signature piece “Blue Kerchief,” with its new wartime words.69 Utesov’s theatrical-jazz group also had thematic programs. The first, “Bei vraga!” (Fight the enemy!), came out in the first summer of the war. Initially it was fairly serious, but gradually humorous numbers, biting satirical couplets, and new war songs were added and exchanged so that in a year only the name remained of the original program. In 1944 the Utesov group performed one of its most successful programs, “Saliut,” a jazz fantasy showing the stages of war leading to victory through songs, marches, and humorous pieces.70 67 Pravda, November 24, 1941, 4 and June 23, 1944, 3; Krasnaia zvezda, May 19, 1942, 3; Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 104–6, 235–37; Biriukov, PVD, 273–75. 68 Pravda, August 2, 1942, 3. 69 Shul′zhenko, Kogda pushki gremeli, 105–6. 70 Skorokhodov, Zvezdy, 65–67; Krasil′shchik, Muzy na fronte, 149.

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It is probable that when ensembles wrote, heard, or were given new material, they added it to already existing shows. It is not clear, however, how strict the review boards were about this or whether there was any set requirement as to how often brigades should actually change the entire program. As Utesov illustrated, in the initial weeks and months of the war, brigades were cautious about including light or humorous numbers and were often afraid that their already existing material was unsuitable for the new conditions. The reverse was also true. Ensembles were initially cautious about singing intimate lyrical songs, as illustrated by an experience Vera Baskina had singing at a Moscow hospital: I had just learned “In the Dugout.” They sent us to a large hospital. . . . Our director warned us not to do anything sad, to try to cheer them up. There were some very seriously wounded guys here. I sang some arias from operas. Suddenly I felt like something different was needed, something dear, so I sang “In the Dugout.” When I finished, such a silence fell over the hall that I froze. From behind the curtain the director showed me his fist. All of a sudden, from one of the cots a weak voice sounded, “Comrade actress, please sing that song again.”71

However, emboldened by both the official view that all forms of entertainment were necessary, and by the requests they received from the soldiers themselves, the brigades gradually worked toward the balance called for in mood and genre. This blend of genres was not always easily accomplished. In September 1941, a Pravda article asserted that those making the selections for brigades had to use more caution so as to avoid having exceedingly disparate numbers that could not blend well, or to avoid mixing artists of high and low performance talent in any given brigade. Despite the critical tone, however, the article did not appear to place the blame on the artists, assuring readers that all these problems were easily dealt with and that they did not in any way minimize the great work the artists were doing at the front.72 The selection of brigades was not left solely to personal judgment, since artists were given rankings of their work that affected their salaries, benefits, and working conditions. Presumably, if brigades were formed with artists of the same rank, performance quality would be reasonably 71 Vera Baskina, interview by author, November 6, 1990, Moscow, audio tape (in author’s possession). 72 Pravda, September 4, 1941, 3.

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similar. Nevertheless, as shown in Chapter 3, when the review commissions rejected several brigades for lack of quality, these warnings did not always prevent the formation of unsatisfactory brigades either because of the repertory selection or the lack of talent among the artists themselves. As the war progressed, as brigades gained more experience, and as the government and the military became more accustomed to organizing and using those brigades, problems and criticisms shifted. An article in Krasnaia zvezda pointed out to the directors of front ensembles that they were not using enough folk songs and genuine Russian dances in their programs. This criticism is more likely due to the shift in Stalin’s ideology, noted in Chapter 3, than to complaints from listeners about this issue. Nevertheless, the article strongly implied that acrobatics and vaudeville were less preferable than genuine native music and dance. This was a new form of patriotism that gradually instilled itself in the brigade repertories. In keeping with this call, the article noted that summer shows, which could be held in the open, should stage larger works than were generally being staged. Again, Russian—not Soviet—titles of operas and plays were suggested, and groups quickly followed suit. For example, the Red Banner Ensemble put together a new program to premier in October 1943 that focused on Russian folk songs and selections from operas with Russian themes. Despite this shift to older, great Russian works, modern war songs still maintained a prominent place. Brigades were called on not just to perform for the soldiers, but to learn songs and marches of the time, and to make an effort to include works written by the soldiers themselves in their programs.73 Even the new programs included new works. Aleksandrov’s concert, for example, contained the new song “Cherished Rock,” as well as works by Aleksandrov himself.74 Toward the end of the war, official criticism took yet a different turn. An article written by a military political worker, B. Iarustovskii, asserted that theaters and artistic organizations were no longer giving priority to their front brigades. The best actors, he said, were being used in the regular shows rather than in brigades, and the repertories and compositions of the brigades were too standard and lacked interest. Vocal and instrumental ensembles were almost never included any more in the front brigades. Accusations were made that some front theater branches had not even served once in the active military units. Also noted was the lack of consistent aid to the military amateur 73 Krasnaia zvezda, May 22, 1943, 3. 74 Ibid., September 8, 1941, 3.

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e­ nsembles from professional artists and instructors.75 Certainly conditions in 1944 were different from those in 1941. Theaters, philharmonics, and opera houses were holding regular seasons. The war had moved off Soviet territory and the general mood was turning toward peace. The military felt nonetheless that brigades and performances were still vital to the morale of the troops and did not want to see the pace or the quality slacken. Failure to send brigades to the front was not unknown earlier in the war. A memo from GUMU to the KDI noted that in summer 1943 a number of boards and departments of art affairs as well as some theaters had failed to respond to the order to prepare and send out brigades.76 These kinds of problems illustrate just how complex the system of brigades was and how easy it was for confusion to occur over who should be serving at the front and when. As seen in Chapter 3, the network of institutions involved in the distribution and assignment of brigades was complex and crossed geographic as well as military and civilian lines. Nevertheless, it appears that for the most part the system ran smoothly and, despite its complexity, ultimately got the job done—that is, bringing artists in contact with the troops. Commentary and criticism about brigade work came not only from the heights of officialdom in newspaper articles and KDI reports, but was also given at a less formal level throughout the war. By means of personal letters from individuals and reviews submitted by political workers in the units, audiences also could voice praise, criticism, and recommendations about the shows they saw. One review of Brigade 19, a jazz ensemble led by Boris Renskii, asked for more Soviet songs to be included. Another review requested more dancing and folk songs.77 Generally, however, reviews and letters were positive, offering thanks to the brigades and to individual artists and often inviting them to return to the unit, hospital, or factory. It is unclear from these criticisms and comments whether the military had the quantity and quality of performers it desired at all times during the four years of war. One thing is clear: the artistic organizations and the military and political administrations made extra efforts to ensure maximum service for the various holidays celebrated. One hundred ten brigades were sent to the fronts in 1943 for the May 1 holiday.78 In February 1944, performers from more than a hundred theatrical/concert brigades were 75 Ibid., October 13, 1944, 4. 76 Letter from head of GUMU, Surin, to head of KDI, Khrapchenko, June 29, 1943, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 951. 77 Reviews of concerts of Mosestrada and VGKO brigades at recruiting points, July 12 and 18, 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 950. 78 Krasnaia zvezda, April 11, 1943, 3.

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sent to the various fronts and military hospitals and schools in the rear areas to help commemorate the twenty-sixth anniversary of the founding of the Red Army. The State Jazz Orchestra, led by Renskii, prepared a special program, “Pesnia, k drugu leti!” (Song, fly to my friend!) for the occasion.79 For the twenty-seventh anniversary of the October Revolution in 1944, thirty-five theater brigades and eighty-two concert brigades were sent to the Army and Navy. The VGKO sent twenty, while Lengosestrada sent seven. Other cities, regions, and republics also contributed artists to brigades to help bolster the effort.80 Many artists were very popular during the war. Most had been wellknown prior to June 22, 1941, and the media tracked them as they went out with brigades to serve the war effort. Shul′zhenko’s song renditions ensured lifelong fame for her. Ruslanova had the honor of performing on the steps of the Reichstag with smoke and ash still in the air during the heady days of victory in Berlin. She sang “Step′ da step′ krugom” (All around the Steppe) and some other folk songs as well as her famous signature piece “Valenki” (Felt boots), a Saratov chastushka that she revitalized during the war.81 Leonid Utesov was one of the, if not the, leading Estrada jazz performers in prewar days. During the war he produced many biting satirical numbers based on earlier well-known melodies, but he also sang serious and lyrical numbers such as “The Cherished Rock” and “Mishka the Odessian.” The film actor Mark Bernes was the only extraordinarily popular singer who does not appear to have made any tours during the war. He did perform in stage concerts some years after. His songs, especially “Dark Night,” were known across the country through films, recordings, and performances by other singers. These four names were perhaps the biggest in the area of song and estrada. Numerous other singers, however, from the operas, operetta theaters, and philharmonics were known and loved by their audiences and did their part to promote wartime songs. They include Nadezhda Obukhova, Georgii Vinogradov, Irma Iaunzem, Ivan Kozlovskii, Efrem Flaks, Sof ′ia Preobrazhenskaia, Sergei Lemeshev, and Pavel Lisitsian. Many younger singers got their start during the war because they were given multiple opportunities to perform in brigades or in theaters during evacuation eastward.

79 Ibid., February 15, 1944, 3. 80 Letter from V. Surin (chair) and V. Endrzheevskii (assistant chair) of GUMU to head of KDI Khrapchenko, November 6, 1944, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 1282. 81 “Dusha moia—russkaia pesnia,” Izvestiia, October 30, 1970; G. Andriukhina-Iukhtina, “Zachinai syznova,” Teatral′naia zhizn′ 4 (1973).

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The subsequently famous Galina Vishnevskaia is one example. Born in 1926, she was 15 when the war broke out and living in the town of Kronshtadt with its island naval base near Leningrad. She was the last of her family to survive the horrible winter of 1941–42. Rescued from her apartment in the spring of 1942, she was placed with the Blue Division, a female unit of the antiaircraft defense. A lifelong natural singer, she began singing with a jazz orchestra stationed next to her barracks that performed on ships, at the forts around Kronshtadt, and in dugouts. As she recalls, she sang at the officer’s club “in a threadbare dress with only a sparkle in my eyes.”82 In late 1943 she moved to Leningrad and worked at the Palace of Culture backstage while attending performances in the city. Joining the Leningrad District Operetta Theater directed by Mark Rubin in September 1944, she was paid seventy rubles for twenty concerts a month and one and a half rubles a day for travel; the star soloist got 120 rubles. There were forty members in all, including a six-man instrumental ensemble. “[W]e were always on the move playing at the military units of the Leningrad district,” she recalled. “The Germans were retreating, leaving . . . Novgorod, Pskov, and Volkhov . . . Our troupe moved through the cinders of Russia [following the army]. We slept huddled together, in whatever shelter we could find. No washrooms, no toilets, only the street.” In temperatures of –30 degrees centigrade, they had only rudimentary sets and played in clubhouses with snow on the walls. Again she recalled, “Shoulders bare, we danced and sang . . . 20 to 25 performances a month . . . I would sing in chorus or sit backstage and listen. I knew all the roles by heart.”83 After a few months one of the leading singers broke a leg and Vishnevskaya took over as the brigade soloist. The brigade was a kind of school for her. She noted: [W]orking in the most intolerable conditions, the members of the troop nurtured and protected their art, making no concessions to fatigue or illness. Whatever sooty underground shelter or remains of a clubhouse we were playing, an hour and a half before the show [we] singers would put on our makeup and step into costumes as carefully as if it were the most splendid of stages. Our troop had a number of aging actors and we young learned from them. I saw with what spirit those old actors entered the stage, never allowing themselves a half-hearted performance. 82 Galina Vishnevskaya, Galina: A Russian Story, trans. Guy Daniels (Orlando: Hartcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1984), 4, 15–19, 33–35. 83 Ibid., 42.

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Part Two    Song Distribution and Reception No matter how undemanding the audience was . . . we had to go on every day; it was the discipline I learned then that helped me preserve my voice and carriage for so long.84

Despite the difficulties of wartime performing, Vishnevskaia “had to sing no matter what: a cold, abscesses, tonsillitis . . . One of our young actresses, Shura Domogatskaya, unable to make the superhuman effort, died on the stage from a brain hemorrhage. She was 35 and we buried her in her makeup.”85 After the war, Vishnevskaia toured as a music hall performer with her husband Rubin as director and manager. She also began studying voice formally and in 1952 was accepted through a contest audition to the Moscow Bolshoi Theater troupe of young performers. Her professional opera career began there. The famous postwar Russian folk singer Liudmila Zykina also got her public musical start during the war. Born in 1929 near Moscow, she sang at home but only started performing in movie theaters between films during the war. She also worked on fire watches and in several factories, even though she was only twelve when hostilities broke out. After the war she saw a poster for auditions for the Piatnitskii choir and became the only female selected out of 1,500 contestants.86 Without thoroughly studying the postwar musical reviews and trends, it is not possible to know definitively how many artists used the war as a springboard to a later musical career. One thing is clear, though: most did not achieve the heights of Vishnevskaia and Zykina. Moreover, one caveat must be considered when discussing the popularity of artists: political status always outweighed public taste when it came down to recognition in the media. Vadim Kozin, quite popular according to ticket and record sales before the war, is rarely if ever mentioned in the concert reviews during wartime. His arrest in 1944 ensured that his name did not surface in later memoirs and articles. The fact that he wrote and sang new songs, performed diligently throughout the war until his arrest, and undoubtedly pleased many an audience is given no credence in the official history. Lidiia Ruslanova also fell under a shadow in the late 1940s when she was arrested, probably for being the wife of General Kriukov, a supporter of Marshal Georgii Zhukov who was demoted after the war. She spent several years in prison, but her popularity was apparently so well established that her 84 Ibid., 43–44. 85 Ibid., 44. 86 MacFadyen, Songs for Fat People, 210–13.

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rehabilitation after Beria’s and Stalin’s deaths was complete. It is impossible to know just how often or how completely such political considerations and purges falsified the true historical picture. Only by further extensive research, relying not only on official media sources but on archives of the NKVD (not seen for this research) and on oral histories, can this issue be clarified.

At the front The artists—professional or amateur, famous or novice, young or old—who performed during the war could have had three fairly distinct experiences, depending on where they served. People who participated in military ensembles or brigades from civilian organizations that went to the front had one type of experience. Those who remained in a city and worked regularly in the arts both as a continuation of their primary careers and in volunteer patronage work gained a different experience. Still a third group, which took long tours to the East to perform for the labor front and the evacuated wounded, lived a third set of circumstances. Some artists experienced more than one of these scenarios. Each had its hardships and rewards, and sometimes the distinctions became blurred. The varying experiences of brigades and their members will be examined more fully here. The brigades that visited the fronts or were permanently assigned to military units had the least predictable conditions for performing. Some military units had their own brigades, orchestras, and musicians. The Moscow conservatory supplied some of this personnel by training the students in its Military Music Department as both conductors and military officers. They had to balance their time between fighting, rehearsing, and performing, and often conditions would control which was needed most. Many did not return from the front.87 The other alternative is illustrated by Filippov’s first brigade, which traveled constantly, often performing up to five shows a day. Sometimes they were provided with transportation in the form of a bus or truck for the duration of their tour, but often each unit for which they were to perform was r­ esponsible for facilitating their arrival and departure. These more unique conveyances included planes, sleds and sleighs, skis, horses, and old-fashioned walking. 87 Iosif Ryzhkin, “Iz istorii Moskovskoi konservatorii v pervye gody Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny,” in Trudy Gosudarstvennogo tsentral′nogo muzeia muzykal′noi kul′tury imeni Glinki, comp. R. A. Tsaturov et al. (Moscow: Deka-VS, 2007), 502–3.

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More than one reference is made to having a difficult time finding the designated regiment or unit. Usually, a political officer (politruk) was assigned to the brigades to assist in finding the way and ensuring the brigade’s safety, but sometimes this person fell ill or was called away to do something else. Lost brigades (with or without guides) sometimes nearly found themselves in crossfire or encircled by the enemy. In other cases, the units they sought had advanced or retreated, and the brigade somehow had to catch up to perform its assigned concert. Rina Zelenaia, in recalling her 1944 experience in a brigade, noted: Usually they didn’t allow us to travel at night, but we often broke this rule, because after the last performance we needed to eat with them, talk about Moscow, and toast the coming victory. And now it is dark again and we have planned three concerts for the next morning and again we are traveling at night and everyone is mumbling that it is stupid to risk it.88

Performers generally agreed that they usually did not know where they were headed, except in general terms, until they were well en route. Arrangements both at the fighting front and on tours at the home front were made by the administrators and political workers. Masharskii asserted that the political workers were especially careful with the artistic brigades because, since they traveled so much and knew the locations of various units, they would be an invaluable source to the enemy if captured.89 Whether this is a complete explanation or if it was simply more expedient for only the bosses to know the itinerary is not clear. Regardless of the reasons, the artists were left to concern themselves solely with their shows and not the logistical details. The performance settings were also quite varied and unpredictable. One article recalled an incident in which the artists were lying in a foxhole whispering jokes and couplets to the soldiers, who rolled with silent laughter so as not to be heard by the enemy only a short distance away. These small groups, or piaterki—groups of five dressed in camouflage—went through the trenches to entertain the soldiers with jokes, stories, recitations, and, on occasion, songs in half voice.90 Groups performed in meadows and forests, sometimes on improvised stages, sometimes on the bare ground. In one case, reminiscent of Garkavi’s “stage for nonsmokers,” a brigade performed on an open truck bed 88 Krasil′shchik, Muzy veli v boi, 265. 89 Masharskii, interview, August 1989. 90 “Literatura i iskusstvo,” May 21, 1942, cited in Darienko, Kogda pushki gremeli, 126; A. N. Batashev, Sovetskii dzhaz (Moscow: Muzyka, 1972), 90.

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resting on high-explosive bombs.91 In other, less risky cases, units built platforms from logs or tree stumps, or trucks were lined up with sides and tailgates down to provide a raised flat surface. Lighting, if necessary, could be achieved with headlights or flashlights. The NKVD ensemble performed on two such stages in May 1942 at the Western Front. The first, dubbed the Green Hall, was made from logs with a canopy of pine boughs across the top. The second was a line of six five-ton trucks.92 Shows also took place indoors: bunkers and dugouts, barns, castles, Red Army clubs, schools requisitioned by the military, and regular theaters in towns they passed through. One rundown barn near the beginning of the Leningrad ice road served as dressing room and stage for Orlov’s brigade from the Theater of the Baltic Fleet in extreme subzero temperatures. The audience rested in the snow while the squeaky barn doors signaled the start of the show and served as the stage curtain.93 Programs went on in all kinds of weather. Dancers performed on slippery stages in the rain; instruments froze up in the cold; and singers sang despite the risk to their lungs. Like everyone else, brigades en route got stuck in the mud and performed and traveled in summer heat. The size of the audience was also extremely variable. It ranged from a single person to hundreds and even, on occasion, thousands. In a brigade of the Red Army theater, A. Popov wrote in his diary that when the members heard of a wounded commander who was lying alone in a house not far from their camp, the entire brigade went there and performed their whole show for him. The commander, noted Popov, was embarrassed but also deeply moved by their gesture.94 At a concert by Ruslanova, the cavalrymen remained on their horses to better see and hear the show.95 At yet another show soldiers climbed into trees to achieve the same advantage. One observer noted that the effect was like tiered balconies in a grand theater.96 Clubs and dugouts would often be packed, with soldiers sitting on one another’s laps so that the maximum number could see the show. Vera Baskina, a singer in a theater brigade visiting the Karelian front in 1943, recalled that they decided to repeat the show several times so all the soldiers could have a chance to hear it.97 Not infrequently, shows were 91 Pravda, October 3, 1941, in Filippov, Muzy na fronte, 113. 92 Krasnaia zvezda, May 19, 1942, 3. 93 Orlov, Monolog, 103. 94 Krasnaia zvezda, March 22, 1942, 4. 95 Filippov, Muzy na fronte, 54. 96 Literatura i iskusstvo, August 10, 1943. 97 Baskina, interview, November 6,1990.

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ended by bombings or interrupted momentarily by units, soldiers, and commanders being called out of the audience. At other times brigades would wait to perform until all had returned from a scouting raid or a bombing run. One of Baskina’s most memorable shows was when a group of scouts returned to camp on skis after all the concerts had been finished; she, the accordionist, the dramatic reader, and an acrobat staged an impromptu show for them in the snow. In concerts, artists might single out soldiers who had recently done something particularly brave or honorable and ask them for a favorite request title. Despite the severe conditions, most shows were performed in concert dress or costume and with makeup. Baskina’s concert in the snow was performed in a ball gown despite the below-zero temperature. Edit Utesova sang in a white concert dress; Lidiia Ruslanova wore colorful outfits from her native region, as did other brigade members from the Central Asian republics. Costumes, props, and musical instruments had to be transported with the brigades and kept clean and in good repair. Although the artists made every effort to travel light and shows were staged with a minimum of accessories, the care and maintenance of these essentials undoubtedly took much time and effort on the part of the artists and administrators of the ensembles. Only rarely is it mentioned that the performers dressed in warm winter clothing, including felt boots, and then only in the bitterest cold. When possible, the brigades took some provisions with them, but generally the units for which they were performing were responsible for feeding and housing them. Between tours they ate in dining halls for art workers and theaters and got worker-level ration cards. Nevertheless, many items were scarce or very expensive. Impressions differ as to how lean and austere the war period was. Undoubtedly they depended on how large a salary an artist received and how much support she or he had from family. Little information is given about the prosaic details of life, but it seems evident from scattered comments that the military tried to ensure the artists’ well-being and comfort as best they could, given their own circumstances. One brigade diary mentioned that in one aviation unit there were many goods available; the brigade not only ate well that day, but stocked up with provisions for the rest of the tour.98 Hospitals were also supposed to feed the visiting brigade members, although Elizaveta noted, without giving a reason, that she tried not to eat there. Occasionally, there were ­special treats. Vera recalled a company cook making napoleons, or filled pastries, on an open fire for the female brigade members; they 98 Filippov, Muzy na fronte, 57–58.

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“tasted like smoke and were exceedingly delicious.”99 After singing the new version of “Blue Kerchief,” Maksimov and Shul′zhenko shared a rare gift at the Volkhov front: a piece of torte and a glass of cranberries. When Shul′zhenko’s throat hurt from singing in the cold, a club commandant managed to get her a glass of hot milk—unheard of at that time.100 The average daily fare, however, was less impressive, though probably fairly nourishing, and drew complaints. Orlov’s brigade was on the Island of Lavansaari for more than three weeks in fall 1943, performing several shows a day for cutter and submarine crews. They were consistently fed millet cereal—the only thing available. Food was not the only item that was scarce. There was only one movie film, which they finally started watching backwards out of sheer boredom. Rina Zelenaia, writing about her experience with a Bol′shoi Theater brigade in 1944 in the Carpathians, stated, “We are sitting at a campfire and the cook is giving us pea soup again. Supplies are held up, so it is again pea soup . . . At dawn they wake you up. You want to sleep or want a cup of tea; instead, you get the same pea soup.”101 Almost without exception the brigades were made up of both men and women. If the ensembles were military, the women were volunteers while the men were serving as part of their military duty. If the groups were civilian, then it seems that men were given exemptions in order to continue working in their artistic areas. The only exceptions found have been the Red Banner Ensemble—which seems to have been, and still is, an all-male choir—and several women’s groups, which may well have had this unisex status even in prewar times. The Piatnitskii Choir noted that the contingent of male singers was weak, and it undertook to recruit more voices. It is likely that in rural areas and cities less directly affected by the war, where mobilization took men (and some women) into regular military service, women took over a higher proportion of artistic jobs. One example is Klara Masharskaia in Ufa, who took over the flautist’s chair in the opera orchestra. No hard statistics have been found to support or deny this assumption, and the research conducted here shows that the theaters and patronage brigades, the military ensembles and civilian brigades at the front, and the large choirs all had a fairly good balance of men and women. Although the mixed gender composition of the brigades certainly enhanced the performances, to some degree it complicated the living situation.   99 Baskina, interview, November 6, 1990. 100 Shul′zhenko, Kogda pushki gremeli, 98; Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 60–63; Biriukov, PVD, 237–40. 101 Orlov, Monolog, 122; Krasil′shchik, Muzy veli v boi, 264, 266.

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When possible, women were given separate sleeping accommodations in another room, or at least by hanging a sheet as a curtain. Baskina recalled that one unit in the north provided her and the other female artist with a warm hut. She did not indicate where the men slept. Little else is mentioned about the delicacies of hygiene, such as how women dealt with menstruation, bathing, or using the bathroom, but all have stated that conditions were difficult, with little or no privacy. Elizaveta recounted a time in the Far East when she, dressed in costume and high heels, could not go across the field to relieve herself, so the men gave her a bucket and turned their backs and made noise so she wouldn’t be embarrassed. In areas close to the front, wandering off the road to find a secluded bush was impossible because of the dangers of mines or snipers. In contrast to these difficulties, interactions between artist and soldier were generally positive. The female soldiers decorated the club for a concert by Baskina’s brigade in the north with paper flowers, ribbons, and some posters. Units competed to build the best stages for visiting ensembles. Sometimes in the warm season soldiers would gather wildflowers for the female artists. A brigade from Uzbekistan, along with its music, brought rare delicacies in the form of raisins, nuts, apricots, and tea for the soldiers at the northern and northwestern fronts they visited.102 Artists often agreed to take messages back for soldiers they met. These moments of enjoyment were treasured by soldier and artist alike as a welcome break from the discomfort, death, and destruction all around them. In fact, in many artists’ accounts of their experiences it was the knowledge of how much the soldiers appreciated them and their shows that kept them moving to the next site. Elizaveta summed it up well: “There was an awful lot to put up with: getting stuck in the snow, and once even wolves howled nearby as we traveled one night to the next military unit. You had to hide when the airplanes came over—an awful lot—but we would keep going because we knew people were waiting.” Despite the transient nature of the brigades, artists managed to strike up correspondences and friendships with soldiers. In other cases the bonds were perhaps not long-lasting but were still quite intense, as in a situation recounted by Ruslanova. A scout at the western front who had enjoyed her singing returned from a patrol hours later than expected, seriously wounded. Fulfilling a promise she had made to him the day before to sing again when he returned, Ruslanova sat with him, held his head in her lap, and sang quietly from time to time. Although she was certain he would not make it through the night, 102 Krasnaia zvezda, June 16, 1943, 3.

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she summoned her courage—”for him and for myself ”—as he went into ­surgery. However, she unexpectedly met him again several months later back in a fighting unit, where she sang again, shared a picnic with him, and learned that he was to be given the Order of Hero of the Soviet Union.103 The soldiers were not the only ones at risk of losing life or limb. The near disasters and high risks described in artists’ diaries, memoirs, and interviews included mined fields and bridges, air attacks, enemy tank attacks, and near encirclements. These may seem somehow inconsequential, since the artists successfully managed to navigate the dangers and come home safely. Nevertheless, the risks were real and some artists fell victim to the ravages of war. Filippov recounted some details of Brigade 13, led by L. Lebedev, which was sent out from Moscow to the Viaz′ma region of the western front by TsDRI and TsDKA on September 13, 1941, with thirteen members. The brigade had artists from the Theater of Satire, the musical theater named for Stanislavskii and Nemirovich-Danchenko, the Lenin Komsomol theater, and the circus. After serving well at the western front, they found themselves encircled by the enemy and, together with a makeshift military unit, had to try to break out. At least four members were killed and others were wounded. Two survivors recounted these experiences to Filippov years later.104 A tour by the state jazz orchestra in the same region met with a similar fate; only a few members, including Georgii Vinogradov, returned unharmed.105 In late August 1941, a number of sailors and artists of both sexes serving with the Theater of the Baltic Fleet lost their lives when, returning from the Hanko Peninsula to Leningrad, their convoy of ships was attacked and several ships went down.106 It is estimated that during the entire war, about 2,000 artists of all genres perished in the Leningrad area.107 No estimates have been found to date for the loss of life among artists in the country as a whole, but it is clear that many sacrificed their health and even their lives to serve the fronts. Several accounts exist of artists being wounded and, on recovery, returning to the front lines. One singer, Ekaterina Orleneva, who was old enough to have served on a Civil War agit train, began performing for the active army again in summer 1941. She was wounded at a performance for the 49th Army in fall 1941 and survived seven operations before returning to the stage in 103 Krasil′shchik, Muzy veli v boi, 127–30. 104 Filippov, Muzy na fronte, 97–108. 105 Skorokhodov, Zvezdy, 63. 106 Orlov, Monolog, 68–70. 107 Filippov, Muzy na fronte, 180.

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mid-1942. Her dedication to her profession and to returning to the front was complete. She recalled later, “Even in the hospital I started practicing. In a whisper I sang to myself and inside of myself and I just knew I hadn’t lost my voice.”108 Another singer with the 18th Army ensemble of song and dance, Petr Bochkov, went into the occupied territory (malaia zemlia, or little land) in June 1943 with one or two others to perform in dugouts and foxholes for the soldiers at the frontline. He was wounded while singing the premiere of the song “Song of the Little Land,” but returned to the ensemble after recovering.109 Whether or not a given brigade suffered losses, the psychological stress of being at the front under air attack and sniper fire, passing through mine fields, and seeing death, destruction, and pain all around must have been tremendous. This issue is rarely discussed in memoirs, except for veiled references. Baskina mentioned that the size of their brigade at the Karelian front shrank because some couldn’t handle the bombings. Filippov wrote about the brigade’s dancer Tamara Tkachenko, “She sincerely wanted to serve the front but was always afraid of the enemy aircraft and worried all the time about her relatives in Moscow.”110 Utesov recalled “a terrifying moment” when his daughter Edit was performing and enemy planes appeared overhead. She was dressed in white and was thus a perfect target. Utesov was torn between wanting her to be brave and fearing the loss of the most precious thing in his life. Edit, however, finished her number unharmed.111 One brigade member told of how the train they were in was bombed and there was nowhere to hide. Some brigades had members who were being trained in riflery and had arms with them. Others were accompanied in especially dangerous situations by military escorts. Even so, they were never far from peril.

In Home Towns The second basic performing experience was that of the stationary brigades. The artists who served in and around one city had a different experience from those at the front. Of course, if the city was in the path of the German bombers, they too were at risk of death or injury. The living conditions could also be difficult because of rationing, lack of electricity, curtailed public transportation, curfews, and the need for identity passes. But this too depended on location. Many of the 108 Darienko, Kogda pushki gremeli, 245–47. 109 Ibid., 169–70. 110 Filippov, Muzy na fronte, 51. 111 Sakharova, Iskusstvo v boevom stroiu, 71.

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hygiene and privacy problems were not at issue because the artists lived at home and commuted daily to rehearsals, patronage shows, and regular performances. Exceptions to this were in the hardest days in Leningrad and Moscow, when people stayed at the work place to conserve energy and time because their homes were destroyed or too cold, or because of lack of transportation. Again, artists agreed that they had no part in the arrangement and scheduling of shows. They were told where and when to show up, and they did. On June 24, 1941, Baskina joined a brigade serving in Moscow as the soldiers were mobilized, the city fell under attack, and the numbers of wounded continued to grow. The brigade performed in railway stations, at recruiting points, and for units building defenses on the outskirts of the city, but mainly it performed for hospitals. Baskina recalled that as soon as the “all clear” sounded, the brigade would rush off to a hospital where the wounded were already being brought in. She spent much time at the evacuation hospital set up in the Kazan′ Railway station, not only performing but also reading to the wounded and writing letters for those who could not do it themselves. Her brigade went daily to hospitals and many different places, depending on the distance they would have to travel. Elena Zhukova joined the Choir of Russian Folk Song of the Moscow oblast, directed by A. Tikhomirov, in mid-1942. The choir performed sometimes in its entirety (eighty members) and sometimes in smaller sections to fulfill the orders for concerts. It not only had shows in military units and hospitals but also its own full shows at night. At the end of the war, noted Zhukova, the concerts at the railway stations started up again, but this time they were jubilant, welcoming soldiers home. Both Baskina and Zhukova agreed that transportation was difficult to obtain. Baskina said, “We got rides occasionally with passing cars but we were young and mostly walked.” Klara in Ufa had a similar experience. Initially, she could not find work in the arts and got a job as a mail carrier, but eventually she began playing in the movie house and the opera orchestra and her days were filled with rehearsals and shows. Often the brigade traveled in the afternoons to an airplane motor factory outside the city. The shows were not long—thirty to forty minutes—and were held one after another in the different sections of the factory. The local city brigades took on the bulk of performing in hospitals. Sometimes they were able to perform in large halls in the larger hospitals for staff and mobile patients, but more often they visited the wards directly. The show was like a conveyer belt, bringing one or two acts at a time into a ward. The actors did the moving, often performing the same act repeatedly—up to

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ten times.112 Programs had to be suited to both spatial requirements and tone to uplift the spirits of the wounded. Psychologically, these shows were sometimes difficult for the artists to perform. Elizaveta recalled, “When you see the healthy fighting men . . . Of course, I knew it was hard for them. I knew I had to bring them joy so they could step away from the war and be peaceful and forget for a little while. I smiled and put everything into it, but when we sang in hospitals I suffered a lot.” She remembered a blinded soldier coming up to her while she was singing and feeling her face: “I understood that I had to keep singing, but I was in such a state: ‘You poor guy, what will become of you?’ I feel his fingers to this day.” Doctors often asked a singer or reciter to visit the most seriously wounded patients, who were separated from the main wards. Again, Elizaveta’s description of one soldier summarizes well the general experience: He was on a table in the middle of the room. His head was bandaged and his big gray eyes looked at me. When I stepped closer I saw that he had a stomach wound as well. It was open. For a moment I was in shock. I wanted to scream and run away, but I pulled myself together and put my whole heart and soul into my music. When I finished, the soldier took my hands and his eyes became warmer. I felt like my heart stopped and tears came to my eyes. I kept smiling and kissed him and wished him patience and courage. When I left the room, I fainted.

The artists had to quell their own emotional reactions in order to be able to finish the show. Whether hospital performances ever got easier as they became more frequent is unclear. Repeatedly seeing the burned and broken casualties of war may have mobilized the artists themselves to serve the war effort even more diligently. However, the constant proximity to pain and suffering had to take its toll emotionally. It is probable, too, that local brigade members who performed frequently in one hospital more often built lasting friendships with members of their injured audiences than did members of touring groups. Unlike the artists in front brigades or home front tours, those who stayed in their home cities to work had the task of keeping up whatever family life they had simultaneously with their work. This may have added extra stress, but having loved ones nearby also may have added moral support as well as practical assistance for them.

112 Batashev, Sovetskii dzhaz, 90.

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In the Rear The third type of performing experience was the groups who toured the eastern parts of the USSR: the mining regions, factories and towns involved in war production, and civilians and wounded soldiers living in or sent to the rear. Some trips also served the Navy in the Far East as well. For example, the KDI sent the Piatnitskii Choir on a tour of the Volga region, the Caucasus, Central Asia, Kazakhstan, and Siberia with instructions that it should be given universal support from local art departments and would not have to pay any fees to perform.113 After participating in the brigade work in Moscow in the initial weeks of war, the full choir set off by ship on the lengthy tour. They left sometime in late July or early August, judging from the references to German air attacks, which lasted until they arrived at Riazan′. They performed more than a hundred concerts in the cities on the Volga as they sailed south. Sometime in midOctober they reached Astrakhan, and after Baku refused them (no explanation is given why), they moved toward Central Asia by steamship. They went to Krasnovodsk and Ashkhabad, where they celebrated the November 7 holidays. Having entered into a contract to perform for the garrisons of the Central Asian Military District, they set out through the region to fulfill this mission. Every night they gave one patronage concert and one advertised show, for which tickets had to be purchased. In mid-December they received an order from Moscow to travel to the Urals to serve the defense factories there. They reached Novosibirsk for Red Army Day in late February and headed next to Sverdlovsk, where they performed around the entire oblast for workers, collective farms, students, and white-collar staffs. On May 1 they were still in Sverdlovsk and performed between there, Cheliabinsk, and Magnitogorsk during the summer, finally being called back to Moscow in September 1942. The tour had lasted over a year and taken them more than 20,000 kilometers. Subsequent trips were much shorter: for about a month to Zlatoust, Kopeisk, Ufa, and Sverdlovsk in late 1942; to Pervoural′sk and Kirov in January 1943. In fall 1943 they headed for the Caucasus, passing through the destroyed city of Stalingrad on their way. In March 1944 the choir visited Leningrad for the first time in several years and returned there in February 1945. The end of the war found them in Moscow.114 Although they served military and civilians alike throughout the war, there is no mention that the Piatnitskii Choir went to the front lines. 113 Directive from assistant chair of KDI A. Solodovnikov to administrations of arts affairs and local executive committees, September 8, 1941, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 950. 114 Kaz′min, S pesnei, 188–280.

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Other groups also made tours eastward during the war. The ensemble of song and dance of the All-Union Central Council of Trade Unions, led by the composer Anatolii Novikov, was on tour in the Urals region in January 1942. It also toured the Kemerovo area for a month at the end of 1943, giving ­forty-seven paid and patronage concerts.115 Utesov’s jazz orchestra took its show to the Urals, Siberia, and the Far East before returning in summer 1942 to the Kalinin and Volkhov fronts.116 The Eddie Rozner jazz orchestra toured throughout the USSR during the war, but never went to the front, probably because Rozner was a foreign refugee and was not sufficiently trusted. For these tours, the ensembles were often assigned train cars in which they lived and traveled for the duration of the tour. The Piatnitskii Choir’s ship down the Volga served the same purpose. This had its advantages in that the performers could have more personal items with them because they did not have to carry them constantly. Nevertheless, quarters were cramped, privacy was in short supply, and the artists had to rehearse on the trains as well, which was especially difficult for dancers. On board ship during the tour down the Volga, the women of the Piatnitskii Choir lived in the space below deck while the men stayed on deck in a makeshift room built a week or so into the tour after they had left the air-raid zone. The train compartments held four people, but occasionally there was room to spread out. Iurii Tseitlin lived in one compartment with the two Garis brothers; undoubtedly, directors and soloists, when possible, had their own compartments. Train travel during wartime was exceedingly slow, often taking two weeks to travel a distance that was usually traveled in four or five days. Trains were sided for priority troop or supply trains; tracks were often rough, and riding was less than comfortable. Travel time was spent rehearsing parts, arranging music and shows, repairing costumes, reading, playing cards, or singing for fun. Just how they fed themselves on these tours is not clear. Some mention was made of bringing supplies and purchasing food from markets in towns they passed along the way, but they probably also received some rations from the organizations sponsoring their concerts in the form of cafeteria privileges at stopovers or outright provisions. When they arrived in a city, their rail cars were shunted onto sidings and remained there as the ensemble’s “house on wheels” until pulling out again. This meant they lived in railyards, where conditions 115 Biriukov, POV, 203; report on tours in the Kemerovo oblast submitted by the Siberian section of the VGKO, November 19, 1943, RGALI, f. 962, op. 3, d. 951. 116 Batashev, Sovetskii dzhaz, 89.

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were far from clean. Kaz′min noted that by the time the choir was in Sverdlovsk in spring 1942, its members were ill with rashes and fevers and there was talk of quarantine.117 The long periods of travel took a toll also in that people did not see their families. Kaz′min noted that people were lonely for family and home and tried to cheer each other up. Baskina traveled for seven months in the Far East in 1945, touring the Navy bases and even visiting North Korea, but was quick to note that it was hard on her and her husband, who was left in Moscow. Although there were some short tours, on average the eastern tours appear to have been longer than the stints at the fronts, without any breaks to see family or time to renew programs. Concerts were performed in relatively the same settings as those for stationary brigades (i.e., for military units and academies, hospitals, factories, and local theaters and clubs). The various groups engaged both in patronage work and in concerts where tickets were sold. Audiences received them well and the concerts were often sold out. Occasionally there were mixups due to the organizational difficulties with finding performance space, but for the most part the concerts went on as planned.

Working Together Frequently, individual artists and brigades experienced all of these performance scenarios at some point during the war. The stress of their situation, the constant living and working in close proximity with one another, and the weeks and months on the road created both rifts and bonds among the brigade members. One memoir noted that people got nicknames based on their personalities and habits. For example, in one brigade, Ruslanova was known as Lidka Streptotsid, after a cold medicine she always took, while Anna Redel′ was known as Niurka Dzhoker because she always played cards on the road.118 Certainly some brigade members already knew each other well before setting out because they worked in the same theater or were partners in duets or dances. Others had been mere acquaintances prior to touring, and still others did not know each other at all. Nevertheless, whether due to stress or constant association, the brigades became close—almost like families—with the attendant support and squabbles. The negative elements again are played down, but certainly personalities as well as personal and professional taste did clash on occasion. 117 Kaz′min, S pesnei, 217–18. 118 Bulgak, Mishin, and Klebanskaia, Lidiia Ruslanova, 117.

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Filippov noted about the first brigade that Garkavi was happy as long as there was food; he could deal with anything else. On the other hand, he said that both Ruslanova and Kipiani had difficult personalities. Ruslanova was not used to sharing the stage with another star (Vladimir Khenkin), and the two even had spats concerning the shows.119 Not all members seemed to be treated equally. For example, Ruslanova rode in the cab of the truck as they left Moscow, while all the others sat in the back and used umbrellas to shield themselves from the rain. While the rest of the brigade all slept in tents on one night, Ruslanova slept in the bus. No explanations are given in Filippov’s diary for this treatment. It is possible that the top stars generally were treated with more deference than the average artists, or that Ruslanova had status due to age or health considerations. Although the diary singles her out, it is doubtful that hers was an isolated case. More needs to be understood about how the brigades worked internally and how members felt about such matters. In some cases, brigade members were related to one another. Elizaveta noted that she and her husband were able to perform together, which was a great benefit to her. Shul′zhenko was married to Vladimir Koralli, with whom she worked and performed throughout the war. One source noted that Ruslanova and Garkavi were like husband and wife, although it is not clear why because Ruslanova married a general of the cavalry, Vladimir Kriukov, in 1942. A few cases of mothers performing with their teenaged daughters in choirs or brigades are mentioned, but this was more frequent in the groups that were not at the front. For the others, brigade service meant leaving loved ones and families behind. Baskina noted that her trips away were quite hard on her ailing husband, who remained in Moscow. Elizaveta left her small daughters in the care of their grandmother. The reverse also occurred, when family matters forced a performer to stay at home. One student of GITIS, who had served in several brigades during the war, noted that on victory day she “cried for joy and also out of jealousy” because she was not with her old brigade in Berlin. She was in Moscow with her newborn daughter and worried about her husband.120 Brigade members tried to be supportive of those who lost loved ones in the war. Elizaveta recalled that, unbeknownst to her, the brigade sent money for her mother’s burial. Orlov lost his father in 1943. Others in brigades had little or no news of brothers, husbands, or fathers serving at the fronts. Just how these people continued to perform, sing, and dance in the face of such threatened and real personal tragedy is an inexplicable factor in the 119 Filippov, Muzy na fronte, 49–52. 120 Darienko, Kogda pushki gremeli, 222.

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s­ uccess of the brigades. Perhaps because no one was exempt, the losses were easier to bear; at least one was not alone in loss. One thing is clear from memoirs and interviews alike: The artists all felt needed for their talent, but at the same time they did not see themselves as performing any acts of great heroism. Vera Baskina summed it up succinctly: “You might find a person who did more than I did. To put it simply, I consider that I fulfilled my citizen’s duty. Of course, I have many memories and I am very thankful for the award they gave me. How to say it best? To consider yourself a frontovik, a veteran of the war, is very important.” Galina Vishnevskaia recalled about her time in Leningrad in 1943 that a few singers remained to form an opera company. As she noted, The thrill I felt was not simply the pleasure of a great performance: it was pride in my resurrected people, in the great art which compelled those human shadows—the musicians, the singers, and the audience—to come together in that opera house, beyond whose walls air raid sirens wailed and shells exploded. Truly man does not live by bread alone.121

Indeed, these artists were frontoviks, using their art as a weapon to mobilize hatred against the enemy. They were like supply officers bringing nourishment in the form of laughter, like doctors bringing the healing power of a kind word or a smile to those who were frightened, lonely, or in pain. Whether individuals served for one month or for all four years of the war, their efforts certainly contributed to the ultimate victory. Many noted that their wartime performances were the highlights of their careers because they knew how much it mattered to the audience and because they wanted wholeheartedly to serve the soldiers who were serving the motherland. Because these artists served so tirelessly and selflessly, many of the fighting men, the factory workers, and the collective farmers were able to enjoy a reminder of peacetime and take a break from the horrors of war. Human bonds, albeit sometimes fleeting, were formed between the artists and their audiences. Through the songs and shows, they shared laughter and tears, hatred for the enemy, and tender affection for their loved ones, in tragedy and in victory. Therefore, it is not surprising that wartime artists and audiences alike became choked up or shed a tear when they heard the songs that rang out in brigades large and small, across battlefields and factory floors, so long ago. 121 Vishnevskaya, Galina, 40.

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From Dawn ’til Dusk: Song in Everyday Life

O

nce songs were created and learned by performers and passed by the review boards, the final challenge they faced was acceptance by the general public—the audience. To understand fully the role song played in the war, it is crucial to understand this final component in the life or death of a song. A song could be written perfectly in the sense of poetics and composition, and executed flawlessly by a performer or choir. But if it failed to move the hearts and minds of its audience it would soon be dropped. Of course, no judgment, lay or professional, made by a large number of people, is ever unanimous, as the debates about certain songs among the composers described in Chapter 2 illustrate well. Nevertheless, a balance was ultimately found and each song took its place in the general repertory with a certain reputation, set of assumptions, and categorizations. The public formed these almost without realizing they were doing so by requesting certain songs, criticizing others, and responding emotionally to artists, who then maintained or altered their shows accordingly. The opinions and emotions expressed were individual and personal, shared sincerely by hundreds and thousands who may or may not have been aware of anyone else’s view of that song. In the end, through this process, a body of songs was created that became known as pesni voennykh let (Songs of the war years). During the war the songs served to build morale and to help people forget the day’s pain and sorrow, let emotions out through both tears and laughter, and

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form dreams of a better day ahead. After the war they also served an important purpose, but more as a symbol of friends and family lost, of true friendships made and kept over the years, and of a horror that the audience and the performers never wanted to see repeated.

AUDIENCE AND MEMORY The aim of this chapter is to attempt to portray the attitude of the audience toward particular songs and to explain how songs and music actually fit into people’s wartime lives. This task is inherently difficult because the subject is the average citizen, not a composer or a singer or someone who is necessarily famous or has left any record of opinions in this matter. It is also difficult because the target population is so large—literally millions. Such an effort must, from the start, admit defeat in making overall generalizations about the entire population because the sample used is much too small. Even so, some insights as to how people lived and how music affected them can be gained through memoirs, letters, and interviews. The range of experiences is also quite broad: from children who lived during the war to generals heading up the defense of the nation and everyone in between. This chapter relies heavily on oral history interviews made nearly half a century after the events, so a few observations must be made about the research itself before the data can be interpreted. Because of the wide range in age and experience of the interviewees, the questions were generally broad and openended. Some standard questions attempted to understand the subjects’ backgrounds, to pinpoint individual experiences on the first and last days of the war, and to find out what kind of role music played for them both quantitatively (how often) and qualitatively (how important) in their lives during the war, wherever they may have been serving or living. Each interview had its separate character. Some were characterized by snatches of favorite songs, sung or played; in others, military men recalled the activities they performed and the severe living conditions in which they performed them. Still others recalled friends or relatives or particularly touching human moments, during which the interviewee would become sad or nostalgic. Several women cried openly, and a member of the Union of Composers—who himself did not remember the war, but had arranged a meeting with the composer Tikhon Khrennikov and was present for the interview—said later he had never seen Khrennikov in such a frame of mind, or telling such “human” stories. Some of the interviewees were better storytellers than others. Some were very matter of fact and others very

From Dawn 'til Dusk: Song in Everyday Life    CHAPTER 6

emotional. The one constant is that the interviewees all talked about the war and the role music played in it and in their personal lives. One other interesting and unexpected factor in the interview portion of this research project was the difficulty in finding subjects willing to give full interviews. There was no lack of people in the proper age range or people who were asked to participate. Many were willing to share a few words, to say, “Yes, I sang during the war,” or to mention a favorite song. But many were not willing or perhaps not able to tell more. Some simply did not remember enough. Some people who were approached—usually on the street or in the park on Victory Day or other holidays related to the military events—stated emphatically that there was no music whatsoever during the war, or that the time of the “Great Patriotic War” was not a time for music. (The denial of the presence of music altogether presents an interesting question regarding memory that is addressed below.) There could be multiple explanations for the circumspect and closedmouth behavior of many wartime survivors. The first, and perhaps most obvious, is that the request was made by a stranger and a foreigner. Russians seem to have a strong sense of “our” and “other” that is reflected throughout their lives. Gaining their confidence can often take a long time. Although attitudes about speaking with foreigners have changed markedly, even drastically, beginning with the policies of perestroika and glasnost and increasing with the fall of the USSR, there is still a latent mistrust, particularly on the part of older people, to take foreigners into their confidence on a deeper level than superficialities. This is despite the fact that the United States and the Soviet Union were allies during the war—a point that most people, especially veterans, are quick to point out. A second aspect is a sense of incredulity that a foreigner was even interested in the topic of music during the war. Most people who granted interviews were flattered that someone was interested in their experiences and attitudes, but could not really understand why. Perhaps those who did not agree to give interviews also experienced this quandary and opted to avoid something they could not explain. This was exemplified in one specific incident. An interview was set up with an acquaintance of a neighbor. At the last minute the interviewee backed out—telling her friend that her son had advised her not to do the interview because he did not understand what was wanted or why. A third explanation centers on the scope and horrific impact of World War II on the Soviet people. A Russian acquaintance explained that the people who are willing to remember the war and talk about it freely did not really see it. Those who saw the war will never forget it, but do not want to recall it or talk about it. This explanation seems too simplistic, and perhaps faulty, implying

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that those who will talk did not suffer hardship and loss. Judging from the interview material, this is not the case. However, it is realistic to recognize that some saw and experienced more traumatic and horrible events than others, and that in some cases these memories are better dealt with through silence. Perhaps yet another factor is that emotion quickly surfaces when wartime experiences are discussed—whether it be sadness from loss, patriotism and loyalty for one’s country, or fervor that such a war should never happen again. It is also possible that during the time when most of these interviews were carried out (1990–91), many citizens were experiencing difficulty, hardship, and confusion associated with the floundering Soviet Union and did not want to discuss the war and the emotions it brought forth. Nevertheless, some people did choose to recount their stories—people who were patient with the questions and shared a portion of themselves. The compilation of these individual snapshots permits the formation of a composite picture of conditions, experiences, and attitudes during the period of the war. The picture can never be complete, but the snippets of personal wartime narrative provide perspectives that cannot be found in official records of the time, namely, the emotions, fears, and dreams people developed through the hardships of war. As with any oral history project, the issue of memory, which can shift and blur for numerous reasons in subsequent years, must be considered when reviewing the data and the results of interviews conducted nearly a half century after the war ended. And in understanding how individuals remember the war and their part in it, another factor comes into play: namely, for most of that half century the Soviet government, the Communist Party, and the mass media did much to keep memories of the war alive in the general population. The holidays connected with the war and with the military have been actively celebrated and commemorated. At least until the dissolution of the Soviet Union, children in pioneer camps were actively taught the songs of “The Great Patriotic War”; television and radio specials that recounted heroes and heroic acts of the war abounded. These factors certainly had an impact on what was remembered, and possibly reshaped the general impressions survivors have of the past. Yet individual memories from this period, both good and bad, seem to remain basically intact, precisely because the war was such a trial for the people of the Soviet Union. Many see it as the most formative experience in their lives, a watershed both unforgettable and irreversible. And despite all odds, in the face of great losses that touched nearly everyone personally in some way, victory was achieved. It is because of the incongruity between the joy of victory and its high price that the individuals in the park refused to acknowledge the presence of music during the war; something that involved such

From Dawn 'til Dusk: Song in Everyday Life    CHAPTER 6

great sacrifice and devastation should not be accompanied by singing. Ironically, though, it was not only the grim, unsmiling patriots who succeeded in winning the war. The same kind of dedication was shown by the composers, poets, and performers who brought their music to the country and to the front and helped bond the nation together to defeat the Germans. Both those who were adults and those who were children during the war have vivid memories of those four years and the influence of music during that time. Each tells a unique, personal story, gives general information about the status of music, and recounts information about the prominent musical figures of the time. By listening to the direct information in the stories and noting the more indirect omissions, it is possible to gain a sense of which songs people liked best, which artists they heard and enjoyed, and which remained obscure. The stories add better definition to what the main audience—those who listened to choirs and soloists on stages, in the forests, and on the radio speakers—really liked. The narrators share when and why they sang as well as why they did not.

CHILDREN’S EXPERIENCES There are several interviews with people who were children when the war broke out in 1941: Viktor was four; Artur was five; Zhanna was nine; and Iurii was thirteen. Viktor, the youngest, was born in Zima in Siberia but had relocated with his mother to Penza by the time war broke out. Artur was born in the Siberian city of Orenburg; Zhanna and Iurii were both born in Ukraine and within the year were evacuated east to Magnitogorsk and Kopeisk (outside of Cheliabinsk), respectively.1 Thus, most of these children spent the majority of the war in the Urals. The three younger children continued to attend school; Iurii initially worked in a factory and attended a school for working youth, where he says he also usually slept. He returned to day school to finish his education only in the later years of the war. All four have vivid memories of the beginning of the war. Viktor watched a company of women in dark blue berets marching past the house, singing a refrain he still remembers: “The golden Ukraine, native Belarus, and our happy youth—we with steel bayonets will protect them.” Artur recalls waking up to a beautiful, sunny, hot day and 1 Viktor Georgievich Iudin, interview by author, Decorah, Iowa, March 15, 1995, audio tape (in author’s possession); Artur Zagorodnev, interview by author, New York, August 12, 1989, audio tape, ibid.; Zhanna Portnik, interview by author, New York, August 10, 1989, audio tape, ibid.; Iurii Levin, interview by author, New York, August 10, 1989, audio tape, ibid.

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hearing his mother and grandmother come in from the street crying. Looking out from their front window they could see a huge line at the store across the street. The entire store was bought out on the first day of the war. Zhanna recalls being at her family’s summer home and going off through the village to see some friends. A man walking toward them posed a strange sight, for on a hot summer day he was wearing a heavy coat with the collar turned up. He asked them why they were laughing; hadn’t they heard? Iurii was also in the country with a school friend, helping out at an agricultural college based in an old estate house. In return for their help, they could go fishing, read books in the attic, and play. They heard on the radio that the war had started, and the bombing began a few days after that. Zhanna also recalled heavy bombing as they were evacuating Khar′kov in September. Viktor recalled the antiaircraft guns firing at German planes headed for bombing runs on Kuibyshev, where the government had been evacuated. Penza was directly in the flight path, but he doesn’t seem to remember any direct bombing of the city itself. All of the children except Viktor have some general memories about music before the war. Their families all had wind-up record players, and Zhanna and Iurii’s mothers were musicians. The children remember hearing and participating in music at home fairly often. Zhanna studied violin and Iurii studied piano before the war; both participated in school choirs, which each said was common. Artur remembers singing lots of songs, especially from films, before and during the war; in his kindergarten class his teacher taught them her favorite song, “There Is a Nice Little Town in the North.” Viktor also recalls singing this song at home and in school after the war started and trying to get the words right. (It must be noted here that both boys certainly learned this song after the start of the war because the film in which it premiered was released in the summer of 1941 and the words were rewritten in 1942 to better suit wartime conditions.) Artur and Iurii both recall that there was music before the war that seemed warlike in nature and “prepared people for the war.” Artur saw orchestras practicing in the streets. Whether or not this martial music was preparation for the German attack or simply to promote a general sense of patriotism is not clear. Some older interviewees also mentioned the existence of such songs. The example most often cited is “If There Is War Tomorrow.” Once the war had begun and relocations had occurred for two of the four children, music did not cease to be a part of their lives. Although private radio receivers were confiscated during the war—and were even fairly rare before— all of the children listened to radio speaker boxes, which broadcast official programs from Moscow and occasionally from the local region. Zhanna said she

From Dawn 'til Dusk: Song in Everyday Life    CHAPTER 6

would come home from school, turn on the radio, and listen while she did her homework. Viktor said the radio had many war songs playing constantly, and he learned many songs from the radio at home as well as in his kindergarten class. Iurii learned most of his songs by ear during the second half of the war by listening to the radio. In addition to radio, Zhanna and Artur were exposed to live theatrical and musical performances during the war. Zhanna remembers her first visits to the dramatic theater in Magnitogorsk as one of the joys of wartime. Traveling troupes also put on concerts. Artur went to concerts and operas given by the Leningrad Opera Theater, which was evacuated to Orenburg. He also enjoyed films, and recalled that they would change every few months. Half-hour musical shows filled the time before the films, and new songs were tried out there. He noted especially those songs of Solov′ev-Sedoi, who had been evacuated to Orenburg in fall 1941. Viktor was not able to attend shows during the war, even though at least one musical theater was evacuated from Odessa or Sevastopol to Penza. He explains this by noting that his mother and grandmother, with whom he lived, did not earn enough between a meager pension and a secretary’s salary to afford such shows. He was, however, able to see some movies because his aunt worked as the head of a club in one of the Penza hospitals. “They’d hang up a sheet in one of the wards for the wounded who could not walk,” he recalled, “and others who could move would come in too and they would show films in the evenings.” Iurii, who was older, held down a job during the early part of the war in order to procure a ration card, and so was only marginally involved in music. But later he seemed to be less of a spectator and more of a participant in musical events, joining a small amateur jazz orchestra formed at the local Palace of Pioneers in 1943. Using his prewar piano training, he practiced and became proficient on a small German accordion a neighbor’s son on leave had brought back as booty. He was thus able to earn some extra money by playing for dances at schools and factories. “There were only women there,” he said, “but they wanted to relax and to dance. I would play and play until I nearly fell off my chair.” The Society of Polish Exiles also hired him and paid him in American food rations, egg powder, and pea soup. One of the most interesting aspects of the children’s musical lives was the social work they did through schools and youth groups to aid the wounded. Even the youngest two, Viktor and Artur, had some of these experiences. Artur recalled, “We would go to the hospital across from where we lived. My grandmother worked there. We would do concerts for the wounded soldiers and

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they’d sometimes give us a piece of sugar.” Viktor went to a hospital set up in a school near his home. “We would go in and spread out among the beds in the wards,” he remembered. “Those who could would sing whatever they knew, otherwise we’d sit with them. They sometimes gave us candy. I remember the round chocolate ones. Different schools would take turns going each Saturday so the soldiers would have visitors.” Zhanna began singing solos in her school. She was the one the class would choose as zapevala (song leader) when they were out walking on excursions or working outside. She also recalled volunteering one day when the director came in and asked for those who wanted to go sing for the wounded soldiers. In addition to his freelance work, Iurii played in the jazz band at the Pioneer Palace, which would perform at hospitals. He recalled, “Sometimes they would call and ask us to come and sometimes we would work up a new program and arrange to go and share it.” All of them agreed it was difficult at times to do this work. Viktor remembers seeing disfigured patients. One walked toward him in the hospital corridor and bent down to pat him on the head. The man had only a hole where his nose had once been, and Viktor was so terrified he couldn’t even cry out. Zhanna recalled, “There were many people in each ward and it was hard for them. Some were very seriously wounded, but they were happy when we came and they loved us very much.” Despite the hardships, the children felt they were doing something good and that the soldiers appreciated it. The younger children were involved only in social visits and entertainment, while the older children also helped take care of the wounded, reading to them and writing letters for them. Iurii, the oldest, expressed it quite well: There were many serious injuries, spinal problems and torn-off limbs, and [the soldiers] were confined to their beds. They were happy when we came. Although they had no joy, they were happy with us. It eased their souls. We made friends with them. We knew their names, where they lived, their misfortunes, and why their girls left them. We would help them write letters.

Although music was prevalent for the children on the radio, as well as in connection with their school life and performing for the wounded, there is some indication that active musical participation among family and friends dropped, especially in the initial years of the war. Zhanna noted, “I think I learned most of the songs from the radio because people didn’t want to sing very much at that time. People were tired and life was hard.” She did recall that

From Dawn 'til Dusk: Song in Everyday Life    CHAPTER 6

people still sang some at holiday times. Iurii recalled that “’41 and ’42 were hard years, not for music; but I even invented a kind of xylophone out of bottles filled with water to be able to play something.” This memory contrasts sharply with his description of how he played piano for guests at his family’s home before the war. For Iurii, his own interest in music never waned, but external circumstances and his environment changed so that his musical activity also changed. As he says, “Things got better at the end of ’43; the Americans gave us food, my father became an officer and started sending us money . . . and I went back to school.” Only then did he become a performer—once more with the German accordion. The environment also affected music in Orenburg. Artur recalled that when the news started getting bad and the telegrams began arriving about casualties at the front, “The plakal′shchitsy (lamenters) were at one house one day and at another the next. Each woman had her own style and would make up verses for the deceased, one day at one house and the next day at another.”2 The songs mentioned as favorites by the interviewees who were children during the war are predominantly lyrical. Zhanna recalled singing many lyrical songs for the wounded soldiers, including “In the Dugout,” “Dark Night,” “Little Flame,” and “The Chance Waltz.” They especially liked the song “Wait for Me,” the version from the film of the same title. They also liked more jazzy tunes, such as “The Blue Kerchief,” and Allied songs they had heard, such as “Tipperary.” It seems that Zhanna knew all of these well enough to perform them. Viktor remembered that he and his friends very much loved “Evening on the Quay,” “My Beloved,” “Oh, Mists,” and later “Oh Roads.” Artur also loved “Evening on the Quay” and in general appreciated the songs of Solov′ev-Sedoi. His aunt apparently was a friend of the composer while he was in Orenburg, which may have favorably influenced Artur toward him. He also remembered “Dark Night” and “Blue Kerchief ” being favorites of the wounded soldiers. He noted that “Little Flame” was sung often by invalids in the streets playing for money or whatever anyone would give them. He called it the “song of the poor.”3 Some favorites could be found in other genres as well. Zhanna noted that as 2 This practice of lamenting exists in Russian folk tradition. It is unclear here whether it was revived during the war, or if it was always in use and simply happened more often than usual due to the high numbers of deaths. No one else mentioned this phenomenon. 3 This is the only such reference made to this song, but does imply that music was performed by such elements of society that were neither amateur, such as in a club or circle, nor professional. These “bards” were most likely not officially sanctioned in any way, and it is impossible without further references to know how widespread this was or how it was accepted by the public and the government.

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the zapevala during school excursions she would strike up marching songs in keeping with the activity of walking from place to place. These included artillery marches and a sailor’s song. Artur liked the march “Three Tankists” but stated that his favorite song of the war years was the patriotic anthem “The Sacred War.” Iurii, the oldest and a musician in his own right during the war, mentioned many songs in many different genres. “I think I knew practically all of the songs that were sung during the war,” he stated. “I had a good ear and a good memory.” He learned music from the radio, by reading a little sheet music, and by playing in the band at the Pioneer Palace. In retrospect, he noted, At the beginning, when people still thought the war would end quickly, there were patriotic songs, like “Sacred War.” They were agitational with a strongly expressed political coloring. Then, in ’42, when the people understood that war was not a joke, when they drank of sorrow, when every family received a paper saying someone had died, and there were invalids on the streets, and there was hunger, and people were dying of starvation, then the songs became something different. They were lyrical with an intimate character. They expressed homesickness and missing mothers, wives, and children. They were songs like “In the Forest at the Front,” “Dark Night,” and “The Chance Waltz.” The next stage is happy patriotic songs—a completely different mood, a mood of victory. Songs like “I departed from Berlin” and “The Country of Bulgaria is OK” [“Under the Balkan Stars”] . . . and people liked those songs because they wanted to believe in something.

All the children except the youngest, Viktor, who lived furthest west of all of them, noted hearing a number of Allied songs. Iurii even learned some of them, such as “There Is a Tavern in the Town” and “Tipperary.” Zhanna knew the Russian words to “Comin’ in on a Wing and a Prayer” and to a “cowboy song.” Several excerpts of Russian texts without titles, supposedly from Allied songs, were noted but have not been matched with either English or Russian titles. The children’s observations support Iurii Tseitlin’s comment that there were many Allied personnel in the Far East and that many Western songs were performed and heard on the radio there. The younger children probably were good judges of what was on the air regularly because, unlike most adults, they had time to listen to the radio. Even Iurii at thirteen or fourteen years old was working twelve-hour shifts for the first two years of the war for his ration card. The younger children were in school or day care, but probably still had more chances to listen if they cared to.

From Dawn 'til Dusk: Song in Everyday Life    CHAPTER 6

Thus, Viktor’s failure to remember any Western songs may well be due to a lack of Western music on the air in the more westerly regions of the Soviet Union, rather than to his lack of exposure to radio in general or to a faulty memory. All of the children mentioned at least one of the more popular and famous singers of the time. Artur noted that Lidiia Ruslanova was heard everywhere, Zhanna and Iurii both mentioned Klavdiia Shul′zhenko, and all three revered Leonid Utesov, even though Artur maintained, “He had no voice.” Zhanna mentioned Mark Bernes and a number of other more classically oriented singers, such as Bunchikov, Nechaev, and Vinogradov. She, more than the others, took an interest in classical music and opera in addition to the popular songs. Even so, she felt as though she hadn’t paid much attention to the performer, but rather concentrated on the music itself. All of the children except Viktor lived in the far eastern regions of the USSR throughout most of the war. There, radio programs from the center were uninterrupted; factories and government and cultural institutions were evacuated to those regions, and permanent points for medical care and recovery were established. The children mention hardships, especially being hungry. Viktor notes that “childhood and hunger are permanently linked in my mind,” while Zhanna was thrilled to get a glass of real milk from a local friend’s mother. Two of the four children were evacuees themselves. None of the children had fathers present during the war. Zhanna’s father had been shot by the government in 1937. Artur never knew his father and gave no explanation. Iurii’s and Viktor’s fathers were both at the front. Viktor saw his father only once for about a week sometime after the Stalingrad victory. Their mothers worked extremely hard. Iurii’s mother worked twenty-four-hour shifts in a weapons plant. Artur’s mother worked as an economist in the famous Orenburg shawl factory, and his grandmother worked as an orderly. Viktor’s mother worked in the oblast administration as a secretary in refugee resettlement. Zhanna’s mother, a metallurgist, worked twenty-four-hour shifts during the war casting bullets. The only thing that kept these children from being the prototype “latchkey kids” was the presence of their grandmothers. Despite these difficulties, and compared to the parts of the country occupied or ravaged by war, the situation they describe is fairly benign. Schools were functioning, they did not move frequently once they were settled, and once they were in the East there were no air raids or bombing attacks. What’s more, they had opportunities to attend high-quality theaters, concerts, and films— perhaps even more frequently than during prewar times. Their own personal ­participation in musical activities was something they enjoyed and valued as

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worth contributing to the effort of the people to bring victory. In other regions, such as the occupied territory in the west or the territory crisscrossed by fighting in central Russia, instability would have been the rule and a lack of personal safety would have been added to their hardships. Thus, whenever possible, children were evacuated eastward. As the records of the writers’ and composers’ unions show, camps were set up for them, or they lived on collective farms and helped with the work. Of course, this in itself could well be a traumatic experience. One girl who was evacuated from Moscow recalled how a song helped calm her fears. N. Zavodskaia was one of the children on a steamboat heading down the Volga. They had just heard Moscow had been bombed. She described, In the hysterical crowd of people on the pier in Gor′kii, we the children were crying. The city had been bombed and we had left family and friends there. It was sorrow, horror, and rage overwhelming us, and suddenly from the loudspeakers a song started playing. There was such a mobilizing force in it that we, the children, without even realizing it, started singing along. We suddenly felt like everything would be all right, the Fascists would be defeated, and we would return to our city and our homes.4

The song was “Song of the Brave,” and it apparently really did give courage on that summer day. The song and the event of the evacuation were forever linked in that woman’s mind. Despite the efforts to evacuate, many children still remained in cities and towns beset by war. Little is known about their musical or cultural experiences. Some teens, as noted in Chapter 5, participated in artistic groups that traveled during the war. In one brigade, a fourteen-year-old girl worked as a soloist for the group.5 Thus she traveled frequently, was close to—if not at—the fighting front, and probably did not attend a school regularly. Just how common this was is not clear, for the girl was traveling with her mother, who was also a performer. It is also known that the Piatnitskii Choir also had a mother/daughter team. Several references were made to children who were in orphanages or in Suvorov academies for children; their fathers were at the front, and they had no other home. Iurii Biriukov recalled that in his Suvorov academy, “The days were all right but at night we got lonely. Our instructors and caretakers did what they 4 5

Lobarev and Panfilova, Ob ogniakh, 332. Elena Iakovlevna Zhukova, interview by author, April 18, 1991, audio tape (in author’s possession).

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knew how to do to comfort us. They sang us songs. I grew up on those songs.”6 An orphan from Donetsk recalled, We the children of the war especially remember the war songs because we hardly sang any others. I especially remember the song “Poi, igrai, garmon′” [Sing, play, garmon′]. In the summer of 1944 our city was already liberated and a tank column stopped not far from our orphanage. We gathered around the soldiers. They gave us things, picked us up and patted our heads. Suddenly someone started playing a baian and singing. We asked him to write down the words, then we sang it everywhere, going to the dining room, the movies. . . . For me it is an unforgettable memory of the severe war period.7

Some orphans, or children of war invalids—boys between the ages of eleven and fifteen—were even trained especially as army musicians toward the end of the war. Schools in such cities as Moscow, Leningrad, Voronezh, Rostov, Ufa, Tashkent, and Khabarovsk opened after mid-1943 for this purpose. These youngsters ended up turning the music of the war years into a career.8 It is clear even from these few interviews and sources that children did participate in, and benefit from, musical events during the war. They saw shows and movies—highlights in the years of wartime deprivations and loneliness. The radio was company for those at home alone while parents worked or were away. They also participated in creating music for others. In addition to regular school activities, they played a key role in the lives and entertainment of the wounded soldiers recovering in permanent hospitals in the east. Those who could played for dances at clubs and factories. Despite their fright at seeing gruesome wounds in the hospitals, or their hunger and tiredness, they contributed regularly and conscientiously to the home front war effort. Iurii summed it up concisely: “You must understand, those were special times. No one thought of time or themselves. They just thought, how could they help?” Yet music did something more for them. It acted to heal and comfort and in some way explain the huge and terrible events surrounding these young children. Artur remembered about “Sacred War,” “You don’t just listen to a song with your ears, but with your heart and with your back if it gives you chills. That song did, and it 6 Iurii Evgen′evich Biriukov, interview, February 13,1991, audio tape, (in author’s possession). 7 Biriukov, POV, 200. 8 Krasnaia zvezda, August 4, 1944, 8, and March 4, 1945, 3.

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was my favorite song. Only later did I understand how it was composed.” The song itself was powerful but also represented the powerful forces at work in the country as well as in the children’s lives. Anatolii Novikov and Lev Oshanin noticed that the children were singing their new song “Oh, Roads” along with them; what’s more, they were singing through tears. Novikov recalled, “Later, when we left the school, I asked why do they sing and cry? That is a soldier’s song. We then understood that the kids very strongly and very deeply knew the roads of war. The song included the burials of fathers, bomb shelters, and fears children should not have. . . . It is not just a soldier’s song.”9

HOME FRONT ADULT EXPERIENCES Adults who did not serve at the battle front but worked in the factories, farms, and offices on the home front were also involved with the arts, even if it was on a minimal level. Workers in large factories got to attend shows held especially for them either in the auditorium of the factory or during their breaks, right in the work areas. Depending on where they were, they could also buy tickets to see shows in the theaters and cinemas in their towns. They made up the audiences for the open shows that touring brigades held across the Soviet Union. Often the proceeds from such shows were donated to the defense fund, buoying up the war effort with material means as well as in spirit. Patronage concerts were held at mines and collective farms as well—especially at peak harvest times, or when the mining industry was gearing up in newly liberated areas. Not all the people who were part of the “labor front” worked in factories. Tania10 was sixteen when the war started. She found a job in Moscow working for Molodaia Gvardiia, the press that produced Pravda. She was sent to the “labor front” even though she was underage because all the other available women had children to care for. At first they dug trenches outside Moscow, then moved on to cutting trees for firewood and building materials. She began her work in the forests in 1942 and remained until a few months after the end of the war. The twenty-five girls lived in three dugouts in the forest not far from Volokolamsk, and returned to Moscow by train for two days a month to rest and to see their families. Tania stressed that the work was hard even though they were young and capable. In the daytime they were in the forest felling  9 Biriukov, PVD, 274–75. 10 Tat′iana Alekseevna Anisimova, interview by author, February 28, 1991, audio tape (in author’s possession).

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trees, sawing logs, and stacking wood so that their “norm,” or quota, could be checked. At night they were awakened when the train cars arrived to be loaded. Although the work was extremely difficult, they ate well. Pravda sent supplies, including beer on occasion. They could also earn extra bread, chocolate, and even vodka by overfulfilling their norms. They would then sell or barter the vodka to the men in the nearby village and airport. Unlike the workers in large factories, no brigades ever visited them. They did get newspapers, but they did not see films or even have a radio; their boss owned a radio, but they could not listen to it regularly. Instead, they made up their own fun. Said Tania, My girlfriend Shura was a really good singer and could play the guitar. I had bought a guitar just before the war but couldn’t play it, so she did. There was a little square and after we came back from the forest, washed up, ate something, and rested a bit, our energy came back. We would go out and dance. Another girl played the garmoshka and we danced. Tangos, waltzes, and fox-trots in pairs. We were young and wanted to have fun. It was all girls and we would just get crazy.

They would also sing as they rode with the loads of wood on trucks or sleds drawn by horses to the railway station. Some girls sang chastushki that they already knew, but mostly Shura led them all in songs. They might also sing as they loaded the freight cars with wood. Although these girls never saw the front, they suffered hardships and faced danger. In the three years she worked, Tania lost four friends when mines in the forest exploded and killed them. Falling trees were also a source of danger. In the winter or in rain they came back soaked through, and rarely did their boots and coats have time to dry before they were called out to load the train cars with the newly stacked wood. Nevertheless, Tania noted that people tried to remain friendly in spite of extreme fatigue and never complained about the work. In Moscow, Tania’s mother, an accomplished seamstress before the war, continued sewing, making uniforms and camouflage outfits. Unlike her daughter, she was probably able to listen to the radio often. Tania’s younger sister worked in a factory in Moscow despite her young age. One of her cousins worked near Leningrad in an antiaircraft defense unit. She could not recall just how often or under what conditions they heard music. In addition to being spectators at professional concerts, the people on the home front also made their own music. In 1944 several collective farms sent amateur women’s choirs to perform folk songs, local tunes, and regional dances at reviews and concerts. In at least one case, the best singers from these

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Kolkhoz amateur choirs were combined to form the Choir of Russian Folk Song in Voronezh in 1942.11 Groups and soloists from factories and towns also created circles and choirs and participated in the reviews. These reviews included all kinds of acts—folk songs, war songs, original works—with many different themes, performed by people of all ages. One statistic asserted that more than 25,000 people participated in the competition across the country, which culminated in a final contest and concert in Moscow in the summer of 1944.12 Presumably, these same people sang for relaxation and enjoyment as well as for local concerts both before and after such a large competition. Thus, for those who were interested, ample opportunities existed on the home front to be involved with music either as a performer or as a spectator. Even if people had to create their own music, they were able to rest and relax to some degree, especially during the latter half of the war. Evacuated theaters opened shows almost immediately, and touring concerts came through most large cities and even smaller towns at some point during the war. Radio stations brought nonstop news, but also played all kinds of music. As the war moved westward, the theater seasons began again; even in besieged Leningrad, shows and concerts were staged regularly for full houses. People like Tania had less exposure to such events, and price was a hindrance for some families, as in Viktor’s household. Nevertheless, music was available on a large scale to home front audiences. There is some evidence that music was a part of the lives of those taken as German prisoners, either soldiers or women put to labor. The poet E. Dolmatovskii recounted his experience in early 1945 as he traveled through eastern Prussia with the First Guard Tank Army: “Suddenly the land sang “Moskva Maiskaia” (Moscow in May). Such musical wonderful voices, but where were the people? And they appeared like in a fairy tale from underground. They were mainly girls—Russians, Ukrainians, and Belorussians—captured for hard labor. The fascists had driven them into bunkers underground and had wanted to detonate them. . . .” He added, “I can’t remember this episode without tears. The song drowned out the roar of the tank motors.” Some of the girls he recognized from the Voronezh Medical Institute whom they had known in 1942 as they retreated toward Stalingrad.13 Others mention crews of sinking ships singing as they went down, or prisoners sentenced to death singing songs before their execution. More research is needed to know just how accurate 11 G. G. Soboleva, Sovremennyi russkii narodnyi khor (Moscow: Znanie, 1978), 58. 12 Literatura i iskusstvo, March 4, 1944. 13 Dolmatovskii, Rasskazy, 167–68.

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these reports are, but it is clear that song functioned outside the borders, helping those taken by force to keep up their strength or show national pride even in the face of death.

SONG AT THE FRONT Music brought respite and happiness to the soldiers at the front as well. The number of letters written to the artists who visited the front expressing gratitude for their shows, records, or films illustrates this point. Utesov received 2,433 letters during the war asking about or requesting one of his songs, “MishkaOdessit” (Mishka the Odessian).14 It is impossible to know how many letters in total he and his jazz orchestra received. Shul′zhenko also received many letters, and recalled that she tried to answer them all and send a picture when one was requested. She even began regular correspondence with some fans. Many soldiers wrote to her after seeing the film Kontsert Frontu and asked for the words to “The Blue Kerchief.”15 The soldiers’ dedication to music, however, went beyond letter-writing. Despite the fact that they had to move constantly and carry supplies, some soldiers jealously protected their wind-up record players (pathephones), their fragile records, and their musical instruments. A soldier in the 2nd Cavalry Corps, Pavel Gvozdanov, carried his record player and collection of records—including those of his favorite singer, Lidiia Ruslanova—in a fireproof box. He would take them out on rest stops and marches; according to one source, “The record player always worked because Pavel took such good care of it.”16 In a letter to Shul′zhenko, a soldier wrote, “We have a record player and we listen when the shooting isn’t too loud. Among our few records we have several of yours. We have played them until they are nearly worn out.”17 Two nurses in a mountain division recalled, We had an old pathephone and several records. The soldiers would come from different battalions to the dugout. They came under fire, in the rain, or in snowstorms. Winter in the mountains is a real hell. We crowded around the pathephone and were glued to it. As we heard the old favorite songs, everything turned over inside. We remembered our homes and dances in the park.18 14 Lobarev and Panfilova, Sovremennyi, 141. 15 Shul′zhenko, Kogda pushki gremeli, 108–9, 190. 16 G. Skipenko, “Lilas′ pesnia na peredovoi,” Sovetskii patriot, February 22, 1970. 17 Shul′zhenko, Kogda pushki gremeli, 193. 18 Lobarev and Panfilova, Sovremennyi, 103.

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If individuals did not have their own instruments or record players, sometimes they had the opportunity to use the equipment of the mobile agitational clubs that would visit their units. When professional brigades and ensembles performed live concerts, the reactions from the front audience could be varied, but they were always emotional. In response to heroic songs, the audience might stand silently en masse. This happened with the earliest performances of “Sacred War” and “Song of the Dnieper.” In other cases, solemn, tired faces gradually relaxed and soldiers smiled and laughed. Often after a particular song or concert, the applause was deafening, while some soldiers openly cried. Zoia Gaidai, a Ukrainian singer, noted, “I saw how these courageous people had tears in their eyes, but they were not tears of weakness. When the concert was over one soldier jumped up and shouted to us that he swore to fight even more viciously against the enemy to avenge his native land.” At another show, after a hard day of travel, fording a river, and being under air attack, Zoia recalled, “When we saw the soldiers who had just returned from the front we forgot our tiredness. For a long time they hadn’t had any music except explosions. It is impossible to forget how they listened to us with rapt attention and total happiness.”19 A Kazakh opera singer noted, “When we did our shows at the front, we were constantly shown that our shows were not just a short relaxation for the soldiers and commanders, but a huge source of spiritual renewal for them.”20 The soldiers often had requests and expectations of the artists, asking them to repeat songs they especially liked—even five times in a row. Often they would ask for texts as well. One performer returning from the front noted, “The listeners constantly demanded the popular battle songs. If the professional singer did not know them, this caused deep disappointment among the soldiers. We had to write down and learn this new material as we went.”21 Conversely, the soldiers needed something else as well. As one put it, “We don’t just need to know that we must destroy the Fascists; we do that every day. But from art we also want something else: humor and lyricism.”22 Lidiia Ruslanova, quite famous even before the war and used to performing, sensed that the wartime need for music was different. In peacetime she sang only three or four songs, no matter how much the audience requested, but here in wartime conditions she sang as many as they asked for. She didn’t sleep 19 Krasil′shchik, Muzy na fronte, 183–84. 20 Ibid., 185. 21 D. Zhitomirskii, “Front i pesnia,” in Literatura i iskusstvo, date unreadable, 1942, 3. 22 Article by V. Surin and R. Bakhrakh in Literatura i iskusstvo, February 15–22, 1942.

From Dawn 'til Dusk: Song in Everyday Life    CHAPTER 6

well, worrying about what to perform and what was needed, with death at the threshold and people wanting to laugh: “How they listened to that Khenkin and tore him apart with requests! They order songs about love, and want lyrical ones. They start up themes of maidenly loyalty: dirt, blood, and beauty . . . life . . . Sleep, Dunia, you have to get up early tomorrow, dear one, and go to the tankists.”23 In addition to the professional brigades that visited the troops, the soldiers themselves—sometimes organized by headquarters, sometimes on their own initiative—would play for each other. Boris Belous, who had been commander of a battalion and then a regiment of the 8th Air Army, recalled: There was great concern about the morale and spirit of the personnel. Giving up Khar′kov and Kiev and the retreat eastward severely affected the soldiers and commanders. So, in the lulls between battles on the southwestern front in the winter of 1941–42, an ensemble of artistic amateurs was organized to help. Even during the most difficult days of Stalingrad our ensemble brought faith to the pilots that victory would be ours after all.24

Ivan Klimov, an actor who had joined the army, recited couplets and sang songs for his friends. Eventually he was asked to create an ensemble during the month of rest they were taking near the town of Tsesis in order to cheer up the soldiers. Klimov stated, “You go into a bunker where there are six people who just returned from scouting or there are two or three wounded guys. It is smoky and dirty and it doesn’t feel like there is a mood for singing. You talk with them, sing something, play the mandolin and read something, and you see that they start smiling and talking and asking questions.”25 At least for a while they were distracted from more gloomy thoughts. It is impossible to know just how many amateur military artists and groups there were. It is also true that not everyone shared an enthusiasm for music during the war; for instance, one army captain upset Lebedev-Kumach as they traveled together toward Moscow by stating, “Soldiers should be killing fascists instead of singing songs.”26 Nevertheless, the front newspapers are full of small 23 “Zhitie odnoi pesennitsy,” in Govorit i pokazyvaet Moskva no. 42, October 1990. 24 Boris Pavlovich Belous to the author, January 10, 1993, letter (in author’s possession). 25 Sakharova, Iskusstvo, 274. 26 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 156–58; Biriukov, POV, 205. There is a discrepancy as to who upset the poet/songwriter. His daughter claimed it was an angry major in the People’s Commissariat of the Navy. It is possible that both are true. Whatever, the details indicate that this comment inspired him to write the well-known front song, “Tol′ko na fronte” (Only at the front), with A. Lepin.

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notices and articles recounting concerts and praising the efforts of the amateur ensembles, brigades, and soloists. Sometimes the concerts were in honor of holidays or significant anniversaries for a particular unit. Sometimes they were performed in field hospitals and for civilians as the army began liberating occupied territory. In other cases, the artists performed for other soldiers in their free time during lulls from battle or marching. The soldiers who participated in amateur activities were not necessarily exempt from their other duties—namely, fighting the enemy. Even though they enjoyed their artistic endeavors, they were soldiers first. One director of an amateur ensemble recalled about his group, When they had to, they fought. Even though the commanders would kind of look out for musicians, it would happen that someone in my orchestra would get killed or wounded. Then I would rewrite the score for fewer instruments and the orchestra would have to relearn the program in a very short time. It has remained in my memory that after every battle I was rewriting music as if I were writing death notices.27

Thus, although performances added enjoyment to the lives of both the amateur musicians and their audiences, the threat of injury and death was never far away. The musical activities of these soldiers were not limited to singing only well-known folk or popular songs. As described in Chapter 2, some wrote their own songs about their experiences, their units, and their homes; they wrote to honor the unit, to remember a fallen comrade, or simply to release some emotions. The songs dedicated to the units were often written collectively from suggestions of amateur musicians, soldiers, and political workers. This was true in the case of the song written by Teodor Vul′fovich’s tank group, “Gimn Divizii Chernykh Nozhei” (Anthem of the division of black knives) in 1943. Vul′fovich recalled, “The basis was created by our female singer, who had some literary talent, and then several people reworked it. Then the music came very quickly.” One artillery regiment wrote its song in the same manner, and the final version was saved in the politruk’s notebook.28 Sometimes these groups and soloists took their talents beyond their own units and regiments and competed in reviews and contests of Red Army 27 Batashev, Sovetskii dzhaz, 94. 28 Teodor Vul′fovich, interview by author, April 26, 1991, audio tape (in author’s possession); Krasnaia zvezda, October 31, 1941, 4.

From Dawn 'til Dusk: Song in Everyday Life    CHAPTER 6

a­ mateur work. These started as early as mid-1942 and included songs, poetry of original and professional composition, dancing and acrobatics—even whistling and imitating bird and animal sounds.29 The winners received at least a certificate and possibly other prizes, but the biggest reward was the honor that success brought to their units. The reviews, if one could attend them, were the high points of the amateur work in the military, but the more common experience was for average soldiers to sing in their own units or for neighboring units. A front newspaper recounted one common situation for singing: “It is an extremely hot, southern day. The company is on campaign. Five, then ten kilometers, and although they are tired, they never lose the marching pace. Suddenly a loud soldier song breaks the silence. Sweat is rolling off their faces, but they look happy and livelier. The road is easier and the march helps keep the tempo.”30 Ivan Zuev served in the Pacific Fleet in an antiaircraft battery along the coast, living in dugouts and on cutters in the harbor. He wrote his own songs, including one penned sometime in 1944 called “Koptilka” (Homemade lamp), about a small lamp built from bullet casings with a wick and some oil. The mournful song tells how once someone could walk all night if he liked under the light of the street lamps, but when the Germans attacked, things grew dark and people parted: “Now all that remains / is the light from the little koptilka / my girlfriend / in these difficult days.” He noted that his comrades liked to sing romances and front songs.31 One artist gave a description of front life about two kilometers from the battle lines: “The whole forest is alive. Everywhere there are wagons, horses, campfires; and soldiers are eating, carrying hay, grooming horses, chopping wood, playing guitars, or resting in the grass. We begin to understand that this really is rest.”32 Of course, this description fits summer conditions. Winter would have meant relaxing in more confined quarters. For example, one woman described how her friend and fighting buddy, Tat′iana Ershova, would sing and play her guitar for them in the dugout during periods of rest. This mild-mannered and talented woman died of wounds suffered in battle in March 1942 on the Kalinin front. Another letter greeting relatives for the new year recounted that, “Somewhere nearby German shells are exploding. It is loud and happy 29 Krasnaia zvezda, July 21, 1942, June 16, 1943, July 28, 1943, September 8, 1943, February 20, 1944, January 7, 1945, and January 10, 1945. 30 V ataku (newspaper of the Second Guard Army of the Southern Front), June 17, 1943. 31 Ivan Vasil′evich Zuev, interview by author, April 25, 1994, audio tape (in author’s possession). 32 Krasil′shchik, Muzy na fronte, 266.

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in our room. People are writing letters, playing chess and checkers, and a balalaika is playing.”33 Such scenes, on the march and at rest, were where the average soldiers did most of their own singing, playing, and composing between their other duties. It was not only the regular troops who took an interest in music at the front. Some commanders and generals were known for their support of and interest in music. Marshal Zhukov, perhaps the best known of them all, would on occasion ask his chauffeur to sing for him. He also began taking lessons on the baian during the war. He spent a year learning and had several favorite songs, including “Dark Night.” Reportedly, at a dinner in Berlin he took a baian and accompanied Lidiia Ruslanova, who stated, “Not bad for a marshal!” Those close to him recalled that he also sang folk songs and even danced pliaska on occasion.34 His playing was not always lively, though, or done in celebratory circumstances. Music served as a balm to him as well. General Shtemenko recalled a night in April 1943 at the final nightly report when Zhukov was extremely thoughtful. As Shtemenko returned to his quarters he heard the sounds of a baian and saw Zhukov sitting on the threshold of his dugout playing slowly: “He was playing a sad melody well known at the time. The second and third were just as heartfelt. They were our front songs.”35 A member of the Ensemble of Ukrainian Song and Dance, L. Chernysheva, recalled that Marshal Konev loved music and often came to the concerts. He had the group perform for General Omar Bradley at a victory banquet.36 The commander of Teodor Vul′fovich’s tank corps would call him to come and sing. Vul′fovich recalled: He would say, “Get Vul′fovich here,” and they would look for me in the woods or someplace else. . . . They would say, “The commander wants you,” and I thought something had happened and raced there like a crazy person because if the commander calls you—well, it is like God calling you. When I got there and he wanted me to sing I was out of breath since I had run two kilometers. He especially liked my song about the watch.37

33 N. F. Shakhmagonov, ed., Poslednie pis′ma s fronta, 2 vols. (Moscow: Voennoe izdatel′stvo, 1991), II:27–29, 130. 34 Pliaska are a form of Russian folk dancing in which male solo dancers compete in footwork and moves. 35 A. N. Buchin, 170,000 kilometrov s G. K. Zhukovym (Moscow: Molodaia Gvardiia, 1994), 62; S. S. Smirnov et al., Marshal Zhukov: Kakim my ego pomnim (Moscow: Politizdat, 1988), 25, 190, 200, 360. 36 Darienko, Kogda pushki gremeli, 106, 109. 37 Vul′fovich, interview with the author, Moscow, April 26, 1991.

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THE POWER OF SONG Music was sometimes the final experience of life for people. Sometimes they sang as they were dying; in other cases, someone else sang to them. A pilot who had been seriously wounded called for two of his friends who were members of an ensemble and who were in Voronezh at the same time to come and visit him. Boris Sichkin recalled: When we arrived we could only see his eyes for all of the bandages. I bent down to him. In a peaceful voice he asked me to dance “Tsyganochka” [Little gypsy girl]. How could I dance? But to refuse was also impossible. For the first time in my life I danced while crying. Boris also, through tears, sang me some melody. After finishing, I bent down to Grisha again. He was dead.38

The artist V. Bogdanova witnessed several ships sinking when they were hit on their way back to port in Kronstadt. The group of artists she was with had narrowly escaped death themselves. She noted that the sailors on the sinking ships were singing the “Internationale,” the Soviet anthem, as they went down. “We had to look away,” she said. “There was nothing we could do.”39 Various accounts exist of prisoners singing before they were executed, as well as other accounts of sailors singing as their ships went down. Many other cases, of course, did not end so tragically. An artist in Kislovodsk reported that after a performance in a hospital for burn patients, one soldier stood up and said to the group, “Please don’t think that we don’t like your work. We do, but it is hard to laugh. You artists heal us almost as much as the doctors.”40 The doctors apparently agreed, as is confirmed in an article in 1943. They felt that in most cases concerts had a beneficial effect on the patients, especially those with contusions.41 There were other individuals, military and civilian, who believed that music literally saved their lives. In a letter to Klavdiia Shul′zhenko, pilot R. Rodionov recounted his experience: “My plane was hit over enemy territory and I was wounded in both legs. I thought, ‘That’s it. I won’t make it back across the front line.’ But Radio Maiak was playing your songs and I listened to your voice and 38 B. Sichkin, Ia iz Odessy (New York: Slovo, 1991), 66–67. 39 Orlov, Monolog, 68. 40 Darienko, Kogda pushki gremeli, 251. 41 Krasnaia zvezda, June 25, 1943, 3.

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landed in our territory.”42 His legs eventually had to be amputated, but he nonetheless credits the singer with keeping him alive. A senior politruk was thought dead when his ship took a direct hit. He was placed in the ship’s morgue, and when it finally limped into port, the sad work of removing the casualties was begun. The politruk, who was only wounded, was quietly singing the song “Idu po znakomoi dorozhke” (I go along the familiar road) and thus was saved from premature burial.43 A Leningrad blockade survivor, Eva Bobrova, and her daughter Lena sent a letter to the singer Irma Iaunzem thanking her for their lives: It seemed like everything was over, no brightness anywhere, no strength to go on living—or so it seemed to my daughter and me. In our apartment there was no light, no water, and on the radio only rhythmic static broken from time to time with air raid announcements. It seemed to us, exhausted and hungry, that we were losing energy. I lay down in order not to get up again. The radio was silent and it seemed like we were cut off from anything alive, and suddenly there came an unusual shuffling sound from the radio and then a song began. It was gentle and kind. The voice that sang was unbelievably touching, nice, and dear. “Mama, that is life! Life, mama! We must live! We will live!” I heard the voice of my daughter. For the first time the radio was putting on a song and not just the usual words “air raid.” . . . So, my dearest Irma Petrovna, you with your song returned us to life.44

It is unclear whether it was a live performance or a recording being played on the radio, since the only reference found for this work to Iaunzem’s presence in Leningrad is in March 1943, well after the most severe times in the city. Nevertheless, the music gave those two women courage to continue their struggle for life. It is not possible to say how many other such events occurred, but the example is compelling. The words of a young artist who performed frequently in hospitals may best sum up music’s role in renewing energy and the will to live or easing the passage into death. L. Shaposhnikova, a performer with a brigade from GITIS, noted: “Perhaps there on the border between life and death, we, still young artists in our twenties, for the first time felt with our own hearts the true meaning of art, the great healer of the human spirit.”45 42 Darienko, Kogda pushki gremeli, 193. 43 Lukovnikov, Druz′ia, 108–10. 44 Lobarev and Panfilova, Ob ogniakh, 393–94. 45 Sakharova, Iskusstvo, 41.

From Dawn 'til Dusk: Song in Everyday Life    CHAPTER 6

Art, and particularly music, healed many people in many ways. It calmed the fears of children and emboldened them to survive loneliness, loss, and upheaval in their lives. It gave energy to those marching to battle and those working on the labor front to continue beyond exhaustion. It helped fighting men and women relax and remember their homes and families. Conversely, it focused the pain and anguish of what they were seeing into enough hatred and anger to allow them to continue the battle. The shows and concerts, the songs on the radio and the amateur activities, each in its own way, offered a chance for listeners—no matter how young or old, no matter where they were—to lose themselves in another world, if only for a few moments. They could enjoy human contact through singing or dancing or with a good laugh or cry. They were reminded to have pride in one another, and to be proud of their nation no matter how grave or how bright the military situation. Shostakovich said in 1975, as he looked back on the war years, “These songs became the focal point for the feelings and moods of the people. The mobility and the amazing responsiveness of song to the large and small events of life defined its especially important role in the art of this period.”46 The link between the war songs and emotion was a strong one, and it remains so long after the war. When those who lived and fought through those years hear again the songs of that day, they are struck by strong memories, often with tears, as they recall those they loved and lost, those whose friendships they gained, and the victory that was achieved at an enormous price and with huge sacrifice by the entire nation. The songs are a symbol of those sacrifices and of the links between the individuals who lived through them. In the end, all who remember the war and are willing to talk about it, no matter how proudly or fondly they speak of their activities, friendships, and accomplishments during that time, fervently express the hope that such a thing never happens again. The “positive memories” expressed by the war survivors—unity of purpose, willingness to sacrifice for one another, the effort to support each other, and a lack of overwhelming concern for material goods—are high human ideals that, to some degree, were attained during a terrible human ordeal. Perhaps the memories of these qualities coupled with the songs that represent them keep the songs alive and provide a benchmark upon which to build better human relationships during times of peace.

46 Shostakovich, “Muzyka i vremia,” Kommunist 7 (1975), cited in Skorokhodov, Zvezdy, 69.

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B

y the end of World War II, the population as well as the Soviet nation had created a body of songs that is remembered as “songs of the war years.” As Chapter 1 details, this collection was huge; hundreds of songs appeared as brand new creations or as spin-offs of older tunes. Many of them survived the rigors of popular approval, censors’ marks, and the fluctuating politics during and after the war to become part of a coherent, recognizable set of songs, accepted by state and population alike as a legacy from the war years.1 During and after this era, these songs shaped the perception of the war and the psychological responses to it, while fostering a sense of identity for individuals and groups who heard the music. Multiple layers must be considered in order to define and comprehend why these songs had such a long-lasting effect on society. This final chapter examines the various elements that have shaped and defined this legacy for the past seventy-five years. Some elements involve the songs themselves; the content resonated with listeners and often evoked a mood in the collective citizenry. The lyrics were critical for conveying messages about the war. The melodies too had an impact, a physiological one that could trigger emotional and physical reactions. Moreover, the factors of time and distance from the war have shaped what people respond to or seek out in the songs. 1 This section is based largely on a paper the author wrote for an international conference, “Re-Calling the Past: Collective and Individual Memory of World War II in Russia and Germany,” held in Tampere, Finland, in December 2006. The conference proceedings, including the chapter “Lyric and Legacy, Melody and Memory: World War II Songs and the Shaping of Memory and Identity,” were published in Recalling the Past–(Re)constructing the Past, ed. Withold Bonner and Arja Rosenholm (Helsinki: Kikimora Press, 2008), 191–200. Thanks go to the institute for generously allowing me to reuse this material. Some additions have been made subsequently.

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THE AUDIENCE The makeup of the audience is not homogenous. It comprises several generations: those who saw the war, their children, and a second postwar generation. Each of these groups still has its own “language,” perceptions, reactions, and interpretations in response to the war that differ from the other generations. Each “can refer to individuals’ recognitions that they share a common identity because they have all been marked—psychologically, emotionally, sometimes bodily—by a specific and temporally bounded common experience.”2 In some cases, the experience did not directly touch them. Each generation can have a different interpretation of the songs, their reasons for listening, and their emotional closeness to them. Those born after the war heard the songs from their older relatives, in pioneer camps, at school, in films, and on the radio. Their memories were not linked with the hardships of war or sacrifice but rather with familial ties, their camp or school experiences, or their popular culture. Perhaps, as Nina Tumarkin intimates in her discussion of the cult of the war, many young people were bored with or even actively resented the state rituals of the past generations, but, at least in the case of song, were exposed to the genre through many other nongovernmental avenues. In her study on nostalgia in Russian culture, Svetlana Boym notes that both text and practice can become mythologized. That is: “mythologies are cultural common places, recurrent narratives that are perceived as natural in a given culture but in fact were naturalized and their historical, political, or literary origins forgotten or disguised.” The mythology might be different depending on the generation, but, as Boym notes, they nonetheless exist. The existence of these mythologies might explain the length of the popularity of the war songs: “. . . they function in the culture as magical incantations, memorized or paraphrased but rarely interpreted critically.”3 The younger generation obviously places these songs in an historical context; it is not “their” music, but it nonetheless conveys more than old fogies doddering in past memories. People of all ages know these songs, and most could actively sing some of them.

2 Thomas C. Wolfe, “Past as Present, Myth, or History? Discourses of Time and the Great Fatherland War,” in The Politics of Memory in Postwar Europe, ed. Richard Ned Lebow, Wulf Kansteiner, and Claudio Fogu (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006), 253. 3 Svetlana Boym, Common Places: Mythologies of Everyday Life in Russia (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1994), 4.

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THE STATE Another element that shaped the culture and interpretation of songs over time is the control that the party and state held over the perspectives released to the general public. Depending on the era, the artists’ productivity, the availability of recordings, and the level of emphasis placed on the war, the population would perceive and retain “relics” from the war differently. Nina Tumarkin describes this shifting process aptly in her work on the cult of World War II. Significantly, though, she does not discuss at any length the cult in musical terms. This author contends that music, and especially song, had a fairly “sacred” place in this cult and thus remained more or less untouched. Perhaps this is because of the portable and personal nature of songs. Even if the state tried to ban these songs, it was impossible to do so as long as the people could remember and sing. If the state could not censor the individuals who informally sang them, then it also could not change the words. It could and did add to the perception of the war by adding new materials: films, stories, and songs depicting the era. Sometimes these efforts incorporated the war songs: characters singing them in films, perhaps, or the use of a song melody to introduce or close a television program. Sometimes these new creations became associated with and falsely included into the general body of “songs of the war years.” The best example is the march song, written in 1975, “Den′ Pobedy” (Victory day), by the composer David Tukhmanov, and the poet Vladimir Kharitonov. While the body of song remained more or less intact from the war years, the state did indeed, according to anecdotal evidence, shape the public availability and prominence of songs. Record collections were sold; children and youth learned war songs in their summer camps and military training centers; and the songs were contained in war films. Radio programs were aired to seek the texts and histories of the lesser-known songs created during the war. In fact, some of the sources used for this project came from the painstaking work of soldiers—later veterans—wanting to capture, understand, and preserve in collections the song histories and the role they played in the war. Iurii Biriukov, a veteran and singer himself, dedicated his life to this task. Unlike some aforementioned interviewees, he was thrilled that an American scholar was taking an interest in his “baby.” We met several times in Moscow and he eagerly provided materials and insights. His books and those of other collectors were published by the various state publishers and made available to the general population. For the wartime generation, the state renewed and revived old memories; for the younger generations, it educated and familiarized them with the war songs.

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FANS AND IDOLS Another element of the legacy may come from the individuals who created and performed the songs, as well as the association with them that the listening public kept in their minds. Musicians served the Soviet war effort as perhaps no other artistic group did, proving the social value of their work and earning themselves entrance into the most privileged strata of postwar society.4 Mark Bernes would always be associated with “Dark Night” from his having sung it in a popular film. Audiences knew the composers of certain songs. They tied singers with particular songs. Even when certain highly popular singers like Kozin and Ruslanova vanished from the public eye temporarily—falling out of favor with Stalin and being arrested—the public did not forget the things they were known for. The legacy of a song, then, is often tied not only to its lyrics and melody but also to its creators and performers. And even though those personages might vanish, fall afoul of the system, grow ill, or pass away, the individuals and society hold those relationships in their own memories and keep those associations alive.

SONG FUNCTION During the war, the functions of songs—mobilizing, healing, reflecting, and commemorating—were negotiated between the Party and the people via the state arts organizations and individual preferences. The State’s initial push that songs should inspire hatred, elicit revenge, and inspire the troops to battle was met with soldiers’ responses that they were already fighting the enemy constantly and needed something different from the songs they heard. They needed hope to return home to loved ones and to have a rest from the horrors of war they constantly faced. By war’s end, songs played a special role. Most of them contained themes of caring, longing for home, and missing comrades and friends. Most did not celebrate Stalin, military prowess, or even victory. And if they did, there was always a hint of melancholy for the loss that accompanied the victory. During the war, people negotiated the kinds of songs they needed, while the songs in turn shaped the people’s views of the war and of themselves. Units that had been awarded their own song sang it proudly as a symbol of recognition for bravery and sacrifice in the face of the enemy, as well as a bond that 4 Tomoff, Creative Union, 64.

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tied the group members together. Then, when unit members heard it later, they would recall that bond, recapturing memories, nostalgia, and identity. For many years, some units would hold Victory Day reunions where they physically met and sang their songs together again. Lyrics greatly determined the function of a song for its audience. Whatever the reality was, song texts often imparted a sense of hope. For example, in “Let’s Smoke” and “Gde zhe vy teper′, druz′ia-odnopolchane” (Where are you, my wartime buddies?), both written near the end of the war, the narrator is remembering from a safe place in the future. Lyrics speak of folding up the greatcoats and later unpacking them in remembrance. The message is that the listener, too, has survived beyond the war to look back. There were assurances that home, hearth, and loved ones awaited, or, in the case of “Little Vasia,” that even if the first girl did not wait someone else would come along. A few songs were more aggressive and emphasized taking vengeance, such as “Five Bullets” and “Cherished Rock.” These messages of hope, victory, and a future life gave the displaced, the injured, and those separated from loved ones the possibility of reunification, healing, and a bright outlook replete with children, a home and, most of all, peace. They appealed to core human values: to be needed, remembered, and wanted. Another element of the lyric was its authenticity in discussing serious themes such as death and loss. “In the Forest at the Front” describes a soldier pondering the possibility that he might die the next day. Songs like “Evening on the Quay,” “Song of the Dnieper,” and “Farewell, Rugged Cliffs” all realistically attest to losing cities and homes to the enemy. Once victory did come and survivors returned home, those who had loved these songs could see them as symbols of that victory and regaining what had been lost. Ultimately, the lyrics signify that each person who fought and suffered was valuable precisely because he or she fought and survived. Thus, these songs that people claimed as their own during the war also became symbols of victory in the collective sense after the war, with the legacy that they represented the success of each individual who bore the crucible. Song and the arts in general served another purpose as well. The Axis powers and Hitler’s ideology proclaimed the Slavic culture inferior. The fact that the arts remained and flourished during the war thumbed Russian noses at the enemy and their denigrating attitudes. Tomoff said it well: “It [music] countered the Nazi claim that Soviet (or Russian, or Slavic, or non-Aryan) culture was subhuman and worthy only of complete eradication.”5 Although the 5 Ibid., 78.

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existence, distribution, and performance of war songs was only a part of this larger “arts front,” which was replete with all genres and critical articles and essays recounting Soviet artistic quality, they were a fundamental part of the evidence of national and popular culture. This Russian pride over their arts and their victory showed itself in an unusual way. In the early 1990s, many of the war generation refused to take food packets from Germany which were sent in as food aid during the particularly difficult years of the Soviet transition to fifteen different nations.6 They still perceived condescension rather than humanitarianism in the German actions. Lyrics are important because they carry the cognitive message of the song, whether poetic or romantic, vengeful or commanding. Song lyrics provide a guide or signpost for the listener to what the function of the song is; they also help to unify the collective perception of that song. They may detract from the possibility of greater imaginative interpretation found with instrumental music alone. Yet songs inherently contain melody as well, which also may influence the listener on a different level than the text of the song. Some songs were created from existing melodies, which gave a sense of familiarity to the listener, who only had to change the words in order to learn the new song. Using existing melodies also allowed people to create their own versions, even if they were not musically inclined. As seen, one excellent example of this is the plethora of versions of the lyrics for the melody of “Katiusha.” People who had their own versions of this song would be reminded of it by the mainstream version and feel tied to that melody because of their personal memories. If melodies had been created during the war, veterans would later flash back to the time they heard the song and the memories and feelings that accompanied it. Since songs generally represented positive moments in the war experience, those memories would be positive. The veterans might take to whistling or singing it, or might use it at a special occasion, hence preserving the song for themselves and conveying it to the next generation. Performers and audiences alike noted that the occasions when war songs were played generally had positive associations. Soldiers welcomed artists to the front with flowers, gifts, and notes of gratitude. The artists felt useful and valued and wanted to sing and look their best for the soldiers. Klavdiia Shul′zhenko recalled, “There on the front, I understood what constitutes an artist’s highest honor: that smile, the love and the recognition of soldiers for 6

I witnessed this phenomenon in my research year in Moscow and have heard others recount similar stories.

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whom your art . . . is absolutely essential.”7 Several memoirs recounted how hearing the music prompted men to reflect, withdraw into their own worlds, and even cry. Sometimes audiences would request a song to be repeated several times.

THE LEGACY IN THE BODY The functions of these songs may not completely explain the strength of their legacy. Recent research depicts a link between music and the physiology of the human body. MRI testing shows that music, when heard or performed, does not affect a centralized portion of the brain but rather stimulates multiple parts of the brain that work together simultaneously. Nothing else stimulates it in such a broad way, creating “a whole brain phenomenon.”8 Musical activity involves nearly every region of the brain that we know about, and nearly every neural subsystem. The brain uses functional segregation for music processing, and employs a system of feature detectors with the job of analyzing specific aspects of the musical signal, such as pitch, tempo, timbre, and so on.9 Another set of experiments has established the multiple trace memory model. Daniel Levitin explains that the brain extracts from a melody the absolute values, the details of presentation, tempo, timbre, and so on, while calculating melodic intervals and tempo-free rhythmic information. He notes that “we store abstract as well as specific information contained in melodies.” A memory can recall music, or the reverse: music can trigger a memory: [E]very experience is potentially encoded in memory. Not in a particular place in the brain, because the brain is not like a warehouse; rather, memories are encoded in groups of neurons that, when set to proper values and configured in a particular way, will cause a memory to be retrieved and replayed in the theater of our minds.

The more unique the context, the more powerful the link. Mind, music, memory and emotion are all linked: “The music is linked to events of the time, and those events linked to the music.”10  7 MacFadyen, Songs for Fat People, 152.   8 Philip Ball, The Music Instinct: How Music Works and Why We Can’t Do Without It (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010), 241, 375.   9 Daniel J. Levitin, This Is Your Brain on Music: The Science of a Human Obsession (New York: Penguin Group USA, 2006), 84. 10 Ibid., 160–61.

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Thus, those who experienced the war could think about the events, people, or emotions associated with it, which could trigger the songs from that time. Conversely, hearing a song that took place in that era might trigger associated memories or emotions. Whether the experiences and emotions are considered positive or negative must naturally depend on the context of the situation and the personality of the rememberer. Music therapy was established as an intervention for trauma victims of World War II. Summarized thoroughly by Daniel Schneck and Dorita Berger, the idea is that music and its elements—rhythm, melody, tempo, and so on— have direct and measurable effects on human biological systems. If a system is threatened beyond its normal state, then physiologically it goes through certain biological changes that, if prolonged, may endanger the life of the system. This can be reversed, say Schneck and Berger: “Functionally adaptive responses are triggered by the body’s yielding to continuous forcing functions, a process called physiological entrainment.”11 Music is the tool that brings about this “entrainment.” The different elements of music have a direct and varied effect on a number of systems. Studies have shown that music can affect all biological systems of the body in a variety of ways: to excite, inhibit, sedate, stimulate, and ameliorate. According to Schneck and Berger, “Music and the body share a unique symbiotic relationship independent of cognition.”12 So even unconsciously, the soldier, the singer, or the patient, when hearing music, is going through a therapeutic process. Music “directly stimulates the body’s own self-healing and/or adaptive mechanisms. . . .”13 Thus, the soldier hearing the war song even after the war has ended becomes calmed, his body removed from the anxious state for even a short time, achieving entrainment. “When something happens more than once, the body gets used to it and a ‘conditioned reflex network’ is created. The nervous system remembers both how and how often it responded to a certain stimulus.”14 So, when the soldiers requested songs other than the marches and exhortations to kill the Germans, they may not have been reacting simply to the cognition that this was something they were already doing and did not need a reminder. The physiological effects of marches and driving melodies pushed the biological systems, already 11 Daniel J. Schneck and Dorita S. Berger, The Music Effect: Music Physiology, and Clinical Applications (Philadelphia: Jessica Kingsley Publisher, 2006), 20. 12 Ibid., 24; Ball, Music Instinct, 245. 13 Schneck and Berger, Music Effect, 26. 14 Ibid., 104–5.

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under stress and entering the fear spiral, even closer to the state of endangerment. These soldiers unconsciously sensed that these songs were neither healthful nor helpful. In the same way, when an artistic brigade performed, the music acted on its listeners through its many elements. The soldiers returning from battle were stressed, in pain, or exhausted. Since it was lyrical, relaxed, and sometimes light-hearted, the music acted on them by reversing the stressed or fearful state. People consciously cried or enjoyed themselves, but were probably unaware their body systems were working toward health, immunity, or balance. Ball notes that “music can affect the immune system, boosting levels of proteins that combat microbial infection.”15 Once the war was over, and the body with its “memory” reheard these songs, the body reacted by bringing about those same physiological changes that would affect the person positively and create a sense of “better,” thereby reinforcing the connection with the song. Two caveats come to mind when considering this element of song legacy. First, Schneck and Berger note that different people have different reactions to the elements of music: “The body of any given individual may have a way of recognizing in music his or her unique electromagnetic pattern—a musical DNA print, if you will . . . a ‘C major’ or an ‘A minor’ personality.”16 People have personal preferences and even physiologically different reactions. According to Levitin, they “choose different dynamics—loud, soft—for different reasons . . . and pitch might depend literally on the ear. Also, psychological associations might lead one to like or dislike an instrument, sound, etc.”17 This layer of unpredictability might render it impossible to accurately interpret what is happening in an individual. In any given audience, some might react more positively than others. This might well explain the different points of view concerning music and its function. The man in Gorky Park on Victory Day 1991 who asserted without hesitation that “There was no music during the war; things were too bad for that” might have had a harder time resonating with the music. Perhaps he was too traumatized to be affected positively by it, so he believed there was no music. He also may have served where music was sparse.18 At the other end of the spectrum, as seen above, Eva Bobrova and her daughter Lena believed that they survived the Leningrad blockade because of Irma Iaunzem’s music. In their minds, it gave them life. Most people would fall 15 Ball, Music Instinct, 245. 16 Schneck and Berger, Music Effect, 125. 17 Levitin, This Is Your Brain on Music, 235. 18 Unnamed veteran, interview with author, May 9, 1991, audio tape (in author’s possession).

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between these two extremes, recognizing that there was music, and feeling as if it had some sort of positive effect. Another set of experiments has found that if listeners liked the music they heard, they were more likely to perform other unrelated tasks better after hearing the music than if it had not been played. And if the music was disliked and made the listener unhappy or uncomfortable, the task was performed more poorly.19 Yet another study also asserts that pleasurable music brings on a state of mild arousal—emotional and physical stimulation of the pleasure centers of the brain, which then leads to a better mood on the part of the listener.20 Again, individual perception and receptivity would vary with any given piece of music or concert, but if, overall, the listeners felt pleasure and enjoyed the experience, they would go away refreshed, in a better mood, and perhaps even with increased productivity and performance at their job, whether on the battlefield or on the factory floor. During the high stresses of wartime, the threshold for pleasure may not have been high. A chance to sit, rest, relax, cry, daydream, or forget, even for a short time, probably gave most at least a modicum of pleasure. The second difficulty also stems from unpredictability. Whereas the music therapist, or the physician, can administer “doses” of the elements of music and measure the responses, the historian can never recreate the exact sound. Did the ensemble have a soprano singer, use rhythm instruments, and perform on key? There is no control for estimating the real effect the music had. Music researchers freely admit that much work is necessary to fully understand this connection between music, the body, and the mind. However, it is plausible that in trying to understand the factors that led to the preservation of songs after the war, at least for the generation that lived through the war, this phenomenon must be considered.

POSTWAR IMAGES OF FREEDOM After the war, the images of it were presented in different ways at different times. Tumarkin’s book recounts these changes and attempts to understand the various movements, opinions, and symbols that arose from it. Generally, song is absent from this account. One case in particular stands out. Although the banner that was flown over the Reichstag was preserved and became 19 Ball, Music Instinct, 251. 20 Anthony Storr, Music and the Mind (New York: The Free Press. 1992), 24–28; Ball, Music Instinct, 282.

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“the Holy of Holies,” symbolizing the complete defeat of the Fascists, there is no mention of one of the best-known and loved Soviet singers who appeared on those steps, under that flag, to glorify victory. Lidiia Ruslanova, already a military favorite, traveled to Berlin where she performed Russian folk songs at the victory celebration. Perhaps she is absent from the later remembrances of the war because she fell victim to one of Stalin’s postwar purges of those close to Marshal Zhukov. She was arrested in 1947 and spent five years in Vladimir Prison for anti-Soviet propaganda—ironic, given the theme of her concert in Berlin. The only protest she could make against her arrest was to stop singing, even though she had given everything she had in the war effort.21 Despite her later rehabilitation and resumption of performances, she is not exulted as one of the prominent figures in the new style of war commemoration. The absence could also be intentional. The songs of the war years best symbolized something that the cult did not want to resurrect. The historian Mikhail Gefter had some letters from the front he felt would never be published. “The letters were too personal and too lyrical,” he explained. “Our readers are supposed to learn that our young men fought for the motherland, for Stalin, rather than for themselves or for each other or for genuine freedom.”22 The nation had indeed carried out a heroic act in bringing victory, but so had the many individuals who carried out the work. Lela Gefter, a navy nurse during the war, said, “I know that the regime here has for years exploited the war to militarize the youth and so on, but nonetheless, for our generation the memory of the war is a holy memory.”23 A writer and war survivor, Viacheslav Kondratiev, noted in an article entitled “Paradox of Nostalgia for the Front” in Literaturnaia Gazeta that “there was one strange thing about the war. We felt freer than we had during peacetime. This freedom came from the sense that one was truly responsible for one’s country.”24 Amir Weiner notes something similar: “The millions of peasants turned soldiers who fought and won the war after the defeats of 1941–1942 returned to their towns and villages with a heightened sense of their own capabilities and of the magnitude of their achievements.”25 If this were true for the majority of the population, then the songs would be a symbol of personal success, a sign 21 “Zhitie odnoi pesennitsy,” in Govorit i pokazyvaet Moskva no. 43, October 1990. 22 Nina Tumarkin, The Living and the Dead: The Rise and Fall of the Cult of World War II in Russia (New York: Basic Books, 1994), 36. 23 Ibid., 147. 24 Ibid., 204. 25 Wolfe, Past as Present, 263.

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of freedom, and the potential for achieving something beyond and despite the state that tried to control them. A Russian-Jewish émigré reinforced this with her view that she hated the USSR, but on hearing the song “The Sacred War,” she came close to tears and became nostalgic over the people’s ability to have defeated the Germans.26 No one ever denies the horrors of war; in fact, many have declared they hoped it would never happen again. Yet they have also stated that there was something different and special about that time. Some saw it as people caring for one another, others as a time of freedom or of people taking responsibility. The songs became a symbol of those feelings. They carried a message of hope, brought respite to hard and frightening work, and built unity between front and home. The music provided a ladder by which people could climb out of the terror of war and envision a better future. The songs commemorated and celebrated the individual as being the basis for success of the collective. The songs, in Boym’s terms, were the “magical incantations” which preserved and promoted these “mythologies,” the various interpretations of the wartime experience. So why did Tumarkin assert that the cult was over by 1995, at the fiftieth anniversary of the victory? “Most of the people who had come to Victory Park did not seem to experience any feelings about the war,” she writes; “they simply came to stroll, to look, to drink, and in general to enjoy themselves. Even when a singer sang one of those most moving of wartime songs, I didn’t see anyone wiping away a tear.”27 Perhaps by that point they felt that they now had responsibility; freedom had been granted them after the collapse of the USSR. Likely, most of those who truly remembered the war physically, emotionally, and mentally were absent. In addition, in that year (1995) the Victory Day parade was held at a new venue, the complex of museums, religious sites and park known as Poklonnaia gora (Honor Hill) which was created to officially commemorate and preserve the memory of World War II. It also took on a new function—to illustrate Russian military strength. During the Soviet era veterans met more spontaneously in parks of culture, on theater square near the Bolshoi in Moscow and in other cities to commemorate their own or their unit’s participation in the victory. After the fall of the USSR, the “nation” that had secured this hard-won victory was not even in existence. Instead there were fifteen new states which each had to find its way to commemorate this victory. Now, no matter what the 26 Interview with Elizaveta (last name omitted by request), author’s archive, August 13, 1989. 27 Tumarkin, Living, 221.

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other states did, the Victory Day in Russia was just that, a Russian, not Soviet, victory.28 Of course, Russians still would feel pride for their own or their family’s participation in the victory but now it was a more official, less spontaneous event. The space for celebration was now defined and designated not by tradition but by the state choice for commemoration and the widespread broadcasting of the official parades and speeches. In some ways, the legacy years are over; the death of the last survivor will take away that firsthand experience. In other ways, however, the legacy continues. These songs, approved by state and population alike, a body of song-literature definable and preserved, remains a symbol of something rarely seen in Soviet history: a legacy that truly unifies party, state, and individual. The songs represented a sense of individual freedom and responsibility; if that is threatened again (as it may be in Vladimir Putin’s Russia), perhaps the songs will be resurrected as symbols of the value of individuals and their true cooperation in the face of oppression. The cult of the war is being shaped yet again by Putin. Busts of Stalin are reappearing; Stalin’s speeches have been cited; and Lenin remains in Red Square. According to Wolfe, “This suggests that Putin considers his most pressing task not to consolidate the market and democracy in Russia, but to project a sense of collective identity and purpose that would encompass and not refuse the Soviet past.”29 Indeed, this has come to pass. The 70th anniversary of the victory, May 9, 2015, tied the memories of war hero and family member to the current generations. This renewal of the emphasis on the war, an extension of the cult, also did not exclude songs. As an observer noted, “The apogee was reached . . . the first year that the ‘Immortal Regiment’—a procession of hundreds of thousands of marchers bearing aloft photos of their wartime family members—made its inaugural appearance in Moscow.” Songs were sung and played in this procession. Also, in a modern twist, cellphone users were encouraged to select ringtones of the famous war songs. In subsequent years, the observer noted, the music was less spontaneous, coming from loudspeakers and not so much from the marchers themselves.30 In this context, the songs might be recalled in their status as symbols of Soviet victory. Ironically, they could once again end up representing both the state and the people: on the one hand establishing legitimacy for a regime asserting its control and image 28 Research should be done on this question of how each of the successor states chose to commemorate the World War II victory. 29 Wolfe, Past as Present, Myth, or History?, 278. 30 These observations were noted by an anonymous scholar who reviewed this manuscript.

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of power; on the other, symbolizing the hope for freedom and the role of the individual.

CONCLUSION This book has depicted the various elements of the systems and processes involved in creating and distributing World War II songs in the Soviet Union. Chapters have focused in turn on the patterns and changes in the content and themes of the songs over the course of the war, the composers and poets who crafted the songs, the administrative and policy-setting organizations and their interactive structure, the variety of media forms that distributed the new works, the performers and brigades who carried the songs to the public, the public’s reactions to the songs they heard, and an examination of the legacy of the songs. None of these elements were new; they had all existed before the war and continued to exist after it was over. Yet the crisis that constituted the four years of the Second World War in the USSR demanded change, flexibility, a level of collective cooperation on the one hand, and a sensitivity to the needs of individuals on the other—all quite new to the Soviet song world. Because this combined effort was so successful, it was retained in memory and celebrated both by individuals and on an official level for at least seventy-five years after the war’s end, as symbolized by the endurance of the songs themselves. Ideology, though never disappearing completely, has given ground to more practical needs. Ideological themes have shifted to stress more universal concepts, such as home, family and homeland, than the prewar Stalinist ideology focus on Party, vigilance, and certain personalities. These shifts in relation to song were reflected in the content of the lyrics, the requests from soldiers and civilians for song themes or specific titles, the performers’ willingness to forget repertory lists and honor audience requests, and the shifts in official song contests, slogans, and reviews away from solely patriotic and heroic marches and anthems toward lyrical songs about everyday life, and a broader acceptance of jazz and folk styles. Moreover, when a song’s content or style clashed with official ideologies, yet was supported and requested by rank- and-file civilians, especially soldiers, the outcome often favored the practical needs of the troops over the established policies and guidelines imbedded in the ideology. Songs thus became a barometer for the attitudes of individuals and certain groups toward official slogans and policies. The organizations that developed policy and carried out decisionmaking—the Communist Party culture and propaganda departments, artists’

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trade unions, cultural programs for amateurs, and the government and military structures overseeing song—all had to change their preexisting assumptions, programming, and, in some cases, actual physical location to meet the new challenges and demands of a wartime society. Not infrequently, this reshuffling created confusion, overlap, and even a temporary cessation of programs. Despite these setbacks, however, the cultural system worked against difficult odds to provide entertainment, respite, and encouragement through the arts and specifically through the use of song to all levels of Soviet society. The media and the recording industry, through newspapers, books, songbooks, journals, records, radio broadcasts, and films, provided broader and faster access to the new wartime songs than personal contact could achieve. Even so, this element of song distribution suffered setbacks in the war years through shortages of paper and equipment, the turnover of assets from civilian to military use, and the drafting of individuals into the military or other wartime jobs. Nevertheless, millions heard new songs through popular artistic films or read new texts in newspapers and songbooks. The radio provided information and entertainment for those at the home front and, in extreme cases, became a symbol of life over death. The artists who created and performed the songs also had to make changes in their normal procedures. People temporarily gave up work on projects that were either too lengthy or not concerned with the themes of defense, war, and victory in favor of more quickly achievable projects and forms that addressed the needs of the country and the Army. Composers, poets, musicians, and singers not only revamped their goals and repertories, but often risked their health and their very lives to visit the front, sharing performances and gathering information for future artistic depictions of the war experience. Many of them later noted that those experiences were high points—even watersheds—of their careers because they comprehended how their artistic performances truly affected and assisted the audience. The artists felt vitally necessary in ways they had not felt, nor would later feel, in peacetime settings. The average citizens—workers, soldiers, children, the elderly—who made up the vast audiences for the songs all contributed in their own ways to the war effort. They also thrived on whatever cultural experiences they could in order to gain strength, get a rest, or find the courage to continue in their given milieu. They were both spectators of and participants in the world of song during the war. Children actively learned new songs and often shared them with wounded soldiers in recovery hospitals, after enjoying the movies and the shows put on beforehand. Amateur choruses and dance groups were formed

The Legacy of the War Songs    CHAPTER 7

on collective farms and in factories, and even competed in amateur reviews. Yet these workers were equally happy to attend concerts or receive brigades at their workplaces in spite of hunger and exhaustion. The front lines, of course, elicited the biggest sacrifice; soldier and artist alike risked capture and death to aid the war effort. Soldiers sang to keep marching or lounged in the grass in moments of rest to watch a mobile film projector or hear a visiting military ensemble or civilian brigade. Experiences at the front lines were transformed into touching lyrics by both professionals and amateurs—lyrics that then went on to become songs that spread throughout the entire country. Artists brought hope, love, and encouragement to the soldiers and even the partisans in the form of shows and songs performed directly for them. All of these elements combined to create a broad picture of how one art form, popular song, simultaneously played a multiplicity of roles during the war years. Song served both as a reflection of experiences during the war and as an influence on perceptions and policies. As the experience of war set in, along with the reality that it would not be short-lived but rather drawn out and tragic in its consequences of captured territory, retreats, encirclements, evacuations, food rationing, injury, and death on a large scale, the songs took on a different tone. In some cases, they depicted those horrors; in others, they countered the atrocity and cruelty with images of tenderness, love, loyalty, and happiness. By doing so, the new songs affected the spirits and moods of the individuals carrying out the war effort at all levels by allowing them to feel the full range of human emotions and presenting them with an emotional counterbalance to the arduous and often horrific situations in which they were living. As noted above, even ideological stances shifted to allow for the music to do its work. Songs previously seen as too depressing or ineffective in building morale were published in great numbers. Lines that depicted reality were not excluded as often as before. Even styles previously designated as decadent and counter to Communist ideals were allowed to flourish. All of these measures had one effect: to allow the songs to exercise the full impact of their power on the hearts, minds, and spirits of their listeners. They healed aching hearts and allowed men to cry; they allowed pent-up fury to be channeled through satire and rousing inspirational anthems; they provided expression for love of family left behind or for family members off at the front, of buddies lost and of newfound friendships and loyalties; they were an outlet for expressing patriotic feelings for the nation and the homeland under siege, no matter what their listeners’ political convictions might be. Finally, songs provided a means of celebration as victory finally appeared on the horizon.

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The descriptions of Victory Day 1945 all mention singing and dancing throughout the day and night. Yet even in victory the songs took on many roles. In addition to the celebratory marches and joyous tunes, there were bittersweet victory songs capturing the sacrifices made in reaching V-Day and honoring the true friendships formed among units now being disbanded. A tremendously large number of the songs written during this four-year period have lasted—even until today—both as a symbol for the nation as a whole and as references for personal experience and reminiscence. People of all walks of life and with the broadest spectrum of political and social values love and listen to these songs. Although this is especially true for those who actually lived through the war period, the phenomenon is not limited to them. Postwar generations also recognize and appreciate these songs, if not for purely personal reasons, then for the links they bring with older or missing family members who did not survive. The government and the Party promoted the songs as a symbol of the victory achieved in 1945 and hence as a symbol of success for the USSR in general. Of course, the songs were not exempt from being used in propagandistic settings promoting policies formed well after the end of the war—a topic that warrants further study. Nevertheless, they remained loved by veteran and youth, Party and individual alike, because they depicted, albeit sometimes in an idealistic form, the human and humane qualities that helped temper the horrors of war. Both Party policy and individual conscience could agree for the most part on why the war was fought and what values kept humanity from vanishing in the bloodbath that took place on Soviet soil. For this reason, the songs are a positive legacy shared by both the State and its people. Such a legacy has not been fully understood or appreciated outside the USSR. The body of songs served to inspire and buoy up the battlefield and the home front, and the people who worked to create and distribute them deserve their place in the honor roll of World War II—not just because they accompanied soldiers to victory, but because they were a vital force in holding together body and soul, army and nation, through the unspeakable horrors of war.

APPENDIX 1

T

his partial list of songs contains translations, composers, poets, year written, and miscellaneous information, where available. In each case, the order of the songwriters is listed as composer / poet-lyricist. Songs with more than one title are cross-referenced. “Baiushki baiu” (“Lullaby”), changed to “More shumit” (“The Sea Roars”) — Mokrousov / Vishnevskii — 1943–44, for the play, U sten Leningrada (At the Walls of Leningrad) “Ballada o kapitane Gastello” (“Ballad of Captain Gastello”) — Belyi / poet unknown “Baron von der Pshik” — songwriters unknown [recorded by Utesov′s orchestra] “Bei po vragam” (“Beat the Enemies”) — Dunaevskii / Agranian “Bei vraga v pukh i prakh” (“Completely Rout the Enemy”) — Listov / Zharov, 1941 “Beskozyrka” (“Sailor’s Cap”) —Budashkin, lyricist unknown “Chaika” (“Seagull”) — Miliutin / Lebedev-Kumach — for the film Moriaki (Sailors)

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Appendix 1

“Chudo-kosa” (“Marvelous Braid”) — Bogoslovskii / poet unknown — written for the film Otkrytyi sezon (Open Season), which was never released “Comin’ in on a Wing and a Prayer” — American song translated and sung in Russian “Daleko rodnye osiny” (“The Beloved Aspens Are Far Away”) — Solov′ëv-Sedoi / Fat′ianov, 1945 “Davai zakurim” (“Let′s Smoke”) — Tabachnikov / Frenkel′, Nov. 1941 “Davno my doma ne byli” (“We Haven′t Been Home in a Long Time”) — Solov′ëv-Sedoi / Fat′ianov, 1945 “Doina” — folk song from the film Kotovskii “Doroga na Berlin” (“Road to Berlin”); first called “Ulitsy-dorogi” (“Streets to Roads”) — Fradkin / Dolmatovskii, 1943 “Dorogi” (“Roads”) — Bakalov / Molchanov 1941–42 — from original poem, “Chut′ gorit zari poloska uzkaia” (“Dawn Is Barely Breaking”) “Do svidaniia, goroda i khaty” (“Goodbye, Cities and Village Huts”) — Blanter (also Dunaesvskii et al.) / Isakovskii, 1941 — Dunaevskii′s version was recorded by his railway ensemble under the title “Dva Maksima” (“Two Maksims”) — Kats / Dykhovichnyi, 1941 “Ekh Dorogi” (“Oh Roads”) — Novikov / Oshanin, 1945 — melody based on “Ekh ty nochenka” (“Oh You Dear Night”)

Appendix 1

“Ekhal ia iz Berlina” (“I Departed from Berlin”) — Dunaevskii / Oshanin “Esli zavtra voina” (“If There Is War Tomorrow”) — Pokrass brothers / Lebedev-Kumach — from film of the same name; 1937–38; new lyrics: “Podymaisia narod” (“Arise, People”), 1941 “Est′ na severe khoroshii gorodok” (“There Is a Nice Little Town in the North”) — Khrennikov / Gusev — used in the film Svinarka i pastukh (The Swineherd and the Shepherd), 1941–42 “Frontovaia boroda” (“Frontline Beard”), or “U krinitsy” (“At the Well”) — Novikov / Alymov, 1943 “Gde Orel raskinul krylia” (“Where the Eagle Spread His Wings”) — Novikov / Alymov — for “Orlovskaia” (Pesnia 129-i Orlovskoi divizii) “Gimn divizii chernykh nozhei” (“Anthem of the Division of Black Knives”) — Teodor Vul′fovich′s tank group, 1943 “Gotov′tes′, Baltiitsy, v pokhod” (“Baltic Sailors, Prepare for the Campaign”) — Gol′ts / Braun — Feb. 1942 Leningrad contest winner “Idu po znakomoi dorozhke” (“I Go Along the Familiar Road”) — Vladimirtsov / Gridov — also known as “Vozvrashchenie” (“Return”) “Igrai, moi baian” (“Play My Baian”) — Solov′ev-Sedoi / Davidovich, 1941 “Iuzhno-ural′skaia” (“Southern Urals Song”) — Solov′ev-Sedoi / Fat′ianov, 1943 “Kabachok” (“There Is a Tavern in the Town”) — American song, translated and sung in Russian

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“Koptilka” (“Homemade Lamp”) — Ivan Zuev (of the Pacific Fleet, both melody and lyrics) “Karavan” (“Caravan”) — songwriters unknown “Katiusha” (“Katiusha”) — Blanter / Isakovskii 1938 “Kazak ukhodil na voinu” (“The Cossack Left for the War”) — Khrennikov / Gusev — from the film V shest′ chasov vechera posle voiny (At Six O’clock in the Evening After the War) “Kazaki v Berline” (“Cossacks in Berlin”) — Pokrass brothers / Solodar′, 1945 “Kogda krovavye snega Rossii opiat′ stanut belye?” (“When Will the Bloody Snow of Russia Be White Again?”) — likely written in the West and sent to USSR “Kogda my pokidali svoi liubimyi krai” (“When We Left Our Beloved Region”) — Tabachnikov / Talalaevskii and Z. Kats, 1943 “Komsomol′skaia pokhodnaia” (“Komsomol [Communist Council of Youth] Campaign Song”) — Dunaevskii (also Blanter et al.) / Isakovskii, 1941 — for a film; also recorded as “Do svidaniia, goroda i khati” (“Goodbye, Cities and Village Huts”) “Komsomol′skaia proshchal′naia” (“Komsomol Farewell Song”) — Dm. Pokrass / Isakovskii — inspired by the film Podrugi (Girlfriends), late 1930s “Konarmeiskaia” (“Cavalry Song”) — Pokrass brothers / Surkov “Leningradskaia pesenka” (“Leningrad Song”) — Lepin / Shubin, 1942

Appendix 1

“Liubimyi gorod” (“Beloved City”) — Bogoslovskii / Dolmatovskii, for the film Istrebiteli (Fighter Planes) “Makhorochka” (“Little Cigarette”) — Listov / Ruderman, 1938 “Malaia Zemlia” (“Little Land”) — Risman / Kotliarov (18th army newspaper correspondent) “Marsh artillerii” (“March of the Artillery”) — Novikov / Vasil′ev “Materinskii nakaz” (“A Mother′s Instruction”) — Listov / Alymov, 1941 — also called “Provozhala mat′ synochka” (“A Mother Saw Her Son Off ”) “Moia liubimaia” (“My Beloved”) — Blanter / Dolmatovskii, 1942 — earlier version by Lugovskoi / Dolmatovskii, 1939 “Moia Moskva” (“My Moscow”) — Dunaevskii / Lisianskii, 1942 “More shumit” (“The Sea Roars”), changed from “Baiushki baiu” (“Lullaby”) — Mokrousov / Vishnevskii, 1943–44 — for the play U sten Leningrada (At the Walls of Leningrad) “Moriachka” (“Sailor′s Wife”) — Bakalov (also Solovev-Sedoi, Lepin, et al.) / Isakovskii, 1940 — included in a later documentary film, 69 Parallel′ “Morskaia Stalinskaia” (“Stalin′s Sea Song”) — Listov / Lebedev-Kumach “Morskaia Gvardiia” (“Sea Guard”) — Miliutin / Lebedev-Kumach “Moskva maiskaia” (Moscow in May”) — Pokrass brothers /lyricist –possibly Dolmatovskii — Written for a film honoring the 20th May day (1938?)

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“My fashistov razob′em” (“We Will Destroy the Fascists”) — Muradeli / Alymov, 1941 “Na solnechnoi polianochke” (“In the Sunny Meadow”) — Solovev-Sedoi / Fat′ianov, 1942 “Na vetviakh izranennogo topolia” (“In the Branches of the War-torn Poplar”) — Pototskii / Surkov — performed/recorded by Chirkov; also from the film Ivan Nikulin-Russkii matros (Ivan Nikulin-Russian Sailor), no earlier than July 1942 “Na vraga, za rodinu, vpered!” (“Forward for the Motherland Against the Enemy!”) — Dunaevskii, Chernetskii, Muradeli, et al. / Lebedev-Kumach, 1941 — in second of films in a film-concert series produced in Moscow “Nash gorod” (“Our City”) — Solov′ev-Sedoi / Fat′ianov, 1945 “Nash tost” (“Our Toast”) — Liuban / Kosenko, 1942 “Nash tovarishch komissar” (“Our Comrade Commissar”) — Novikov / Lebedev-Kumach “Ne pyli, dorozhen′ka” (“Little Road, Don′t Make Dust”) — Kats / Shubin, 1942 “Noch′ nad Belgradom” (“Night Over Belgrade”) — Bogoslovskii / poet unknown — first sung in a short film by actress Tat′ana Okunevskaia, end of 1941 “Odessit Mishka” (“Mishka the Odessian”) — Tabachnikov, Volovats (best-known version) / Dykhovichnyi — from the film Kontsert frontu, version released in 1942; often sung by L. Utesov “Ofitserskii val′s” (“Officer′s Waltz”); — Fradkin / Dolmatovskii, 1943 — later called “Sluchainyi val′s” (“The Chance Waltz”)

Appendix 1

“Ogonek” (“Little Flame”) — Blanter, Nikitenko, et al. / Isakovskii — Some argue it is a folk song. “Oi tumany moi, rastumany” (“Oh Mists, My Mists”) — Zakharov / Isakovskii, 1942 “Okei Britaniia!” (“OK, Britannia!”) — Zharkovskii / poet unknown “Oni vernulis′ na svoiu Ukrainu” (“They Returned to Their Ukraine”) — likely written in the West and sent to the USSR “Otkroite vtoroi front” (“Open the Second Front”) — likely written in the West and sent to the USSR “Partizan Morozko” (“Partisan Morozko”) — Zharkovskii / Kolychev “Partizan-pereletnaia ptitsa” (“The Partisan-A Migratory Bird”) — Kompaneets / Gatov, 1941 “Partizanskaia boroda” (“Partisan Beard”) — Bakalov / Lapirov “Pesnia Antoshi” (“Antosha′s Song”) — Sandler / Turovskii — for the film Antosha Rybkin, 1942 “Pesnia artilleristov” (“Song of the Artillerymen”) — Khrennikov / Gusev, — for the 1944 film V shest′ chasov vechera posle voiny (At Six O′clock in the Evening After the War) “Pesnia druzhinnits” (“Song of the Brigade Girls”) — Shebalin / poet unknown — 1941 (from the prewar film Frontovye podrugi [Front Girlfriends]) “Pesnia gvardeiskoi pekhoty” (“Song of the Guard Infantry”) — Solodukha? (uncertain) /poem by Surkov, 1943

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“Pesnia Lizavety” (“Lizaveta′s Song”) — Bogoslovskii / Dolmatovskii — from the film Aleksandr Parkhomenko, 1942 “Pesnia muzhestva” (“Song of Courage”) — Bruk / Svetlov “Pesnia o bushlate” (“Song about the Peacoat”) — Terent′ev (also Listov) / Flerov “Pesnia o Dnepre” (“Song of the Dnieper”) — Fradkin / Dolmatovskii “Pesnia o fliazhke” (“Song about the Flask”) — songwriters unknown “Pesnia o fonarike” (“Song about a Flashlight”) — Shostakovich / Svetlov “Pesnia o Gremiashchem” (“Song of the Gremiashchii”) — Zharkovskii / Ivashchenko (ship′s navigator), 1942 “Pesnia o Moskve” (“Song about Moscow”) — Khrennikov / Gusev — from the film Svinarka i pastukh (The Swineherd and the Shepherd) “Pesnia o rodine” (“Song of the Motherland”) — Dunaevskii / poet unknown “Pesnia o shineli” (“Song about the Greatcoat”) — composer unknown / poem by senior lieutenant working as a military correspondent for the 172nd Pavlogradskaia Artillery Division in 1943 or later “Pesnia o Sovetskoi armii” (“Song of the Soviet Army”) — Aleksandrov /Kolychev “Pesnia o Stalingrade” (“Song about Stalingrad”) — Fradkin (both text and melody), 1942–43 — later renamed “Pesnia o Volzhskom bogatyre” (“Song of the Volga Knight”)

Appendix 1

“Pesnia o Volzhskom bogatyre” (“Song of the Volga Knight”) (see above) “Pesnia o vstrechnom”1 (“Song about the Reciprocal Plan”) — Shostakovich / poet unknown “Pesnia smelykh” (“Song of the Brave”) — Belyi (also Mont, Solovev-Sedoi, et al.) / Surkov, 1940–41 “Pesnia voskresnika” (“Song of the Volunteer Work Day”) — melody: “My kuznetsy” (“We Are Blacksmiths,” a Civil War song) / Lebedev-Kumach “Pesnia zashchitnikov Moskvy” (“Song of the Moscow Defenders”) — Mokrousov / Surkov, 1942 — used in the film Razgrom nemetskikh voisk pod Moskvoi (Defeat of the German Troops Outside Moscow) “Piat′ pul′” (“Five Bullets”) — Novikov / Sofronov, 1942 or earlier “Pis′mo s fronta” (“Letter From the Front”) — Lepin / poet unknown — premiered in the film Patriotka, recommended for further publication in 1941 “Pod zvezdami Balkanskimi” (“Under the Balkan Stars”) — Blanter / Isakovskii “Podymaisia, narod” (“Arise, People”) — Pokrass brothers / Lebedev-Kumach — new lyrics, 1941, to “Esli zavtra voina” (“If There Is War Tomorrow”), from film of the same name, 1937–38 1 The explanation behind this title is the following: the Soviet government used to issue production plans to factories and other workplaces. The workers, having received the government plans, then issued their own plans with even bigger goals. “Vstrechnyi (plan)” is the name for such a reciprocal plan, issued by the workers as the answer to the government plan.

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“Poi, igrai, garmoshka” (“Sing, Play Accordion”) — Morozov / Sofronov, 1943? “Poidut vragi na dno” (“The Enemy Will Go to the Bottom [of the Sea]”) — Akulenko / Alymov “Proshchaite, skalistye gory” (“Farewell, Rugged Mountains”) — Zharkovskii / Bukin “Proshchanie” (“Farewell”) — Khrennikov / Kravchenko, for a film concert produced by Mosfilm entitled either “Vozvrashchaisia s pobedoi” (“Return with Victory”) or “My zhdem vas s pobedoi” (“We Await Your Victorious Return”), or both, 1941 “Provozhala mat′ synochka” (“A Mother Saw Her Son Off ”) — Listov / Alymov, 1941 — also called “Materinskii nakaz” (“A Mother′s Instruction”) “Rossiia” (“Russia”) — Bogoslovskii (et al.) / Lebedev-Kumach, 1944 “Rostov-gorod” (“Rostov City”) — Blanter / Sofronov, 1941–42 “Russkaia dusha” (“Russian Soul”) — Kruchinin / Oshanin, 1942 “Samovary, samopaly” (“Firing Samovars”) — Novikov / Alymov “Saratovskie stradaniia” (“Saratov Laments”) — folk song in the film Kontsert frontu, version released in 1942 “Seraia shinel′” (“Gray Greatcoat”) — Anna Venchikova (amateur composer and singer) / poet unknown “Serdtse tankista” (“Heart of a Tankist”) — Kruchinin / Fat′ianov, 1944 “Shalandy, polnye kefali” (“Scows Full of Grey Mullet”)

Appendix 1

— Bogoslovskii? / poet unknown — 1942, from the film Dva boitsa (Two Warriors) “Shinel′ moia pokhodnaia” (“My Campaign Greatcoat”) — songwriters unknown “Shumel surovo Brianskii les” (“The Briansk Forest Sternly Rustled”) — Kats / Sofronov, 1942 “Sineglazaia moriachka” (“Blue-eyed Sailor′s Girl”) — Zharkovskii / poet unknown “Sinii platochek” (“Blue Kerchief ”) — Petersburskii? / Galitskii (original) and Maksimov “Siren′” (“Lilac”) — Kats? (see below) / poem by Dolmatovskii, 1943 “Siren′ tsvetet” (“The Lilac Blooms”) — song by S. Kats, 1943; lyrics by Dolmatovskii? (see above) “Sluchainyi val′s” (“The Chance Waltz”) — Fradkin / Dolmatovskii, 1943 — first title: “Ofitserskii Val′s” (“Officer′s Waltz”) “Smuglianka” (“The Dark Girl”) — Novikov / Shvedov, 1943–44 “Solov′i” (“Nightingales”), based on “Prishla i k nam na front vesna” (“Spring Has Come Even to Us at the Front”) (text and melody by Fat′ianov) — Solov′ev-Sedoi / Fat′ianov, 1945 “Spiat kurgany temnye” (“The Dark Hills Sleep”) — Bogoslovskii / Laskin, 1939 — For the film Bol′shaia Zhizn′ (Big Life) “Step′ da step′ krugom” (“All Around the Steppe”) — folk song (performed by Ruslanova)

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“Storonka rodnaia” (“Dear Country”) — Ostrovskii (et al.) / Mikhalkov, 1945 “Sviashchennaia voina” (“The Sacred War”) — Blanter, then Aleksandrov (best-known) / Lebedev-Kumach, 1941 “Tachanka” (roughly translated as “Caissons”) — Listov / poet unknown; Civil War song often used with new lyrics during WWII “Temnaia noch′” (“Dark Night”) — Bogoslovskii / Agatov — for the film Dva boitsa (Two Warriors), 1942 “Tikho v izbushke” (“It Is Quiet in the Hut”) — Fomin / German, 1942 “Tipperary” — Allied song, translated and sung in Russian “Tol′ko na fronte” (“Only at the Front”) — Lepin / Lebedev-Kumach “Tri Stalinskikh druga” (“Three of Stalin′s Friends”) — Shatrov / Vinnikov “Tri tankista” (“Three Tankists”) — Pokrass brothers / Laskin — for the film Traktoristy, late 1930s; at the beginning of the war, LebedevKumach reworked the lyrics; other versions also used the well-known melody “Tsyganochka” (“Little Gypsy Girl”) — (dance tune) “Tul′skaia vintovochka” (“Tula Rifle”) — songwriters unknown “Ty zhdesh′, Lizaveta” (“You Wait, Lizaveta”) — Bogoslovskii / Dolmatovski

Appendix 1

— from the film Aleksandr Parkhomenko, 1942 “U krinitsy” (“At the Well”), or “Frontovaia boroda” (“Frontline Beard”) — Novikov / Alymov, 1943 “Udarim s zapada” (“We Will Attack From the West”) — songwriters unknown “Ulitsy-dorogi” (“Streets to Roads”); later called “Doroga na Berlin” (“Road to Berlin”) — Fradkin / Dolmatovskii, 1943 “Uralochka” (“Girl from the Urals”) — Khachaturian / Slavin, 1943 “Ural′tsy b′iutsia zdorovo” (“The People of the Urals Fight Hard”) — Khrennikov / Barto, 1942 “V belykh prostorakh” (“In the White Expanses”) — Fradkin / Oshanin, 1944 “V boi, syny naroda” (“To Battle, Sons of the People”) — Listov / Zharov, 1941 “V lesu prifrontovom” (“In the Forest Near the Front”) — Blanter / Isakovskii “V pokhod! V pokhod!” (“Forward, March! Forward, March!”) — Aleksandrov / A. Prokof ′ev, 1941 “V zemlianke” (“In The Dugout”) — Listov / Surkov, 1941–42 “Valenki” (“Felt Boots”) — chastushka performed by Ruslanova “Variag” — songwriters unknown — named for a ship Variag

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“Vasia-Vasilek” (“Little Vasia”) — Novikov / Alymov “Vdol′ po Piterskoi” (“Along the Petersburg Road”) — folksong “Vecher na reide” (“Evening on the Quay”) — Solov′ev-Sedoi / Churkin “Vozvrashchenie” (“Return”) — Vladimirtsov / Gridov — also known as “Idu po znakomoi dorozhke” (“I Go Along the Familiar Road”) “Vozvrashchenie” (“Return”) [different from above] — Mokrousov / Oshanin “Vse za rodinu” (“Everything for the Motherland”) — Khrennikov / Gusev, 1942 “Vse ravno” (“It Doesn′t Matter”) — Miliutin / Solodar′, 1943 “Vstavai, razgnevannyi narod” (“Arise, Enraged People”) — Aleksandrov / lyricist unknown, 1941 “Za chest′ i slavu sovetskogo naroda” (“For the Honor and Glory of the Soviet People”) — Belyi / Lebedev-Kumach, 1941 “Za Komsomol, za rodinu, vpered!” (“For the Komsomol, for the Motherland, Forward!”) — Listov / Zharov, 1941 “Za rodinu—vpered” (“For the Motherland, Forward!”) — Dunaevskii / Lebedev-Kumach “Za velikuiu zemliu sovetskuiu” (“For the Great Soviet Land”) — Aleksandrov / Lebedev-Kumach, 1941

Appendix 1

“Zavetnyi kamen′” (“Cherished Rock”) — Mokrousov / Zharov (completed in 1943) “Zhdi menia” (“Wait For Me”) — Kriukov, Gorbenko, Blanter, Muradeli, Krasev, Navoev, Solovev-Sedoi, and Rodin / poem by Simonov — Kriukov′s version for the film Paren′ iz nashego goroda (The Fellow From Our Town) “Zhdu tebia” (“I Wait for You”) — several versions

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APPENDIX 2 LIST OF PERSONAGES This list of composers, poets, singers, and music administrators is not exhaustive. However, it includes as many of the people mentioned in this book as possible. Some are mentioned here without being mentioned in the text. Information for lesser-known figures is given in parentheses. Full names are given where possible and partial names for others. Some are quite famous, while others are amateurs with little information available.

Composers Pavel Semenovich Akulenko Alexandr Vasil′evich Aleksandrov Boris Aleksandrovich Aleksandrov Boris Vladimirovich Asaf ′ev (Leningrad) Leonid Ovanesovich Bakalov Viktor Arkad′evich Belyi Matvei Isaakovich Blanter Valerian Mikhailovich Bogdanov-Berezovskii (Leningrad) Nikita Vladimirovich Bogoslovskii   Nikolai Pavlovich Budashkin (Moscow)   Nikolai Chaplygin (composer and director of the Ensemble of Song and Dance for the Black Sea Fleet) Nikolai Karpovich Chemberdzhi Semen Aleksandrovich Chernetskii Vladimir Mikhailovich Deshevov (Leningrad; composed for shows and radio programs) Isaak Osipovich Dunaevskii Ivan Ivanovich Dzerzhinskii   Orest Aleksandrovich Evlakhov (Leningrad) Boris Ivanovich Fomin Mark Grigor′evich Fradkin

Appendix 2

Mikhail Grigor′evich Fradkin (Leningrad; died during the war) Vladimir Frize (died during the war in Leningrad) Aleksandr Fedorovich Gedike Reingol′d Moritsevich Glier (Reinhold Glière) Mikhail Aleksandrovich Glukh (Leningrad) Abram Isaevich Golland (Murmansk; composer for the ensemble of Song and    Dance of the Border Guards of the Karelian Front) Boris Grigor′evich Gol′ts (Leningrad; died 1942) Nikolai (Mikola) Gorbenko Nikolai Iakovlevich Ianet (Leningrad; composer and director of Theater of    Musical Comedy before and after the war) Mikhail Viacheslavovich Iordanskii Dmitrii Borisovich Kabalevskii    Sigizmund Abramovich Kats Aram Il′ich Khachaturian Tikhon Nikolaevich Khrennikov Vadim Nikolaevich Kochetov Iurii Vladimirovich Kochurov (Leningrad) Zinovii L′vovich Kompaneets Mikhail Ivanovich Krasev Pavel Petrovich Kraubner (amateur, died close to the end of the war) Nikolai Nikolaevich Kriukov Valentin Yakovlevich Kruchinin Lev Moiseevich Kruts (Leningrad; member of the special creative group of the    political administration of the Red Banner Baltic Fleet)   Anatolii Iakovlevich Lepin (Volkhov front) Nataliia Nikolaevna Levi (Leningrad; worked with the radio committee) Konstantin Iakovlevich Listov Isaak Isaakovich Liuban Valentin Alekseevich Makarov   Nina Vladimirovna Makarova (composer / musicologist) Konstantin Iraklievich  Massalitinov (Voronezh) Mikhail Aleksandrovich Matveev (Leningrad) Iurii Sergeevich Miliutin Nikolai Grigor′evich Minkh (Baltic Fleet) Aleksandr Sergeevich Mitiushin (Leningrad) Boris Andreevich Mokrousov Fridrikh Mont Igor Vladimirovich Morozov  

259

260

Appendix 2

Vladimir Vasil′evich Navoev Valentin Pavlovich Nikitenko (amateur composer) Anatolii Grigor′evich Novikov Arkadii Il′ich Ostrovskii (composer and jazz pianist) Daniil Iakovlevich Pokrass Dmitrii Iakovlevich Pokrass (led the jazz band of the railway workers in 1942) Leonid Abramovich Portov (Leningrad; died in 1942) Sergei Sergeevich Prokof ’ev David Abramovich Pritsker (Leningrad; composer and pianist) Nikolai Sergeevich Rechmenskii Quartermaster M. Rodin Oskar Aronovich Sandler Iurii Aleksandrovich Shaporin Il′ya Alekseevich Shatrov Vissarion Iakovlevich Shebalin Lev Romanovich Shenberg (amateur composer) Dmitrii Dmitrievich Shostakovich Iurii Mikhailovich Slonov Aleksandr Vasil′evich Sokolov (during the war, served as a director in the    formation of the Leningrad “blockade” theatre) Iakov Semenovich Solodukho (graduate of Moscow Conservatory 1936, served    in the army during the war; post-war, worked in radio music broadcasting) Vasilii Pavlovich Solov′ev-Sedoi Modest Efimovich Tabachnikov Boris Mikhailovich Terent′ev Viktor Konstantinovich Tomilin (Leningrad; died 1941 in the army) Aleksandr Naumovich Tsfasman (composer and musician) Dmitrii Stepanovich Vasil′ev-Buglai Anna Venchikova (amateur composer, mechanic, and singer) Viktor L′vovich Vitlin (Leningrad) Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Vladimirtsov (Leningrad pianist and composer) Vladimir Grigor′evich Zakharov (head of the Piatnitskii Folk Choir, composer) Il′ia Semenovich Zhak (composer and arranger for Skomorovsky Jazz orchestra) Evgenii Emmanuilovich Zharkovskii

Poets Vladimir Garievich Agatov Sergei Ivanovich Agranian

Appendix 2

Sergei Iakovlevich Alymov Pavel Grigor′evich Antokol′skii Agniia L′vovna Barto Politruk N. Baukov (Voronezh) Pavel Fedorovich Bogdanov   Nikolai Leopol′dovich Braun (Leningrad poet and journalist, served in the navy) Nikolai Ivanovich Bukin (Perm′) Aleksandr Dmitrievich Churkin (served at the Baltic fleet and for military   newspapers) Evgenii Aronovich Dolmatovskii Ivan Ivanovich Doronin Vladimir Abramovich Dykhovichnyi El-Registan (Gabriel′ Arkad′evich Ureklian; Uzbekistan) Guard Captain Vasilii Petrovich Ermakov (amateur) Aleksei Ivanovich Fat′ianov Il′ia Grigor′evich Fink   Nikolai Grigor′evich Flerov (served in the navy during the war) M. Frantsuzov Il′ia L′vovich Frenkel (known for lyrics of mass songs before and during   the war) Kuba Galitskii (Iakov Markovich Golden′berg) Aleksandr Borisovich Gatov (worked from Kazan′ during the war) Pavel Davidovich German Mikhail Semenovich Golodnyi Grigorii Borisovich Gridov (Rostov; died during the war) Viktor Mikhailovich Gusev Aleksandr Iakovlevich Iashin (Leningrad; editor and poet for newspaper of the   Baltic Front) Mikhail Vasil′evich Isakovskii Emel′ian Ivashchenko (amateur on the Gremiashchii, navigator, worked with   Zharkovskii) Semen Isaakovich Kirsanov (worked with Kruchinin) Osip Yakovlevich Kolychev Fedor Tikhonovich Kravchenko (editor at Mosfilm) Vladimir Konstantinovich Krakht Maks Lapirov (amateur) Boris Savel′evich Laskin Vasilii Ivanovich Lebedev-Kumach Lieutenant Mark Samoilovich Lisianskii

261

262

Appendix 2

Aleksandr Lugin (pseudonym of Aleksandr Emmanuilovich Belenson) Lieutenant M. A. Maksimov Sergei Vasil′evich Mikhalkov L. Mladko (female; Sverdlovsk) Ivan Ivanovich Molchanov Gleb Okulov (died July 1941) Lev Ivanovich Oshanin Leonid Solomonovich Pervomaiskii Aleksander Andreevich Prokof ′ev Iaroslav Ivanovich Rodionov (died in the war) Aleksandr Il′ich Romm (served with the Black Sea fleet) Aleksandr Viacheslavovich Shilov (soloist with the Red Banner Ensemble and   lyricist) Pavel Nikolaevich Shubin (worked for front newspapers at the Volkhov,    Korel′skii and Far East fronts) Iakov Zakharovich Shvedov Konstantin Mikhailovich Simonov Grigorii Moiseevich Slavin Anatolii Vladimirovich Sofronov (special military correspondent for “Izvestiia”    during the war) Tsezar Samoilovich Solodar' Aleksei Alexandrovich Surkov Mikhail Arkad′evich Svetlov Matvei Aronovich Talalaevskii Aleksandr Vladimirovch Tarbeev Arsenii Aleksandrovich Tarkovskii Nikolai Tumanovskii (Guard soldier, wrote version of “Chaika”) Boris Turovskii Aleksandr Trofimovich Tvardovskii Iosif Pavlovich Utkin Vasilii Fedorovich Vaniushin Sergei Ievgen′evich Vasil′ev Viktor Vladimirovich Vinnikov Vsevolod Vital′evich Vishnevskii (playwright) Vladimir Dmitrievich Zamiatin (worked as a war correspondent with front   newspapers) Kostan Zarian (Armenian) Aleksandr Alekseevich Zharov

Appendix 2

Singers Pavel Zakharovich Andreev (Leningrad, opera and folk songs) Andrei Petrovich Atlantov (Leningrad, opera singer and performer) Nadezhda Bakh (Leningrad; Minkh′s jazz orchestra) Mark Naumovich Bernes Vladimir Aleksandrovich Bunchikov Nina Aleksandrovna Cherniavskaia (Leningrad; opera singer and performer) Boris Petrovich Chirkov Iu. A. Emel′ianov (member of Red Army ensemble) Efrem Borisovich Flaks Tamara Fedorovna Ianko (film singer) Irma Petrovna Iaunzem Izabella Danilovna Iur′eva Vladimir Ivanovich Kastorskii (Leningrad; soloist with the Kirov Opera theater) Elena Kliment′evna Katul′skaia Nadezhda Apollinar′evna Kazantseva Emil′ Filippovich Kemper (Leningrad; singer in Vladimirtsov′s jazz orchestra) Petr Tikhonovich Kirichek Ol′ga Vasil′evna Kovaleva Vadim Alekseevich Kozin Ivan Semenovich Kozlovskii Nikolai Afanas′evich Kriuchkov (actor/singer)   Sergei Iakovlevich Lemeshev Arkadii Sergeevich Lyzhin (Leningrad singer) Zoia Petrovna Lodii (Leningrad singer and conservatory professor) Sergei Ivanovich Migai Ivan Alekseevich Nechaev (Leningrad performer) Vladimir Aleksandrovich Nechaev Antonina Vasil′evna Nezhdanova Nadezhda Andreevna Obukhova (Leningrad; also did recordings) Tat′iana Kirillovna Okunevskaia Liubov′ Petrovna Orlova (film actress and singer) Aleksandr Stepanovich Pirogov Ivan Ivanovich Pleshakov (Leningrad; singer) Sof ′ia Petrovna Preobrazhenskaia (soloist for the Leningrad Kirov Opera theater) N. S. Pushkar′ (soloist with the Moscow District Military Ensemble) Natal′ia Petrovna Rozhdestvenskaia

263

264

Appendix 2

Zoia Nikolaevna Rozhdestvenskaia (Leningrad; did recording) Eddie Rozner (born Adolph Ignatievich Rosner, leader of jazz band) Lidiia Andreevna Ruslanova Vera Ivanovna Shestova (Leningrad; Malyi Opera theater singer, worked in   brigades) Ivan Shmelov (singer with NKVD ensemble) Klavdiia Ivanovna Shul′zhenko Galina Skopa-Rodionova (Leningrad; singer from the conservatory students) Vasilii Iosefovich Sorochinskii (Leningrad; opera singer) Evgeniia Sosnova-Isaieva (singer with the Northern Fleet) Elena Andreevna Stepanova Tamara Semenovna Tsereteli Leonid Osipovich Utesov (performer and leader of jazz orchestra) Galina Pavlovna Vishnevskaya (sang with Leningrad district musical theater,    later with Bolshoi theater) Nadezhda L′vovna Vel′ter (Leningrad; opera and song performer) Georgii Pavlovich Vinogradov (Red Banner Ensemble of Song and Dance of    the Red Army) Liudmila Grigorievna Zykina (teenage singer in movie theatres; joined the    Piatnitskii Choir after the war)

Administrators and Other Positions Georgii Fedorovich Aleksandrov (head of the Agitation / Propaganda Section    of the Central Committee of the Communist party) Levon Tadevosovich Atovm′ian (administrator of Muzfond / composer) R. V. Bakhrakh (head of All-Union State Concert Tour Organization [VGKO]    early in the war) Isaak Osipovich Dunaevskii (head of the Military Commission from 1943 on;   composer) Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Fadeev (leader in Writer′s Union and secretary from   1946 on) Boris Mikhailovich Filippov (head of TSDRI [Central House of Artistic   Workers]) Moisei Abramovich Grinberg (music administrator; also worked in broadcasting   and publishing) Igor′ Pavlovich Il′in (assistant head of the VGKO)

Appendix 2

Dmitrii Borisovich Kabalevskii (composer, member of Orgkom, took over    broadcast music in April 1945) Platon Mikhailovich Kerzhentsev (Committee on Art Affairs) Aram Il′ich Khachaturian (composer; deputy chair of the Orgkom of the   Composer′s Union) Georgii Nikitich Khubov (consultant on cultural broadcasts in the Central    Committee administration and musicologist) Mikhail Borisovich Khrapchenko (head of Committee on Art Affairs) A. Konstantinov (assistant to KDI on amateur music) Albert Semenovich Leman (Leningrad, member of Board of Art Affairs,   composer) V. A. Lempert (Administrator with Muzfond) Vano Il′ich Muradeli (headed Muzfond, composer) Izrail′ Vladimirovich Nest′ev (editor-in-chief of the Musical Broadcasts section    of the All-Union Radio Committee and musicologist) Georgii Nikiforovich Nosov (Leningrad; artistic director of the ensemble of   song and dance of the 23rd Army of the Leningrad front; head of song group and member of presidium of the Leningrad Composer′s Union after 1943) Aleksandr Vasil′evich Pokrovskii (chairman of the Union of Artistic Workers   [Rabis]) Georgii Aleksandrovich Polianovskii (music historian, theoretician in Pravda) Dmitrii Alekseevich Polikarpov (administrator with the Writer′s Union) Panteleimon Kondrat′evich Ponomarenko (Communist Party Secretary of the    Belorussian Republic and part of central partisan staff) S. N. Preobrazhenskii (head of the VGKO) L. Shapovalov (Assistant to the Committee on Art Affairs [KDI] on financial   matters) Aleksandr Sergeevich Shcherbakov (Secretary of the Central Committee of the   Communist Party) Semen Isaakovich Shlifshtein (musicologist with committee on art affairs) Grigorii Mikhailovich Shneerson (representative of the All-Union Society for    Cultural Ties [VOKS] and musicologist ) Aleksandr Vasil′evich Solodovnikov (assistant chair of the Committee on Art   Affairs) Vladimir Petrovich Stavskii (secretary of Writer′s Union until 1943) Vladimir Nikolaevich Surin (deputy chairman of the Committee on Arts    Affairs′ headed State Board of Musical Institutions [GUMU])

265

266

Appendix 2

Nikolai Semenovich Tikhonov (secretary of the Writer′s Union 1944–46) Aleksandr Andreevich Tishchenko (Radio committee) Col. Tsaritsyn (Head of the Division of Cultural Enlightenment organizations    within the Administration of Agitation and Propaganda section of GlavPUR—Agit/Prop) E. Vakman (Assistant of the Union of Artistic Workers [Rabis]) Boris Ivanovich Zagurskii (Leningrad, head of the Administration of Art   Affairs)

Appendix 3

T

he following list of composers and lyricists is compiled from the songbooks published during the war, 1941–45, found in the Russian State Library. The songbooks themselves are listed in the bibliography. Composers and lyricists listed here appeared at least once in a songbook. Many appeared more often; some were in the same book with several songs, while others had songs in multiple books. The actual number of appearances is not listed here.

Name

Years

Akulenko, P. Alymov, S. Azarov, V. Balashov, V. Belov, P. Belyi, V. Blanter, M. Braun, N. Chivilikhin, A. Chulaki, M. Churkin, A. Daktil′, A. Doronin, I. Dzerzhinskii, I. Fardi, G. Fomin, B.

1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941

Subsequent Years 1942, 1944 1945 1943 1943 1942 1945 1944

1945

1944 1942 1943

Text/Music Music Text Text Text Text Music Music Text Text Music Text Text Text Music Music Music

268

Appendix 3

Name

Years

Gitovich, A. Gladkovskii, A. Glier, M. Gol′m, N. Golodnyi, M. Gridov, G. Gusev, V. Isakovskii, M. Iudin, M. Khodzha-Einatov L. Kol′tsov, P. Kompaneets, Z. Konge, V. Kruchinin, V. Laskin, B. Lebedev-Kumach, V. Leman, A. Letuchev, B. Listov, K. Livshits, V. Lugin, A. Miliutin, I. Mironov, A. Mont, F. Muradeli, V. Nikol′skaia L. Oshanin, L. Petrovskii, V. Pokrass, D. Pokrass, Dm. Preobrazhenskii, A.

1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941

Subsequent Years 1943

1942, 1944–45 1945 1945 1942

1944 1945 1944 1942, 1943

1945 1942 1944–45 1942, 1944–45

1942, 1944 1945 1942 1942 1942

Text/Music Text Text/Music Music Music Text Text Text Text Music Music Music Music Music Music Text Text Music Text Music Text Text Music Text Music Music Music Text Music Music Music Text

Appendix 3

Name

Years

Romm, A. Ruderman, M. Rukin, P. Ruzhanskii, E. Ryvina, E. Sabo, F. Shatrov, I. Shurkin, A. Solodar′, T. Sorokin, V. Sotnikov, T. Surkov, A. Tomilin, V. Verkovskii, N. Vinnikov, V. Voloshinov, V. Volzhenin, V. Zharkovskii, E. Zharov, A. Agranian, S. Aleksandrov, A. Argo, A. Bakalov, L. Bakovikov, A. Bogatyrev, S. Bolotin, S. Bormatov, S. Budashkin, N. Bykulin, S. Chaplygin, N. Chernetskii, S.

1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1941 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942

Subsequent Years 1943 1942 1943 1943

1942–44

1943 1944 1943 1942, 1944–45 1942, 1944–45

1945 1943 1944

1945 1943 1944 1944

Text/Music Text Text Music Text Text Music Music Text Text Music Music Text Music Text Text Music Text/Music Music Text Text Music Text Music Text Text Text Text Music Text Music Music

269

270

Appendix 3

Name

Years

Davidovich, L. Dligach, L. Dolmatovskii, E. Dunaevskii, I. Dunaevskii, Z. Dykhovichnyi, V. Fidrovskii, A. Fink, I. Flerov, N. Gol′ts, B. Iuzhanin, V. Kabalevskii, D. Kats, S. Khachaturian, A. Kheif, R. Kirsanov, S. Kochetov, V. Koval′, M. Kraev, I. Krakht, V. Kravchenko, F. Kruchinskii, N. Kushtum, N. Lepin, A. Lunacharskii, A. Makarov, V. Makarova, N. Minkh, N. Muravlev, V. Nelidov, V. Novikov, A. Panchenko, I.

1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942

Subsequent Years 1944 1944 1944 1943–44 1945 1943 1944–45 1944 1944–45 1945 1944 1944 1944 1943, 1945 1943, 1945

1945 1943 1943, 1945

1945 1943–44

Text/Music Text Text Text Music Music Text Text Text Text Music Text Music Music Music Music Text Music Music Music Text Music Music Text Music Text Music Music Music Music Text Music Text

Appendix 3

Name

Years

Platonov, A. Prokof ′ev, A. Rechmenskii, N. Riazanov, A. Rodin, M. Rodionov, I. Romm, G. Sadovnikov, V. Sashin, I. Shchipachev, S. Shteinpress, B. Shul′gin, L. Shvarts, I. Shvedov, I. Sikorskaia, T. Simonov, K. Slonov, I. Stovratskii, A. Svetlov, M. Tarasenkov, A. Terent′ev, B. Tulikov, S. Turtygin, P. Urbanovich, I. Vasil′ev-Buglai, D. Verkhovskii, N. Vitlin, V. Zamiatin, V. Zhdanovich (first initial unknown) Armand, P. Bogoslovskii, N.

1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1942 1943 1943

Subsequent Years 1944 1945

Text/Music

1944 1943, 1945 1943 1944

Music Text Music Music Music Text Text Music Text Text Music Music Text Text Text Text Music Text Text Text Music Text/Music Music Music Music Text Music Text

1945 1945

Text Text/Music Music

1944 1943 1944 1943

1944 1945

1944–45 1945

271

272

Appendix 3

Name

Years

Chemberdzhi, N. Fradkin, M. Frantsuzov, M. Frenkel′, I. Gleizarov, N. Glukh, M. Inber, V. Iordanskii, M. Kanatov, F. Khrennikov, T. Kochurov, I. Kruts, L. Kuchinskii, N. Lenskii, A. Lepianskii, S. Levi, N. Maklakov, V. Maksimov, L. Matveev, M. Mitiushin, A. Morozov, I. Musatov, V. Nosov, N. Peterburgskii, G. Prishelets, A. Reshetov, A. Rozen, L. Safronov, A. Saianov, V. Sokolov, A. Solov′ev-Sedoi, V.

1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943 1943

Subsequent Years 1945

1944 1944 1945 1945

1945

1945 1945

1945

1945

Text/Music Music Text Text Text Text Music Text Music Text Music Music Music Music Text Music Music Music Text Music Music Music Text Music Music Text Text Music Text Text Music Music

Appendix 3

Name

Years

Subsequent Years

Togatov, V. 1943 Vladimirtsov, A. 1943 1945 Vsevolozhskii, I. 1943 Zakharov, V. 1943 Zaslavskii, R. 1943 Zhak, I. 1943 There were no new Poets or Composers in 1944 or 1945. Their works for those years have been covered above.

Text/Music Text Music Text Music Text Music

273

BIBLIOGRAPHY ARCHIVAL SOURCES Russian State Archive of Literature and Art

STENOGRAPHS OF PLENUMS AND CONFERENCES Stenogramma rasshirennogo zasedaniia Prezidiuma Orgkomiteta Soiuza Sovetskikh Kompozitorov SSSR [Stenograph of the extended meeting of the Presidium of the Organizing Committee of the Union of Soviet Composers of the USSR]. April 27–28, 1942, F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 57. Stenogramma obshchemoskovskogo soveshchaniia Soiuza Kompozitorov o pesniakh Otechestvennoi voiny [Stenograph of the all-Moscow meeting of the Union of Composers on songs of the Patriotic War]. June 16–19, 1943, F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 83. Stenogramma plenuma Orgkomiteta Soiuza Sovetskikh Kompozitorov SSSR [Stenograph of the plenum of the Organizing Committee of the Union of Soviet Composers of the USSR]. March 28–April 7, 1944, F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 92, 93. Stenogramma plenuma v Tsentral′nom Dome Kompozitorov, Predsedatel′ Iu. Shaporin [Stenograph of the plenum in the Central Composers’ House], April 6, 1943, F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 61.

COMMITTEE ON ART AFFAIRS Concert Programs and Reviews F. 962, Op. 3, D. 950, June–July, December 1941. F. 962, Op. 3, D. 951, September–December 1941. F. 962, Op. 3, D. 1060, June 1942. F. 962, Op. 3, D. 1172, October 1943. F. 962, Op. 3, D. 1282, March–May, July–November 1944. Formation of Brigades F. 962, Op. 3, D. 950, June–September, November–December 1941. F. 962, Op. 3, D. 1282, June 1943; April–May, July–August, November–December 1944. F. 962, Op. 3, D. 1172, April–November 1943, October 1944. F. 962, Op. 3, D. ?, May 1943. (Letters concerning GUMU). F. 962, Op. 3, D. 925, January 1942. (Report on Leningrad).

Bibliography F. 962, Op. 3, D. 1059, March, May 1942. F. 962, Op. 3, D. 1060, March–April, June 1942. F. 962, Op. 3, D. 951, October–December 1943. Plans and Orders F. 962, Op. 3, D. 1282, End of 1943–beginning of 1944, August, October–December 1944. F. 962, Op. 3, D. 951, June, September, November 1941, June 1943. F. 962, Op. 3, D. 950, August 1941 (plan of publication of jazz defense songs), December 1941. F. 962, Op. 3, D. 1005, End of 1941–January, March–May, July–October, December 1942, February–March 1943. F. 962, Op. 3, D. 1009, November 1942. Amateur artistic activities F. 962, Op. 3, D. 951, December 1941, January 1942. F. 962, Op. 3, D. 927, 1941 (Reports on Omsk and Cheliabinsk). F. 962, Op. 3, D. 1005, December 1942. Reports F. 962, Op. 3, D. 951, December 1941 (Report of the Moscow Union of Composers on Work during the War); December 1941 (Report on the Central House of Art Workers during the War); September 1941 (Report from Conference on Artistic Service to the Units of the Siberian Military District); December 1941 (Report by All-Russian Theatrical Society on Activity during the War). F. 962, Op. 3, D. 927, December 1941 (Report on Cheliabinsk Art Activities). F. 962, Op. 3, D. 1282, March 1944 (Report from VGKO).

COMPOSERS’ UNIONS Composer’s Union of Moscow Protocols and Meetings F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 38, July–September 1941. F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 54, January–March 1942. F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 52, March–August 1942. F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 46, November–December 1941 (Meetings of the Creative Commission of Composer’s Union of Moscow); December 1941 (Meetings of Defense Commission). F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 55, May–June 1942. F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 60, January–August, November 1942 (Meetings of Creative and Creative/ Defense Commissions). Plans and Reports F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 39, December 1941. F. 2077, Op. 1 D. 58, May 1942–May 1943, list and reviews of performances by composers in hospitals.

275

276

Bibliography Contests F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 40, Fall 1941.

All-Union Union of Composers Protocols and Meetings Meetings of Defense Commission: F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 81, January–February 1943. Meetings of Creative Commission: F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 53, October–November 1942, October 1943, January 1944. Meetings of Presidium of OrgKomitet: F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 37, June–September 1941; F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 51–52, April–November 1942; F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 71, January–February, May–June, August, November 1943. Meetings of Selection Commission: F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 40, November 1941. Meetings of Military Commission: F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 82, March–April, June–December 1943. Meetings of the Creative Gathering (Tvorcheskoe sobranie): F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 61, May–June, August–September 1942. Orders F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 41, January–February, July 1941. F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 56, May 1942. F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 73, January–May, September 1943. F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 74, October 1943.

Composers’ Union of Karelo-Finnish ASSR Protocols and Meetings F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 72, January 1943.

Composers’ Union of Sverdlovsk Protocols and Meetings F. 2077, Op. 1, D. 72, January–February 1943. Sergei Iakovlevich Alymov Files F. 1885, Op. 5, D. 5, 3, Contracts 1941, 1942, 1944, 1945. F. 1885, Op. 5, D. 7, 10, 12, 16, 19, Lists of songs and texts. F. 1885, Op. 5, D. 1, Report to copyright administration. F. 1885, Op. 2, D. 73, 78, Letters.

Bibliography

Newspapers The newspapers listed below were found in the military section of the Russian State Library in incomplete runs. Izvestiia [News] 1970 Krasnaia Armiia [Red army] 1943 Krasnaia zvezda [Red star] 1941–45 Krasnoarmeiskaia pravda [Red army truth] (Western Front) 1942, 1944 Krasnyi Baltiiskii Flot [Red Baltic Fleet] 1943 Literatura i iskusstvo [Literature and art] 1942, 1944 Pravda [Truth] 1941–44 Sovetskii Patriot [Soviet Patriot] 1970 Teatral′naia zhizn′ [Theater life] 1973 Za rodinu [For motherland] (Baltic Special Military District) 1941

Russian Language Secondary Sources Abramov, A. M. V ogne Velikoi voiny [In the flames of the Great war]. Voronezh: Tsentral′noChernozemnoe knizhnoe izdatel′stvo, 1987. Aleksakhina, L. V., D. A. Berman, F. M. Bykova et al. Gosudarstvennaia publichnaya biblioteka imeni M. E. Saltykova-Shchedrina, comps. (Vol. 5—1982, Vol. 7—1984, Vol. 9—1986, Vol. 13—1990.) Russkie sovetskie pisateli. Poety. Biobibliograficheskii ukazatel′ [Russian Soviet writers. Poets. Bio- and bibliographical reference book]. Moscow: Kniga, 1977. Alekseeva, E. N., comp., and I. Bobykina, ed. Muzyka i muzykanty na frontakh Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny: Stat’i, vospominaniia [Music and musicians on the battlefields of the Great Patriotic War: Articles, memoirs]. Moscow: Muzyka, 1978. Bakhtin, V., comp. Leningradskie pisateli-frontoviki 1941–45 [Fighting writers from Leningrad 1941-1945]. Leningrad: Sovetskii pisatel′, 1985. Batashev, A. N. Sovetstkii dzhaz [Soviet jazz]. Moscow: Muzyka, 1972. Bazhenova, T. P., comp. Estrada bez parada [The unadorned estrade]. Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1991. Belen′kii, I. P., comp. Sredi nekhozhenykh dorog odna—moia: Sbornik turistskikh pesen [Of all the roads where no one ever walked, one road belongs to me: A collection of songs for hikers]. Moscow: Profizdat, 1989. Benderskii, L. G. Narodnye instrumenty na frontakh Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny [Folk instruments on the battlefields of the Great Patriotic War]. Ekaterinburg: IPP Ural′skii rabochii, 1995. Bernes, M. N., and L. M. Bernes-Bodrova. Mark Bernes: Stat′i, vospominaniia o M. N. Bernese [Mark Bernes: Articles and memoirs on M. N. Bernes]. Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1980. Biriukov, Iu. E., comp. Pesni, opalennye voinoi [Songs scorched by war]. Moscow: Voenizdat, 1984. Biriukov, Iu. E. Po voennoi doroge [Along the military road]. Moscow: Voennoe izdatel′stvo, 1988. Blium, A. “Stat′i dlia entsyklopedii ‘Tsenzura,’” NLO 112 ( June 2011), http://www.nlobooks. ru/node/1554. Accessed February 17, 2018.

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Bibliography Filippov, B. M. Muzy na fronte: ocherki, dnevniki, pis′ma [Muses on the battlefield: essays, diaries, letters]. Moscow: Sovetskaia Rossiia, 1975. Filippov, B. M. Tvorcheskie vstrechi: Ocherki о deiatel′nosti TsDRI SSSR [Artistic encounters: Sketches on the activity of the TsDRI SSSR]. Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1951. Frolov, V. A. et al., comps. Trudy Gosudarstvennogo Muzeia Istorii Sankt-Peterburga. Vypusk 5: Materialy k istorii blokady Leningrada [Works of the State Historical Museum of Saint Petersburg. Issue 5: Materials on the history of the Leningrad siege]. Saint Petersburg: Tipografiia Akademii Mediko-sotsial’nogo upravleniia, 2000. Gleizer, M. S. Radio i televidenie v SSSR: 1917–1963 (daty i fakty) [Radio and television in the USSR: 1917-1963 (dates and facts)]. Moscow: Gosudarstvennyi komitet Soveta ministrov SSSR po radioveshchaniiu i televideniiu: Nauchno-metodicheskii otdel, 1965. Gleizer, M. S., and N. M. Potapov, eds. Radio v dni voiny [Radio during the war]. Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1982. Goriaeva, T. M., I. I. Abroskina, L. M. Babaeva, L. N. Bodrova, S. D. Voronin, G. Iu. Drezgunova, A. L. Evstigneeva, T. L. Latypova, M. A. Rashkovskaia, and E. Iu. Fil′kina, comps. Muzy v shine‑ liakh: Sovetskaia intelligentsiia v gody Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny. Dokumenty, teksty, vospomi‑ naniia [Muses in greatcoats: Soviet intelligentsia during the Great Patriotic War. Documents, texts, memoirs]. Moscow: Rossiiskaia politicheskaia entsiklopediia (ROSSPEN), 2006. Goriaeva, T. M., E. V. Bronnikova, and T. L. Latypova. Vstrechi s proshlym. Sbornik arkhivnykh materialov RGALI. Vypusk 11 [Meeting the past. Collection of archive materials form the Russian State Archive of Literature and Art. Issue 11]. Moscow: Rossiiskaia politicheskaia entsiklopediia (ROSSPEN), 2011. Grigorian, G. Vospominaniia, ocherki, stat′i [Memoirs, sketches, essays]. Moscow: Sovetskii Kompozitor, 1971. Gulinskaia, Z. K. Reingol’d Moritsevich Glier [Reinhold Glière]. Moscow: Muzyka, 1986. Gusev, V. E, ed., and Institut Russkoi Literatury (Pushkinskii dom). Russkii fol′klor Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny [Russian folklore of the Great Patriotic War]. Moscow: Nauka, 1964. Iakovenko, S. B. Pavel Gerasimovich Lisitsian: Uroki odnoi zhizni [Pavel Lisitsian: Lessons from a life]. Moscow: Muzyka, 1989. Iankovskii, M. O. Sovetskii teatr operetty: Ocherk istorii [The Soviet operetta theatre: A historical sketch]. Leningrad: Iskusstvo, 1962. Iarustovskii, B. M. Simfonii o voine i mire [Symphonies of war and peace]. Moscow: Nauka, 1966. Il′mas, E., Z. Gabriel′iants, and K. Gertsfel′d, comps. Teatr muzykal′noi komedii v gody blokady [Theatre of Musical Comedy during the siege]. Leningrad: Iskusstvo, 1973. Ionov, E. P., and S. P. Kolov. Pisateli Moskvy: Biobibliograficheskii spravochnik [Moscow writers: Bio- and bibliographical reference book]. Moscow: Moskovskii rabochii, 1987. Isakovskaia, A. I., comp. Vospominaniia o M. Isakovskom [Memories of M. Isakovskii]. Moscow: Sovetskii pisatel′, 1986. Isakovskii, M. Na El′ninskoi zemle. Avtobiograficheskie stranitsy [In El′nia land. Pages out of an autobiography]. Moscow: Molodaia gvardiia, 1973.

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Bibliography Lebedev, A. A., and D. G. Rymarev. Ikh oruzhie—kinokamera: Rasskazy frontovykh kinooperatorov [Their weapon is their camera: Tales of the military cinema operators]. Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1984. Lebedev, P. F. Pesni boevykh pokhodov: Soldatskoe pesennoe tvorchestvo Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny [Songs of the military campaigns: Soldiers’ songs created during the Great Patritiotic War]. Saratov: Privolzhskoe knizhnoe izdatel′stvo, 1986. ———. Rozhdennye v boiakh [Born in battles]. Moscow: Molodaia gvardiia, 1985. ———. V boiakh i pokhodakh: Pesni Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny [In battles and campaigns: Songs of the Great Patriotic War]. Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1975. Lebedinskii, L. N., comp. V. A. Belyi: Ocherki zhizni i tvorchestva: Stat’i, vospominaniia, materi‑ aly [V. A. Belyi: Sketches of his life and creativity: Articles, memories, materials]. Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1987. Lemeshev, S. Ia. Put′ k iskusstvu [The road to art]. Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1974. Livshin, A. Ia., and I. B. Orlov, author/compiler. Sovetskaia propaganda v gody Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny: Dokumenty sovetskoi istorii [Soviet propaganda during the Great Patriotic War: Documents of Soviet history]. Moscow: Rossiiskaia politicheskaia entsiklopediia (ROSSPEN), 2007. Lobarev, G, and M. M. Panfilova. Ob ogniakh-pozharishchakh: Pesni voiny i pobedy [Of flames and fires: Songs of war and victory]. Moscow: Respublika, 1994. Lukovnikov, A. E. Druz′ia-odnopolchane: O pesniakh, rozhdennykh voinoi [Wartime buddies: Of songs born by war]. Moscow: Voennoe izdatel'stvo Ministerstva oborony SSSR, 1975. Magrachev, L. E. Reportazh iz blokady [The siege story]. Leningrad: Lenizdat, 1989. Maksakova, L. V. Kul′tura Sovetskoi Rossii v gody Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny [Culture of Soviet Russia during the Great Patriotic War]. Moscow: Nauka, 1977. Maksimenkov, L., comp. Muzyka vmesto sumbura: Kompozitory i muzykanty v Strane Sovetov. 1917–1991 [Music instead of bedlam: Composers and musicians in the Soviet country. 19171991]. Moscow: Mezhdunarodnyi fond “Demokratiia,” 2013. Marchenko, T. Radioteatr: Stranitsy istorii i nekotorye problem [Radio theater: Pages of history and some problems]. Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1970. Markhasev, L. Belki v kolese: Zapiski iz Doma radio [Hamsters in a wheel: Notes for the House of radio]. Saint Petersburg: Liki Rossii, 2004. Martynov, I. Gosudarstvennyi russkii narodnyi khor im. Piatnitskogo [State Russian Folk Choir named after Piatnitskii]. Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1953. Martynov, I., comp. and ed. Tikhon Khrennikov: Stat′i o tvorchestve kompozitora [Tikhon Khrennikov: Articles about the composer’s creativity]. Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1974. Merkulova-Mashirova, V. I., and S. A. Ponomarenko, comps. Bez antrakta. Aktery goroda Lenina v gody blokady. Sbornik [Without intermission. The actors of the Lenin’s city during the siege. A collection]. Leningrad: Lenizdat, 1970. Minchenok, D. A. Isaak Dunaevskii. Bol′shoi kontsert [Isaak Dunaevskii. The big koncert]. Moscow: Olimp, and Smolensk: Rusich, 1998.

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Bibliography Uvarova, E. Estrada Rossii: Leksikon. Dvadtsatyi vek [The estrada in Russia: A lexicon. The twentieth century]. Moscow: Rossiiskaia politicheskaia entsiklopediia (ROSSPEN), 2000. . Estradnyi teatr: Miniatiury, obozreniia, miuzik-kholly, 1917–1945 [The estrada theatre: Small forms, reviews, music-halls, 1917–1945]. Moscow: Isskustvo, 1983. Vasilinina, I. A. Klavdiia Shul′zhenko [Klavdiia Shul′zhenko]. Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1979. Vedenin, Iu. I. Zhuravinskie korni: liriko-publitsisticheskii ocherk [The roots from Zhuravinka: A lyrico-journalistic sketch]. Riazan': Uzoroch'e, 2001. Vodop′ianova, Z. K., T. B. Domracheva, and L. M. Babaeva, comps. Isstoriia stalinisma. Dokumenty. Mezhdu molotom i nakoval′nei: Soiuz sovetskikh pisatelei SSSR. Dokumenty i kommentarii. Tom I, 1925–June 1941 [History of Stalinism. Documents. Between a rock and a hard place: The Soviet Writers’ Union of the USSR. Documents and commentaries. Volume 1, 1925–June 1941]. Moscow: Rossiiskaia politicheskaia entsiklopediia (ROSSPEN), Presidentskii tsentr imeni B. N. El′tsina, 2011. Vorontsov, Iu. V., and N. G. Didenko, comps. Muzykanty Velikoi Otechestvennoi [Musicians of the Great Patritoic War]. Voronezh: Tsentral′no-Chernozemnoe knizhnoe izdatel′stvo, 1980. Zagurskii, B. I. Iskusstvo surovykh let [Art of the harsh years]. Leningrad: Iskusstvo, 1970. Zak, V. I. Matvei Blanter [Matvei Blanter]. Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1971. Zak, V. I., comp. Mastera sovetskoi pesni [Masters of the Soviet song]. Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1977. Zavadskaia, N. Liubimye pesni voennykh let: Rasskazy, pesni, fotodokumenty [Favorite songs of the war years: Stories, songs, photographic documents]. Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1987. Zharkovskii, E. Liudi i pesni: Pesnia v stroiu [People and songs: The song in a military formation]. Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1978. Zubarev, S. P. Soldat dvukh frontov: O ratnom trude udmurtskogo pisatelia gvardii kapitana I. G. Gavrilova i ego odnopolchan [A soldier on two fronts: The military feats of Udmurtian writer G. Gavrilov, Captain of the Guards, and the other members of his regiment]. Izhevsk: Udmurtiia, 1994.

English Language Secondary Sources Ament, Suzanne. “Lyric and Legacy, Melody and Memory: World War II songs and the Shaping of Memory and Identity.” In Recalling the Past-Reconstructing the Past, edited by Withold Bonner and Arja Rosenholm, 191–200. Helsinki: Kikimora Press, publishing house of the Aleksanteri Institute for Russian and East European Studies, University of Helsinki, 2008. . “Reflecting Individual and Collective Identities: Songs of World War II.” In Gender and National Identity in Twentieth-Century Russian Culture, edited by Helena Goscilo and Andrea Lanoux, 115–30. DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2006. Ball, Philip. The Music Instinct: How Music Works and Why We Can’t Do Without It. New York: Oxford University Press, 2010.

Bibliography Boym, Svetlana. Common Places: Mythologies of Everyday Life in Russia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1994. Clark, Katerina, and Evgeny Dobrenko, with Andrei Artizov and Oleg Naumov. Soviet Culture and Power: A History in Documents, 1917–1953. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2007. Fay, Laurel. E. Shostakovich: A Life. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. Fitzpatrick, Sheila. Everyday Stalinism: Ordinary Life in Extraordinary Times: Soviet Russia in the 1930s. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. Frolova-Walker, Marina. Stalin’s Music Prize: Soviet Culture and Politics. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. 2016. Garrard, John and Carol. Inside the Soviet Writers’ Union. New York: The Free Press. 1990. Holmes, Larry E. Putting up Moscow: The Commissarat of Education in Kirov, 1941–1943. The Carl Beck Papers, No. 2106. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 2011. Jones, Michael. Leningrad State of Siege. New York: Basic Books, 2008. Kaminska, Ruth Turkow. I Don’t Want to be Brave Anymore. Washington: New Republic Books, 1978. Levitin, Daniel J. This Is Your Brain on Music: The Science of a Human Obsession. New York: Penguin Group USA, 2006. London, Kurt, and Eric S. Bensinger. The Seven Soviet Arts. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1938. MacFadyen, David. Songs for Fat People: Affect, Emotion and Celebrity in the Russian Popular Song, 1900–1955. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2002. Moynahan, Brian. Leningrad Siege and Symphony: The Story of the Great City Terrorized by Stalin, Starved by Hitler, Immortalized by Shostakovich. New York: Grove/Atlantic, Inc., 2013. Morrison, Simon. The People’s Artist: Prokofiev’s Soviet Years. New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. Neirick, Miriam. When Pigs Could Fly and Bears Could Dance: A History of the Soviet Circus. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2012. Parker, Tony. Russian Voices. New York: Henny Holt & Co., 1991. Schneck, Daniel J., and Dorita S. Berger. The Music Effect: Music Physiology and Clinical Applications. Philadelphia: Jessica Kingsley Publisher, 2006. Schwarz, Boris. Music and Musical Life in Soviet Russia 1917–81. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1983. Shapovalov, Veronica, ed. and trans. Remembering the Darkness: Women in Soviet Prisons. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2001. Smith, Gerald Stanton. Songs to Seven Strings: Russian Guitar Poetry and Soviet “Mass Song.” Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984. Smith, Susannah Lockwood. Soviet Arts Policy, Folk Music and National Identity: The Piatnitskii State Russian Folk Choir, 1927–1945. PhD dissertation, University of Minnesota, 1997. Starr, S. Frederick. Red and Hot: The Fate of Jazz in the Soviet Union. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983. Stites, Richard. Soviet Popular Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992.

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Bibliography Stites, Richard, ed. Culture and Entertainment in Wartime Russia. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1995. Storr, Anthony. Music and the Mind. New York: The Free Press, 1992. Tassie, Gregor. Nikolay Myaskovsky: The Conscience of Russian Music. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2014. Tomoff, Kiril. Creative Union: The Professional Organization of Soviet Composers, 1939–1953. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2006. Tumarkin, Nina. The Living and the Dead: The Rise and Fall of the Cult of World War II in Russia. New York: Basic Books, 1994. Universal House of Justice. Compilation of Compilations. Vol. 2. Mona Vale, Australia: Bahá’í  Publications, 1991. Vishnevskaya, Galina, and Guy Daniels, trans. Galina: A Russian Story. Orlando: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1984. Wolfe, Thomas C. “Past as Present, Myth, or History? Discourses of Time in the Great Fatherland War.” In The Politics of Memory in Postwar Europe, edited by Richard Ned Lebow, Wulf Kansteiner, and Claudio Fogu. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006.   

Songbooks Abramov, A, comp. S dnem rozhdeniia, Pobeda! Pesennik [Happy birthday, Victory! A songbook]. Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1960. Aleksandrov, B. A. Kliatva otchizne: Sbornik pesen [Vow to the fatherland: Song collection]. Moscow: Voennoe izdatel′stvo, 1984. Aristov, P.V., muz. ed. Oboronnye pesni. Sbornik arkhangel′skikh kompozitorov [Songs of defense. Collection of Arkhangel′sk composers]. Arkhangel′sk: Oblastnoi Dom Narodnogo Tvorchestva, 1941. Babichev, I., comp. Vo imia Velikoi Pobedy. Khory sovetskikh kompozitorov [In the name of the Great Victory. Choirs of Soviet composers]. Moscow: Muzyka, 1990. Biriukov, Iu. E., comp. Moia Moskva: Populiarnye pesni [My Moscow: Popular songs]. Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1989. Blanter, M. I. Pesni [Songs]. Moscow, Leningrad: Muzgiz, 1942. Bogoslovskii, N. V. Izbrannye pesni [Selected songs]. Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1984. Dvadtsat′ piat′ pesen Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny [Twenty-five songs of the Great Patriotic War]. Moscow: Voennoe Izdatel′stvo Narodnogo Komissariata Oborony, 1943. Iordanskii, M., B. Mokrousov, and M. Golodnyi, eds. Krasnoflotskie pesni Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny: Sbornik pesen [Red Navy songs of the Great Patriotic War]. Moscow, Leningrad: Muzgiz, 1942. Iurovskii, A., ed. Krasnoarmeiskii pesennik: Sbornik izbrannykh voennykh pesen sovetskikh kom‑ pozitorov [Red Army Songbook: Selection of war songs by Soviet composers]. Moscow, Leningrad: Muzgiz, 1942.

Bibliography Komal′kov, Iu., comp. Pesni nashikh pobed [Songs of our victories]. Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1987. Lebedev, P. F. Pesni i chastushki brianskikh partisan [Songs and chastushki of the Briansk partisans]. Briansk: Brianskii rabochii, 1963. Matusovskii, M. Ia pesne otdal vse spolna: Pesni na stikhi Mikhaila Matusovskogo: Dlia golosa (khora) v soprovozhdenii fortepiano (baiana) [I have given full measue to the song: Songs with the lyrics by Mikhail Matusovskii: For voice (choir) accompanied by fortepiano (baian)]. Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1978. Naumov, T., and M. Iordanskii, ed. and muz. ed. Pesni Otechestvennoi voiny. Sbornik 2 [Songs of the Great Patriotic War. Collection 2]. Moscow: Transzheldorizdat i TsDKZH, 1942. Pesni Chernomortsev. Sbornik pesen. Vypusk 1. Tvorchestvo krasnoflotsev, komandirov i politra‑ botnikov Chernomorskogo Flota [Songs of the Black Sea sailors. Song collection. Issue 1. Songs created by Black Sea Navy red sailors, commanding officers and political workers]. Sevastopol: Izdatel′stvo Doma Voenno-Morskogo Flota imeni Leitenanta Shmidta, 1942. Pesni Chernomortsev. Sbornik pesen. Vypusk 4. Tvorchestvo krasnoflotsev i ofitserov Chernomorskogo Flota [Songs of the Black Sea sailors. Song collection. Issue 4. Songs created by Black Sea Navy red sailors and officers]. Politicheskoe upravlenie Chernomorskogo Flota, 1944. Pesni Krasnoznamennoi Baltiki. Sbornik 4 [Songs of the Red Banner Baltic. Collection 4]. Moscow and Leningrad: Voenizdat, 1942. Pesni Krasnoznamennoi Baltiki. Sbornik 7 [Songs of the Red Banner Baltic. Collection 7]. Leningrad and Moscow: Iskusstvo, 1943. Pesni Voenno-Morskogo Flota. Sbornik 1 [Songs of the Navy. Collection 1]. Moscow: Voenmorizdat, 1942. Pruss, L. V. I pomnit mir spasennyi: Pesni kompozitorov, pogibshikh v gody Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny [And the saved world remembers: Songs by composers who perished during the Great Patriotic War]. Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1985. San′ko, A., ed. Slava velikoi Pobede. Pesni sovetskikh kompozitorov [Glory to the great Victory. Songs by Soviet composers]. Moscow: Muzyka, 1985. Shilov, A., comp. Pesni o Velikoi Otechestvennoi voine [Songs about the Great Patriotic War]. Moscow: Muzyka, 1969. Svitova, K. G., comp. Nezabyvaemye gody. Russkii pesennyi fol′klor Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny v zapisiakh [The unforgettable years. Russian song folklore recordings of the Great Patriotic War]. Moscow: Sovetskii kompozitor, 1985. Tishchenko, A., comp. Pesni voennykh let. Komplekt listovok-pesen [Songs of the war years. Set of song leaflets]. Moscow: Plakat, 1989. Za Rodinu, za Stalina. Sbornik oboronnykh pesen. Pesni moskovskikh i leningradskikh kompozitorov [For motherland, for Stalin. Songs by Moscow and Leningrad composers]. Leningrad and Moscow: Gosudarstvennoe muzykal′noe izdatel′stvo, 1941.

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Bibliography

Recordings All phonograph records with Russian titles are twelve-inch, long-playing Melodia label, unless otherwise noted. S and M in the serial number indicate stereo and mono, respectively. Antologiia sovetskogo dzhaza: Dva Maksima [Anthology of Soviet jazz: Two Maksims]. 33 M60 48205 005, 1988. Boris Mokrousov: Pesni [Boris Mokrousov: Songs]. 2 records. 33 560-06293-96(a), 1977. Cherez vsiu voinu: vokal′no-instrumental′nyi ansambl′ “Pesniary” [From the beginning to the end of the war: Vocal and instrumental ensemble “Pesniary”]. 2 records. 33 s60 22471 001, 1985. Den′ Pobedy [Victory Day]. 33560-19233-4, 1983. Dorogami voiny: Poet Boris Zaitsev [On the roads of the war: Boris Zaitsev sings]. 2 records. 33 560 29893 002, 1989. Etot den′ my priblizhali kak mogli: Pesni o gorodakh-geroiakh [We worked as hard as we could so that this day would come: Songs about the hero cities]. 33 560 21747 008, 1984. Gde zhe vy teper′, druz′ia-odnopolchane: Pesni o Velikoi Otechestvennoi voine [Where are you, my wartime buddies: Songs about the Great Patriotic War]. 33 560 21595 004, 1984. Ia serdtsem vizhu vas: literaturno-muzykal′naia kompozitsiia [I see you in my heart: A literary-musical composition]. 33 560 22723000, 1985. Isaak Dunaevskii: Pesni [Isaak Dunaevskii: Songs]. 2 records. 33 560-06349-52(a), 1977. Iubileinyi kontsert Klavdii Shul′zhenko: Zapis′ v Kolonnom Zale Doma Soiuzov (10 April 1976, Moscow) [Klavdiia Shul′zhenko’s anniversary concert: Recorded in the Pillar Hall of the House of the Unions]. 2 records. 33 5 60-09163-66(a), 1978. Leonid Utesov: Zapisi 30-kh–40-kh godov [Leonid Utesov: Recordings from the ’30s and the ’40s]. 33 M60-36929-30(a), 1974. Lidiia Ruslanova: Russkie sovetskie pesni (Kontsert v Kolonnom Zale Doma Soiuzov) [Lidiia Ruslanova: Russian Soviet songs (Performed in the Pillar Hall of the House of the Unions]. 33 M20 44011-12, 1982. Mark Bernes [Mark Bernes]. 33D-033667, 1968. Mark Bernes: Zapisi 30-kh–40-kh godov [Mark Bernes: Recordings from the ’30s and the ’40s]. 2 records. 33 M60-38961- 49(a), 1978. Ne stareiut dushoi veterany: Narodnyi kollektiv, Moskovskii muzhskoi khor uchastnikov Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny [The souls of the veterans are never old: Folk ensemble, Moscow male choir of the participants of the Great Patriotic War]. 33 S90 22981 000, 1985. Pesni Velikoi Otechestvennoi voiny: k 30-letiiu pobedy sovetskogo naroda v Velikoi Otechestvennoi Voine [Songs of the Great Patriotic War. Commemorating the 30th anniversary of the Soviet victory in the Great Patriotic War]. 33 S60-054239(a), 1975. Poet Lidiia Ruslanova: Russkie pesni [Lidiia Ruslanova sings: Russian songs]. 33 D-035125, 1980. Sviashchennaia voina (pesni i marshi voennykh let) [The sacred war (songs and marches of the war years)]. 33 S60 21603098, 1984.

Bibliography U menia vse tot zhe adres: pesni na stikhi Evgeniia Dolmatovskogo [My address is still the same: Songs with the lyrics by Evgenii Dolmatovskii]. 33 S60 23937 001, 1986. Vot kto-to s gorochki spustilsia: Pesni Borisa Terent′eva [Someone went down from the hill: Boris Terent′ev’s songs]. 33 S60 26799 077, 1988.

Cassette Recordings Leonid Utesov: zapisi 30-kh–70-kh godov [Leonid Utesov: recordings from 1930-1970s]. 3 cassettes. Author’s private collection. Pesni proshlykh let: poet Klavdiia Shul′zhenko [Songs of years past: Klavdiia Shul′zhenko sings]. 3 cassettes. Author’s private collection.

Interviews Anisimova, Tat′iana Alekseevna. Feb. 28, 1991. Moscow, USSR. Baskina, Vera Pavlovna. Nov. 6, 1990. Moscow, USSR. Biriukov, Iurii Evgen′evich. Feb. 13, 1991. Moscow, USSR. Bogoslovskii, Nikita Vladimirovich. Dec. 2, 1990. Moscow, USSR. Dolmatovskii, Evgenii Aronovich. May 7, 1991. Moscow, USSR. Elizaveta (requested not to use last name), Aug. 13, 1989. Brooklyn, NY, USA. Iudin, Viktor Georgievich, March 15, 1995. Decorah, Iowa, USA. Khrennikov, Tikhon Nikolaevich. Feb. 27, 1991. Moscow, USSR. Kondakova, Nina Pavlovna. June 5, 1991. Moscow, USSR. Levin, Iurii. Aug. 10, 1989. Brooklyn, NY, USA. Masharskii, Averian and Masharskaia, Klara. Aug. 14, 1989. Brooklyn, NY, USA. Orlov, German Timofeevich. June 1991. Moscow, USSR. Oshanin, Lev Ivanovich. May 27, 1991. Peredelkino, USSR. Planson, Andrei. Consultant. Portnik, Zhanna. Aug. 10, 1989. Brooklyn, NY, USA. Tarasov, Prokopii Mikhailovich. December 1990. Informal interview at his apartment in Moscow. Tseitlin, Iurii Vladimirovich. Feb. 5, 1991. Moscow, USSR. Tuaeva, Lidiia Arkadievna. Consultant. Vul′fovich, Teodor Iur′evich. April 26, 1991. Moscow, USSR. Zagorodnev, Artur. Aug. 12, 1989. Bronx, NY, USA. Zak, Vladimir Il′ich. Consultant. Zhukova, Elena Iakovlevna. April 18, 1991. Moscow, USSR. Zuev, Ivan Vasil′evich. April 25, 1994. Moscow, Russia.

289

Index A

69th Parallel, 149 Abramov, Georgii, 169 Agatov, Vladimir, 18 “Shalandy, polnye kefali” (Scows full of grey mullet), 150 “Temnaia noch′” (Dark night), xii, 18–19, 146–147, 150, 157, 182, 209–210, 222, 229 Agranian, Sergei, 14 “Bei po vragam” (Beat the enemies), 14 Aksyonov, Vasilii, 94 Akulenko, Pavel, 13, 71 “Poidut vragi na dno” (“The Enemy Will Go to the Bottom [of the Sea]”), 13 Aleksandr Nevskii, 26 Aleksandr Parkhomenko, 31, 150, 156 Aleksandrov, A. V., 11–12, 14, 33, 39, 49, 51, 63, 70–73, 81–83, 134, 170, 180 “Pesnia o Sovetskoi armii” (Song of the Soviet Army), 33, 151 Soviet Anthem, 38, 81, 135, 223 “Sviashchennaia voina” (The sacred war), xii, 10–11, 14–15, 20, 115, 122, 131, 146, 149, 157, 210, 212, 218, 237 “V pokhod! V pokhod!” (Forward march! Forward march!), 14 “Vstavai, razgnevannyi narod” (“Arise, Enraged People”), 14 “Za velikuiu zemliu sovetskuiu” (For the great Soviet land), 14 Aleksandrov, Boris, 51, 73, 134 Aleksandrov, G. F., 119 All-Russian Theatrical Society (Vserossiiskoe Teatral′noe Obshchestvo, VTO), 109–110, 145, 165, 175, 177 All-Union Administration for the Preservation of Authors’ Rights (VUOAP, the Copyright Administration), 100, 125–127

All-Union Radio Ensemble, 51 All-Union Society for Cultural Ties (Vsesoiuznoe Obshchestvo Kul′turnykh Sviazei, or VOKS), 119–122 Alymov, Sergei, 13, 16, 28–29, 33, 56, 70–72, 74–75, 141 “Frontovaia boroda” (Frontline beard), 29 “Gde Orel raskinul kryl′ia” (Where the eagle spread his wings), 34 “Materinskii nakaz” (A mother’s instruction), 16 “My fashistov razob′em” (We will destroy the Fascists), 13 “Poidut vragi na dno” (“The Enemy Will Go to the Bottom [of the Sea]”), 13 “Samovary-samopaly” (Firing samovars), 28, 146, 152 “Tul′skaia vintovochka” (Tula rifle), 27 “U krynitsy” (At the well), 29 “Vasia-Vasilek” (Little Vasia), 28–29, 84, 152, 230 Antokol’skii, Pavel, 141 Anton Ivanovich serditsia (Anton Ivanovich gets angry), 150 Antosha Rybkin, 31, 151 Arskaia, E., 117 Asaf ’ev, Boris, 78 Atovm’ian, Levon, 96

B

Baha, Abdul, xvi Bakalov, Leonid, 7, 36, 52–53, 64, 71, 81, 132 “Chut′ gorit zari poloska uzkaia” (Dawn is barely breaking), 132 “Dorogi” (Roads), 132 “Moriachka” (Sailor’s wife), 7, 132 “Partizanskaia boroda” (Partisan beard), 36, 146 Bakhrakh, R. V., 109, 162n10 Baltic Front and Fleet, 26, 42, 142 “Baron von der Pshik”, 146

Index Barsova, Vera, 175 Barto, Agniia, 36, 57, 76 “Ural′tsy b′iutsia zdorovo” (The people of the Urals fight hard), 36, 76 Baskina, Vera, 179, 199 Baukov, N., 79 Belyi, Viktor, 13, 51, 54, 63–64, 70, 75, 96, 120, 140, 147, 152–153 “Ballada o kapitane Gastello” (Ballad of captain Gastello), 147 “Pesnia smelykh” (Song of the brave), 13, 50, 131, 212 “Za chest′ i slavu sovetskogo naroda” (For the honor and glory of the Soviet people), 13 Berger, Dorita, 233–234 Beria, Lavrentii, 118, 184–185 Bernes, Mark, 18, 146–147, 182, 211, 229 Biriukov, Iu. E., xix, 2–7, 12n24, 14n28, 16n32, 17–20, 23–40 (notes), 43n102, 64n32, 68n47, 115n59, 127n3, 131n25, 146–152 (notes), 178n67, 189n100, 196n115, 212, 213n6, 219n26, 228 Blanter, Matvei, 2, 11–12, 17–18, 23, 38, 40, 51, 63, 69–72, 75, 81, 83, 101n23, 122, 146 “Do svidaniia, goroda i khaty” (Goodbye, cities and village huts), 12–13, 15–16, 69, 149 “Katiusha,” 2–3, 24, 27, 46, 84, 86, 122, 143, 170, 231 “Moia Liubimaia” (My beloved), 83, 209 “Pod zvezdami balkanskimi” (Under the Balkan stars), 40, 69, 83, 210 “Rostov-gorod” (Rostov city), 38 “Zhdi menia” (Wait for me), 17, 19, 46, 121, 131, 146, 152, 209 “V lesu prifrontovom” (In the forest near the front), 23, 83, 210, 230 Bochkov, Petr, 192 Boevye podrugi (Wartime Girlfriends), 121 Bogdanov, Pavel, 39, 58 “Pesnia o Ladoge” (Song about Ladoga), 39 Bogdanov-Berezovskii, Valerian, 78 Bogdanova, V., 223 Bogoslovskii, Nikita, 2, 4, 18, 31, 40, 46, 53, 70–71, 132, 147–148, 150–151 “Chudo-kosa” (Marvelous braid), 151 “Liubimyi gorod” (Beloved city), 4, 9, 121 “Noch′ nad Belgradom” (Night over Belgrade), 148

“Pesnia Lizavety” (Lizaveta’s song), 31 “Rossiia” (Russia), 40–41, 132 “Shalandy, polnye kefali” (Scows full of grey mullet), 151 “Temnaia noch′” (Dark night), xii, 18–19, 146–147, 150, 157, 182, 209–210, 222, 229 “Ty zhdesh′, Lizaveta” (You wait, Lizaveta), 150, 156 Bol’shoi Theater, 82, 135, 173 Bol′shoi Theater brigade, 189 Boym, Svetlana, 227, 237 Braun, Nikolai, 70 Briansk front, 27, 35, 37, 126, 156 Briansk Front Ensemble, 66 Broadcasts, Govorit zapadnyi front (The Western Front Speaks), 139 Kompozitory u mikrofona (Composers at the microphone), 142 Poety iugozapadnomu frontu (Poets for the Southwestern Front), 139 Poety—Sevastopoliu (Poets for Sevastopol), 141 Pis′ma na front (Letters to the front), 140 Pis′ma s fronta (Letters from the front), 140 Po zaiavkam voinov (Warriors’ requests), 140 Privet Odesse (Hi, Odessa), 140 Slushai, front (Listen, front), 139 Bruk, Genrikh, 14 “Pesnia muzhestva” (Song of courage), 14 Budashkin, Nikolai, 52, 66, 70, 78, 128 Budennyi, Semen, 5, 15 Bukin, Nikolai, 20, 58, 61 “Proshchaite, skalistye gory” (Farewell, rugged mountains), 20 Bunchikov, Vladimir, 146, 211 Burns, Robert, 55, 120

C

Central Committee of the Communist Party, 94, 107, 119 Central Ensemble of the Navy from Leningrad, 20, 52, 66 Central House of Art Workers (TsDRI), 88, 110 Central House of the Red Army (TSDKA), 74–75, 77, 111, 114, 151, 177, 191 Central Theater of the Red Army, 74, 175 Chapaev, Vasilii, 134 Chaplin, Charlie, 121 Chaplygin, Nikolai, 68, 71

291

292

Index Chastushki, xv, xxi, 28, 85, 87n105, 135, 215 Chemberdzhi, Nikolai, 52 Chernetskii, Semen, 149 Chernyshev, Aleksei, 171 Chernysheva, L., 222 Chirkov, Boris, 146, 148, 151 Churchill, Winston, 122 Churkin, Aleksandr, 19, 56, 61 “Vecher na reide” (Evening on the Quay), 19–20, 23, 39, 83, 121, 209, 230 Civil War (Russian), 4–5, 8, 49, 51–52, 56–57, 59, 75, 133, 135, 191 Songs, xv, 1 Combined Film Studio (Alma Ata), 31, 151 “Comin’ in on a Wing and a Prayer,” 122, 210 Committee on Aid to the Soviet War Effort, 121 Committee on Art/Artistic Affairs (KDI), 11, 50, 65, 76–81, 89–90, 98, 102–116, 119–120, 123–125, 133, 138, 160–166, 174, 181, 195 Composer’s Union of the USSR, 12, 80, see also Union of composers Composer Union’s House of Creativity, 92 Congress of Writers (1934), 96

D

“Den′ Pobedy” (Victory day), 228 Department of Agitation and Propaganda (Agit/Prop), 94, 101, 111, 119 Deti Kapitana Granta (Captain Grant’s Children), 2 Dolmatovskii, Evgenii, 4, 9–10, 18, 20–23, 31, 37, 57–58, 60–62, 68, 70, 84, 99, 117, 133, 139, 148, 150, 216 “Doroga na Berlin” (Road to Berlin), 38 “Liubimyi gorod” (Beloved City), 4, 9, 121 “Pesnia Lizavety” (Lizaveta’s song), 31 “Pesnia o Dnepre” (Song of the Dnieper), 20, 23, 89, 218, 230 “Siren’ tsvetet” (The Lilac Blooms), 133 “Slava narodu” (Glory to the people), 84 “Sluchainyi val′s” (The chance waltz), 23, 89, 146, 209–210 “Ty zhdesh′, Lizaveta” (You wait, Lizaveta), 150, 156 Domogatskaya, Shura, 184 Doronin, Ivan, 50 “Budet Gitleru konets” (Hitler will meet his end), 50 Dunaevskii, Isaak, 2, 12, 14, 38, 51, 55, 63, 69, 71, 73, 81–83, 88, 90–92, 96, 98, 121, 131, 135, 148, 169

“Bei po vragam” (Beat the enemies), 14 “Ekhal ia iz Berlina” (I traveled back from Berlin), 69, 210 “Komsomol’skaia pokhodnaia” (Komsomol Campaign song), “Moia Moskva” (My Moscow), 37–38, 131 “Za Rodinu, vpered” (For the motherland, forward), 14, 148 Dva boitsa (Two warriors), 18, 146–147, 150, 154 Dykhovichnyi, Vladimir, 24, 57–58, 61, 136, 149 “Dva Maksima” (Two Maksims), 24, 27 Dzerzhinskii, Ivan, 52, 64 Dzhambul, 127 Songs of the War (Pesni voiny), 127

E

Eliasberg, Karl, 141–142 El-Registan, G., 39, 81 Emel’ianov, Iu. A., 12n23 Ensemble of the Railway Workers, 12, 63 Ensemble of Song and Dance of the Southern Urals Military District, 29, 61 Ensemble of Song and Dance of the Red Fleet, 178 Ensemble of Song and Dance of the Southwestern Front, 21, 66, 79 Ensemble of the First Cavalry Corps, 66 Ensemble of the VTsSPS (Central Union of Trade Unions), 29, 63, 195 Ensemble of Ukrainian Song and Dance, 171, 222 Ermakov, Vasilii, 26 “Seraia shinel′” (Gray greatcoat), 26 Ershova, Tat’iana, 221 Evlakhov, Orest, 62–63, 79, 86

F

Fadeev, Aleksandr, 97 Far East front, xiv, 2, 5, 37, 53, 58, 60, 190, 195–197, 209 Fat’ianov, Aleksei 29, 33, 39, 41–42, 58, 61, 68, 70–71 “Daleko rodnye osiny” (The beloved aspens are far away), 41 “Davno my doma ne byli” (We haven’t been home in a long time), 42 “Gde zhe vy teper′, druz′ia-odnopolchane” (Where are you, my wartime buddies?), 229 “Iuzhno-ural′skaia” (Southern Urals song), 33

Index “Na solnechnoi polianochke” (In the sunny meadow), 29 “Nash gorod” (Our city), 40 “Serdtse tankista” (Heart of a tankist), 33, 68n48 “Solov′i” (Nightingales), 41–42, 69, 81 Filippov, Boris, 111, 173–176, 185, 191–192, 197–198 Fink, Il’ia, 136 Finnish War, 13, 30, 172 Fitzpatrick, Sheila, 94 Flaks, Efrem, 24, 146, 182 Flerov, Nikolai, 26, 57, 61 “Pesnia o bushlate” (Song about the peacoat), 26 “Flot v boiakh za rodinu” (The fleet in battles for the motherland), 178 Folk songs, 1–2, 8, 35, 105, 134–136, 146, 178, 180–182, 215–216, 222, 236 Fomin, Boris, 31, 135 “Tikho v izbushke” (It is quiet in the hut), 31 Fradkin, Mark, 20, 23, 33, 37–38, 53, 64, 66, 68, 70–71, 79, 89, 122 “Doroga na Berlin” (Road to Berlin), 37 “Pesnia o Dnepre” (Song of the Dnieper), 20, 23, 89, 218, 230 “Pesnia o Volzhskom bogatyre” (Song of the Volga knight), 38 “Sluchainyi val′s” (The chance waltz), 23, 89, 146, 209–210 “V belykh prostorakh” (In the white expanses), 33 Fradkin, Mikhail, 50 Frenkel’, Il’ia, 25, 56, 60 “Davai zakurim” (Let’s smoke), 25, 178, 230 Frize, Vladimir, 53 Frontovaia Pravda, 131

G

Gadamaka, P., 140 Gaidai, Zoia, 217 Galitskii, Iakov, 6 “Sinii platochek” (Blue kerchief), 6–7, 86, 115, 146, 152, 178, 189, 209, 217 Garis brothers, 116, 196 Garkavi, Mikhail, 149, 173–174, 186, 197–198 Garrard, John and Carol, 58n19, 95n3, 97n9 Gastello, Nikolai (Captain), xvii, 32, 148 Gatov, Aleksandr, 35, 56, 151

“Partizan-pereletnaia ptitsa” (The partisan—a migratory bird), 35, 150 Gedike, Aleksandr, 78 Gedroits, Ignatii, 173 Gefter, Lela, 236 Gefter, Mikhail, 236 German, Pavel, 31 “Tikho v izbushke” (It is quiet in the hut), 31 Gertsik, Vladimir, 142–143 “Gimn Divizii Chernykh Nozhei” (Anthem of the division of black knives), 219 GlavPURKKA (the main political administration of the Army), 94, 101–102, 106, 111–114, 116, 119, 126, 133, 153, 156–157, 160–161, 174 Glier, Reingol’d, 49, 142 “Budet Gitleru konets” (Hitler will meet his end), 50 Glière, Reinhold, 49, 51, 53–54, 76, 96, also see Glier Glukh, Mikhail, 79 Golodnyi, Mikhail, 71–72 Golovanov, N., 139 Golovko, A., 20 Gol’ts, Boris, 53, 71, 78 “Gotov′tes′, baltiitsy, v pokhod” (Baltic sailors, prepare for the campaign), 78 Gorbenko, M., 17, 152 Great Patriotic War, xiv, 4, 48, 93, 129, 203 Gridov, Grigorii, 30 “Vozvrashchenie” (Return), 30 “Idu po znakomoidorozhke” (I go along the familiar road), 223, also see”Vozvrashchenie” Grigorian, Grant, 53 GURK (Glavnoe Upravlenie Repertuarnogo Kontrolia), 113–116, 146 Gusev, Viktor, 10, 33, 57, 70–72, 82, 127, 140–141, 150, 152, 206 “Est′ na severe khoroshii gorodok” (There is a nice little town in the north), 150, 206, “Kazak ukhodil na voinu” (The Cossack left for the war), 152 “Pesnia artilleristov” (Song of the artillerymen), 33, 152

H

House of Sound Recording, 116

293

294

Index I

Ianko, Tamara, 16, 148 Iarustovskii, B., 92–93, 180 Iaunzem, Irma, 7, 132, 139, 182, 224, 234 Inchin, A. I., 86 “Partizanskaia kavaleriskaia” (Partisan cavalry song), 86 “Internationale,” 38, 81, 223 Iordanskii, Mikhail, 74 Isakovskii, Mikhail, 2, 4, 7, 12, 18, 23, 35, 40, 56, 58, 61, 69–72, 82, 84, 132, 136, 148, “Do svidaniia, goroda i khaty” (Goodby, cities and village huts), 12–13, 15–16, 69, 149 “Dva Sokola” (Two falcons), 84 “I kto ego znaet” (Who knows why), 84 “Katiusha,” 2–3, 24, 27, 46, 84, 86, 121, 143, 170, 231 “Komsomol’skaia proshchal’naia” (Komsomol farewell song), 4 “Moriachka” (Sailor’s wife), 7, 132 “Ogonek” (Little flame), 18–19, 86, 131, 209 “Oi tumany moi, rastumany” (Oh mists, my mists), 35 “Pod zvezdami balkanskimi” (Under the Balkan stars), 40 “V lesu prifrontovom” (In the forest at the front), 23, 83, 210, 230 Iudin, Mikhail, 49, 78 Iur’eva, Izabella, 144 Iurovskaia, E., 6, 145 Iutkevich, Sergei, 42, 177–178 Ivan Nikulin—Russkii matros (Ivan Nikulin— Russian sailor), 152 Ivan the Terrible, 151 Ivashchenko, E., 33 “Pesnia o Gremiashchem” (Song about Gremiashchii), 32–33 Izvestiia, 11, 28, 61

J

Jazz Ensemble of the Baltic Fleet, 146 Jazz orchestra of Eddie Rozner, 101, 116, 146, 169, 196 “James Kennedy,” (Dzheimz Kennedi), 120, 146

K

Kabalevskii, Dmitrii, 51, 57, 63–64, 71–72, 75–76, 81, 89, 92, 96, 142, 150 Kalashnikova, Ekaterina, 173

Kalinin front, 37, 60, 196, 221 Kapiani, Georgii, 173 “Karavan” (Caravan), 122 Karelian front, 33, 37, 42, 60–61, 172, 187, 192 Kats, Sigizmund, 52, 54–55, 64, 66–67, 70, 73, 75, 89, 133, 149 “Dva Maksima” (Two Maksims), 24, 27, 149 “Ne pyli dorozhen′ka” (Little road, don’t make dust), 36 “Shumel surovo Brianskii les” (The Briansk forest sternly rustled), 35 “Siren’ tsvetet” (The Lilac Blooms), 133 Kats, Z., 24, 35, 38 “Kogda my pokidali svoi liubimyi krai” (When we left our beloved region), 38 Katul’skaia, E., 139 Kaz′min, Petr, 35n77, 151, 197 Kemper, Emil’, 31 Khachaturian, Aram, 37, 52, 54, 63, 71–72, 75–76, 90, 92, 96, 136, 142 “Uralochka” (Girl from the Urals), 37 Kharitonov, Vladimir, 228 “Den′ Pobedy” (Victory day), 228 Khasbulatov, Ruslan, xv Khelemskii, Ia., 154 Khenkin, Vladimir, 149, 173–174, 198, 219 Khrapchenko, M. B., 89–90, 102, 104–109, 113, 163 Khrennikov, Tikhon, 16, 33, 37, 53–55, 63, 70–72, 76, 83, 120–121, 142, 148–150, 152, 202 “Est′ na severe khoroshii gorodok” (There is a nice little town in the north), 150 “Kazak ukhodil na voinu” (The Cossack left for the war), 152 “Pesnia artilleristov” (Song of the artillery men), 33, 152 “Proshchanie” (Farewell), 16, 122, 148–149 “Pesnia o Moskve” (Song about Moscow), 150 “Ural′tsy b′iutsia zdorovo” (The people of the Urals fight hard), 36 Kirsanov, Semen, 57, 133 Klimov, Ivan, 218 Knushevitskii, Viktor, 52 Kochetov, Vadim, 65, 91 Kochurov, Iurii, 78–79

Index “Kogda krovavye snega Rossii opiat′ stanut belye” (When will the bloody snow of Russia be white again?), 123 Kolychev, Osip, 33, 56–57, 70 “Pesnia o Sovetskoi armii” (Song of the Soviet Army), 33, 151 “Partizan Morozko” (Partisan Morozko), 146 Kompaneets, Zinovii, 35, 51, 151 “Partizan-pereletnaia ptitsa” (The ­partisan—a migratory bird), 35, 151 Komsomol’skaia pravda, 22, 25, 57, 132 Kondakova, Nina, 154 Kondratiev, Viacheslav, 236 Konev, Ivan (Marshal), 222 Konstantinov, A., 102, 166n29 Koralli, Vladimir, 176, 198 Kosenko, M., 25 “Nash tost” (Our toast), 25, 45 Kotovskii, 156 Kovalev, A., 139 Kovaleva, O., 139 Kozin, Vadim, 6, 8–9, 118, 121, 144–146, 149–150, 171, 184, 229 Kozlovskii, Ivan, 42, 144–147, 182 Krakht, Vladimir, 70–71 Krasev, Mikhail, 17 Kravchenko, Fedor, 16, 57, 148 “Proshchanie” (Farewell), 16, 148–149 Kriuchkov, Nikolai, 151 Kriukov, N., 17 Kriukov, Vladimir, (general), 184, 198 Krasnaia armiia (Red Army), 60 Krasnaia zvezda (Red star), 11, 60, 79, 120, 132, 145, 163, 180 Krasnoarmeets (Red Army soldier), 40, 132 Krasnoarmeiskaia pravda, (Red Army truth), 60 Krasnoflotets (Red sailor), 61 Krasov, I., 85 “Stavropol’skii partisan”, 85 Kraubner, P., 39 “Pesnia o Ladoge” (Song about Ladoga), 39 Kremer, Iza, 118 Kruchinin, Valentin, 33, 49, 51, 66, 68n48, 70–71, 73, 75, “Russkaia dusha” (Russian soul), 33 “Serdtse tankista” (Heart of a tankist), 33, 68n48 Kruts, Lev, 78 Krymskii partizan, 79 Kuvykin, N., 139

L

Lapirov, M., 36 “Partizanskaia boroda” (Partisan beard), 36, 146 Laskin, B., 4, 57–58, 70–71 “Tri tankista” (Three Tankists), 4, 210 Lebedev, L. L., 191 Lebedev, P. F., xix, 4n7, 26n53 Lebedev-Kumach, Vasilii 3, 5, 10–14, 32, 40, 56–61, 70–72, 76, 82–83, 89, 99 132–133, 139, 141, 219 “Chaika,” (Seagull) 3 “Esli zavtra voina” (If there is War Tomorrow), 5, 9–10, 206 “Morskaia Gvardiia” (Sea guard), 32 “Morskaia Stalinskaia” (Stalin’s sea song), 14 “Moskva Maiskaia” (Moscow in May), 216 “Nash tovarishch komissar” (Our comrade commissar), 14 “Pesnia voskresnika” (Song of the Volunteer Work Day), 133 “Podymaisia narod” (Arise People), 6 “Rossiia” (Russia), 40 “Sviashchennaia voina” (The sacred war), xii, 10–12, 14–15, 20, 115, 121, 131, 146, 149, 157, 210, 213, 218, 237 “Za chest′ i slavu sovetskogo naroda” (For the honor and glory of the Soviet people), 13 “Za rodinu, vpered” (For the motherland, forward), 14, 148 “Za velikuiu zemliu sovetskuiu” (For the great Soviet land), 14 Leman, Albert, 78 Lemeshev, S., 139, 144, 182 Lempert, V. A., 97 Lenin, Vladimir, 9, 14, 28, 84, 238 Leningrad section of the Union of the Composers, 19, 51, 55 Leningrad Concert Brigade, 42, 64 Leningrad Conservatory, 49, 52–53, 63, 97, 168 Leningrad Front Jazz Ensemble, 171 Leningrad Radio Estrada Orchestra, 53 Leningrad State Estrada Organization (Lengosestrada), 105, 164, 171, 182 Lepin, Anatolii, 7, 39, 52, 64, 66, 71, 77, 89, 128, 135, 148 “Leningradskaia pesenka” (Leningrad song), 39, 128 “Pis′mo s fronta” (Letter from the front), 148

295

296

Index

“Tol’ko na fronte” (Only at the front),

219n26 Levi, Nataliia, 79 Levitin, Daniel, 232–233 Levitin, Iurii, 89 Lisitsian, Pavel, 182 Litfond, 96, 100 Lisianskii, Mark, 38, 57–58, 60, 131 “Moia Moskva” (My Moscow), 37–38, 131 Listov, Konstantin, 4, 14, 16, 22, 26, 51, 66, 68, 70–72, 75, 121, 127 “Bei vraga v pukh I prakh” (Completely rout the enemy), 14 “Makhorochka” (Little Cigarette), 4 “Materinskii nakaz” (A mother’s instruction), 16 “Morskaia Stalinskaia” (Stalin’s sea song), 14 “Tachanka” (Caissons), 121 “V boi syny naroda” (To battle, sons of the people), 14 “V zemlianke” (In the dugout), xii, 22–23, 68, 86, 101, 122, 179, 209 “Za Komsomol, za rodinu, vpered!” (For the Komsomol, for the motherland, forward), 13–14 Literatura i iskusstvo (Literature and art), 85, 132 Literaturnaia gazeta (Literary gazette), 60, 142, 236 Liuban, Isaak, 25, 52, 73, 168 “Nash tost” (Our toast), 25 Lugovskoi, Vladimir, 27 “Arise, Russian People!”, 26 Lukov, Leonid, 147

M

Maiakovskii, Vladimir, 50, 57 Makarova, Nina, 52 Maksakova, L. V., 128, 130, 153, 161–164, 172n50, 175n58 Maksimov, M. A., 6, 116, 189 Masharskii, Aver’ian, 168, 175, 186 Masharskaia, Klara, 168–169, 189 Massalitinov, Konstantin, 79 Matusovskii, Mikhail, 54 Matveev, Mikhail, 79 Medvedkin, A., 148 Miaskovskii, Nikolai, 50–54, 92 Migai, S., 139 Mikhalkov, Sergey, 39, 41, 57–58, 60, 81–82 Soviet Anthem, 38, 81, 135 “Storonka rodnaia” (Dear country), 41, 132

Miklashevskii, I., 50 Miliutin, Iurii, 3, 29, 32, 51, 71, 76, “Chaika,” (Seagull) 3 “Morskaia Gvardiia” (Sea guard), 32 “Vse ravno” (It doesn’t matter), 29, 121 Minkh, Nikolai, 53 “Mishka-Odessit” (Mishka the Odessian), 152, 217 Mitiushin, Aleksandr, 79 Mladko, L., 133 Mokrousov, Boris, 21, 32, 39, 40, 52, 55, 66, 71, 74, 82, 148, 177 “More shumit” (The sea roars), 40 “Pesnia zashchitnikov Moskvy” (Song of the Moscow defenders), 32, 148 “Vozvrashchenie” (Return), 82 “Zavetnyi kamen′” (The cherished rock), 21, 180–181, 230 Molchanov, Ivan, 56, 132 “Dorogi” (Roads), 132 Molotov, Viacheslav, 84, 139 Mont, Fridrikh, 13 Morozov, Igor, 53–54, 64, 71, 74, 77, 89 “Poi, igrai, garmon’” (Sing, play accordion), 213 Morozova, Nadezhda, 139 Moscow Conservatory, 49–53, 86, 120, 185 Moscow Estrada organization (Mosestrada), 163, 169–170 Mucharinskaia, L., 86n100 Muradeli, Vano, 13, 17, 52, 63–64, 66, 75, 92 “My fashistov razob′em” (We will destroy the Fascists), 13 Muzfond (Music Foundation), 10, 63, 73–74, 80, 96–100, 120, 126–130, 132 Muzgiz (The State Music Publisher), 11–13, 16, 31, 73–74, 77, 100, 125–128 “My kuznetsy” (We are blacksmiths), 133 Moriaki (Sailors), 3

N

Navoev, Vladimir, 17 Nechaev, Ivan, 146, 210 Nest’ev, Izrail’, 85, 87 New All-Union State Jazz Orchestra, 52 Nezhdanova, Antonina, 139 NKVD (People’s Commissariat of Internal Affairs) Song and Dance Ensemble, 26, 42–44, 177, 187 Northern Fleet, 20, 61, 65–67, 120, 131, 149, 173

Index Novikov, Anatolii, 2, 14, 28–30, 33, 42, 49, 62–63, 65, 67, 69–71, 75, 83, 89, 132n26, 196, 213–214 “Ekh dorogi” (Oh roads), 42, 69, 178, 209, 214 “Frontovaia boroda” (Frontline beard), 29 “Gde Orel raskinul kryl′ia” (Where the eagle spread his wings), 34 “Marsh artillerii” (March of the artillery), 33 “Nash tovarishch komissar” (Our comrade commissar), 14 “Piat′ pul′“ (Five bullets), 27, 230 “Samovary-samopaly” (Firing samovars), 28, 146, 152 “Smuglianka” (The dark girl), 30 “Tul′skaia vintovochka” (Tula rifle), 27 “U krynitsy” (At the well), see Frontovaia boroda “Vasia-Vasilek” (Little Vasia), 28–29, 84, 152, 230 Novyi mir, 38, 131

O

October Revolution, 78–80, 142, 150, 182 Ogonek, 56 Okudzhava, Bulat, xvi Okunev, German, 86 Okunevskaia, Tat’iana, 148 Ona zashchishchaet rodinu (She defends the motherland), 157 “Oni vernulis′ na svoiu Ukrainu” (They returned to their Ukraine), 123 Order of Lenin, 127 Orgkom of the Union of Composers (SSK), 10, 50, 63, 67, 73, 75–81, 88, 91–92, 96–100, 120, 140 Orleneva, Ekaterina, 171, 191, Orlov, German, 172n48, 177, 187n93, 189, 198, 223n39 Orlova, Liubov’, 144 Oshanin, Lev, 33, 42, 57–58, 61, 65–72, 82, 89, 132n26, 214 “Ekh dorogi” (Oh roads), 42, 69, 178, 209, 214 “Ekhal ia iz Berlina” (I traveled back from Berlin), 69, 210 “Russkaia dusha” (Russian soul), 33 “V belykh prostorakh” (In the white expanses), 33 “Vozvrashchenie” (Return), 82 Ostrovskii, Arkadii, 41, 53, 84

“Slava narodu” (Glory to the people), 84 “Storonka rodnaia” (Dear country), 41, 132 “Otkroite vtoroi front” (Open the second front), 122

P

Paren′ iz nashego goroda (The fellow from our town), 17, 152 Pacific Fleet Ensemble, 61 Patriotka (Patriotic girl), 148 Pervomaiskii, Leonid, 139 Piatnitskii Choir, 34, 51, 103, 134, 146, 149, 151, 184, 189, 195–196, 212 Pirogov, Aleksandr, 146, 147 Planson, Andrei, 42n100, 43n102 Podrugi (Girlfriends), 4 Pokrass brothers, 4–5, 43, 63 “Esli zavtra voina” (If there is War Tomorrow), 5, 9–10, 206 “Kazaki v Berline” (Cossacks in Berlin), 43 “Konarmeiskaia” (Cavalry Song), 5 “Moskva Maiskaia” (Moscow in May), 216 “Tri tankista” (Three Tankists), 4, 210 Pokrass, Daniil, 51 Pokrass, Dmitrii, 4, 49, 51 “Komsomol’skaia proshchal’naia” (Komsomol farewell song), 4 Poliakov, P., 140 Polianovskii, Georgii, 134–135 Polikarpov, Dmitrii, 97, 100 Ponomarenko, P. K., 101 Popov, A., 187 “Po rodnoi zemle” (Around the native land), 177 Pravda, 12–13, 17–18, 75, 132–136, 154, 179, 214–215 Preobrazhenskaia, Sof ’ia, 146, 182 Preobrazhenskii, S. N., 81, 106, 109 Prishelets, A., 56 Pritsker, David, 78 Prokof ’ev, Aleksandr, 14, 56, 60, 82 “V pokhod! V pokhod!” (Forward march! Forward march!), 14 Prokof ’ev, Sergei, 26, 50, 75, 92, 151 “Arise, Russian People!” (from Aleksandr Nevskii), 26, 151 Pugachev, Emel’ian, 134 Pushkar’, N. S., 111 Putin, Vladimir, 238 Pyr′ev, Ivan, 152

297

298

Index R

Rabinovich, A. S., 89 Radio Committee, 11, 20, 29, 57, 74, 77–78, 98, 100, 104, 107, 137–142 Rechmenskii, Nikolai, 66 Red Banner Ensemble of Song and Dance of the Red Army, 5, 11–12, 30, 33, 45, 49, 57, 63, 74, 116, 122, 134, 146, 149, 152, 163, 170, 172, 180, 189 Redel’, Anna, 197 Renskii, Boris, 171, 181–182 Rodin, M., 17 Rodionov, Ia., 70 Rome, Harold, 121 Rozanov, I. N., 3n4, 86n100 Rozhdestvenskaia, N., 139, 146 Rozhdestvenskii, Vsevolod, 141 Rozner, Eddie, 101, 116, 146–147, 169, 196 Rubin, Mark, 183–184 Ruderman, M., 4 “Makhorochka” (Little Cigarette), 4 Rukin, Pavel, 50 Ruslanova, Lidiia, 6, 144–146, 149, 152, 172– 174, 182, 184, 187–188, 190, 197–198, 211, 217–218, 222, 229, 236 Russian Civil War, see Civil War Rutskoi, Aleksandr, xv

S

Saianov, Vissarion, 73 “Oath to the People’s Commissar,” 73 Sandler, Oskar, 31, 151 “Pesnia Antoshi” (Antosha’s song), 31, 151 “Saratovskie stradaniia” (Saratov laments), 152 Schwarz, Boris, 10 Shaporin, Iurii, 89, 97 Shaposhnikova, L., 223 Shapovalov, L., 102 Shaps, A., 172, 175 Shatrov, Il’ia 14 “Tri Stalinskikh druga” (Three of Stalin’s friends), 14 Shcherbakov, A. S., 107, 118 Schneck, Daniel, 232–233 Shebalin, Vissarion, 52–55, 69, 76, 82, 117, 136, 150 “Pesnia druzhinnits” (Song of the brigade girls), 150 Shenberg, L., 39 “Pesnia o Ladoge” (Song about Ladoga), 39 Shilov, A., 70

“Shinel′ moia pokhodnaia” (My campaign greatcoat), 149 Shlifshtein, Semen, 89 Shmelev, Ivan, 44 Shneerson, Grigorii, 121–122 Shostakovich, Dmitrii, 26, 52, 54, 71–73, 82, 86, 91–92, 121, 136, 141, 178, 225 7th Symphony, 52,141 “Oath to the People’s Commissar,” 73 “Pesnia o fonarike” (Song about a flashlight), 26, 178 “Pesnia o vstrechnom” (Song about the reciprocatory plan), 121 Shtemenko, Sergei M., 222 Shubin, Pavel, 36, 39, 57–58, 60, 70–71, 99, 128 “Leningradskaia pesenka” (Leningrad song), 39, 138 “Ne pyli dorozhen′ka” (Little road, don’t make dust), 36 Shul’zhenko jazz ensemble, 109, 178 Shul’zhenko, Klavdiia, 6, 25, 109, 115, 144–146, 152, 171, 176, 182, 189, 198, 211, 217, 223, 231 Shvedov, Iakov, 30, 56–57, 70 “Smuglianka” (The dark girl), 30 Shvid, A., 86 “Partizanskaia kavaleriskaia” (Partisan cavalry song), 86 Simonov, Konstantin, 17, 57–58, 60, 70, 82, 99, 147 “Zhdi menia” (Wait for me), 17, 19, 46, 121, 131, 146, 152, 209 Sichkin, Boris, 223 Skakovskii, P., 140 Slavin, Grigorii, 37 “Uralochka” (Girl from the Urals), 37 Slonov, Iurii, 52–53, 66, 68 Slutskii, Iu., 152 Skomorovskii, Iakov, 178 Sofronov, Anatolii, 27, 35, 38, 57–58, 61, 70, 89 “Piat′ pul’” (Five bullets), 27, 230 “Poi, igrai, garmon’” (Sing, play accordion), 213 “Rostov-gorod” (Rostov city), 38 “Shumel surovo Brianskii les” (The Briansk forest sternly rustled), 35 Solodar’, Tsezar’, 29, 43, 57, 70, 85, 139, 141 “Kazaki v Berline” (Cossacks in Berlin), 43 “Vse ravno” (It doesn’t matter), 29, 121 Solodovnikov, A. V., 102, 116–117

Index Solodukha, 67, 132 Solov’ev, Mikhail, 28 Solov’ev-Sedoi, Vasilii, 7, 13, 17, 19–20, 22, 29, 33, 40, 41–42, 52–54, 64, 68, 70–74, 81–83, 122, 127, 140, 142, 176, 207, 209 “Daleko rodnye osiny” (The beloved aspens are far away), 41 “Davno my doma ne byli” (We haven’t been home in a long time), 42 “Gde zhe vy teper′, druz′ia-odnopolchane” (Where are you, my wartime buddies?), 229 “Igrai moi baian” (Play my baian), 84, 140, 145 “Iuzhno-ural′skaia” (Southern Urals song), 33 “Na solnechnoi polianochke” (In the sunny meadow), 29 “Nash gorod” (Our city), 40 “Solov′i” (Nightingales), 41–42, 69, 81 “Vecher na reide” (Evening on the quay), 19–20, 22, 39, 83, 122, 209, 230 Sosnova-Isaeva, Evgeniia, 149 Sovetskaia Muzyka, 50 Sovetskii boets, 131 Sovetskoe iskusstvo, 130, 142, 169 Soviet Russia, 120 Sovnarkom (Council of Peoples’ Commissars), 50, 100–102, 104, 112, 123, 137–138, 154 Stalin, Iosif, 14–15, 25, 32, 43n102, 45, 75, 80, 84, 94, 97, 102, 118, 124, 145, 180, 185, 229, 236, 238 Stalin Prize, 40, 50, 82–84, 109, 127, 129 Stalingrad, Sekretar′ raikoma (Secretary of the Raion Party Committee), 156 State Board of Musical Institutions (Gosudarstvennoe Upravlenie Muzykal′nykh Uchrezhdenii; GUMU), 104–108, 110–112, 114, 163, 181 State Concert Tour Organization (VGKO), 81, 98, 106–114, 117, 161–164, 170–171, 175, 177, 182 State Jazz Orchestra of the USSR, 2, 52, 170, 182, 191 Stavskii, Vladimir, 97 Stepanova, E., 139 “Step′ da step′ krugom” (All around the Steppe), 182 Surin, Vladimir, 76, 80, 104–106, 50, 56, 60, 65, 68, 71–72, 82, 97, 99, 101, 132–133, 163, 139, 148

Surkov, Aleksei, 5, 13, 22, 32, 56, 148 “Konarmeiskaia” (Cavalry Song), 5 “Na vetviakh izranennogo topolia” (In the branches of the war-torn poplar), 146, 152 “Pesnia gvardeiskoi pekhoty” (Song of the guard infantry), 132 “Pesnia smelykh” (Song of the brave), 13, 50, 131, 212 “Pesnia zashchitnikov Moskvy” (Song of the Moscow defenders), 32, 132, 148 “V zemlianke” (In the dugout), xii, 22–23, 68, 86, 101–102, 121, 179, 209 Sveshnikov, Aleksandr, 41, 178 Svetlov, Mikhail, 14, 26, 50n3, 56–57, 60, 99 “Pesnia muzhestva” (Song of courage), 14 “Pesnia o fonarike” (Song about a flashlight), 26, 178 Svinarka i pastukh (The swineherd and the shepherd), 121, 150

T

Tabachnikov, Modest, 25, 39, 53, 80 “Davai zakurim” (Let’s smoke), 25, 178, 230 “Kogda my pokidali svoi liubimyi krai” (When we left our beloved region), 39 Talalaevskii, Matvei, 39 “Kogda my pokidali svoi liubimyi krai” (When we left our beloved region), 39 Tarbeev, Aleksandr, 4 Tarkovskii, Arsenii, 57 Terent’ev, Boris, 26, 53, 66–67 “Pesnia o bushlate” (Song about the peacoat), 26 “There Is a Tavern in the Town,” 122, 210 Tikhomirov, A., 193 Tikhonov, Nikolai, 97 Timoshenko Semen K., 15 “Tipperary,” 122, 209–210 Tkachenko, Tamara, 192 Tolstova, Nataliia, 139, 142 Tomilin, Viktor, 53 Trauberg, I., 148–149 My zhdem vas s pobedoi (We await your victorious return), 149 Tsaritsyn (Colonel), 81, 89, 111, 119 Tseitlin, Iurii, V., 101n25, 117, 145, 169, 196, 210

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Index Tsereteli, Tamara, 144 Tsfasman, Aleksandr, 89, 170 Tsirk (Circus), 2 Tuaeva, Lidiia, 26n51, 128 Tumarkin, Nina, 227–228, 234, 236 Turovskii, Boris, 31, 151 “Pesnia Antoshi” (Antosha’s song), 31, 151 Tvardovskii, Aleksandr, 139 U sten Leningrada (At the walls of Leningrad), 40, 177 “Udarim s zapada” (We will attack from the west), 122 Union of Composers (SSK), 10–11, 49–52, 55, 67, 76, 80, 95, 96n4, 117, 120–121, 202 see also Composer’s Union Union of Writers (SSP), 60, 95, 97–99, see also Writers’ Union Ural′skii rabochii (Urals worker), 36 Ushakov, B., 50 “Utes” (The cliff), 134 Utesov jazz orchestra, 17, 41, 53 109, 170, 178, 196 Utesov, Leonid, 17, 37–38, 85, 144–147, 151–152, 157, 171, 175, 179, 182, 192, 211, 217 Utesova, Edit, 146, 188, 192 Iutkevich, Sergei, 42, 177–178 Utkin, Iosif, 60, 90, 99, 133

V

V boi za rodinu (To battle for the motherland), 60, 128 V shest′ chasov vechera posle voiny (At six o’clock in the evening after the war), 33, 152 Vakman, E., 108 “Valenki” (Felt boots), 182 Vaniushin, Vasilii, 74 Vasil’ev, Sergei, 33, 57, 139 “Marsh artillerii” (March of the artillery), 33 Vasil’ev-Buglai, 67, 77 “Variag,” 143 “Vdol′ po Piterskoi” (Along the Petersburg road), 134 Venchikova, Anna, 26 “Seraia shinel′” (Gray greatcoat), 26 Vertinskii, Aleksandr, 118 Veselye rebiata (The Happy Guys), 2 Vinnikov, Viktor, 14, 50n3, 71 “Tri Stalinskikh druga” (Three of Stalin’s friends), 14

Vinogradov, Georgii, 17, 24, 42, 116, 146–147, 149, 170, 172, 182, 191, 211 Vishnevskaia, Galina, xii, 183–184, 199 Vishnevskii, Vsevolod, 9, 40 “More shumit” (The sea roars), 40 Vitkaia, K. V., 86n100 Vitlin, Viktor, 78 Vladimirtsov, Aleksandr, 31, 79 “Vozvrashchenie” (Return), 30, 223 Voenizdat NKOSSSR (military publisher of the People’s Commissariat of Defense), 126 Voenmorizdat (the Navy publisher), 126, 128 Volga-Volga!, 2 Volkhov front, 6, 39, 60, 115, 168, 176, 189, 196 Voronov, Nikolai, 33 Voroshilov, Klim, 5, 14 Vo slavu rodiny (Glory to the motherland), 25, 60, 176 Vozdushnyi diktor (The flying DJ) see Gertsik Vul’fovich, Teodor, 220–222 Vysotskii, Vladimir, xvi

W

War and Peace, 151 Weiner, Amir, 236 Wolfe, Thomas, 227n2, 238 Writers’ Union, 58, 75–77, 88, 109 see also Union of Writers (SSP)

Z

Zagorodnev, Artur, 154 Zak, V. I., 18n35, 83n91, 94, 101–102, 104, 124 Zakharov, Vladimir, 7, 34–35, 51, 63, 69–71, 82–82, 84, 127, 134, 149 “Dva Sokola” (Two falcons), 84 “Moriachka” (Sailor’s wife), 7, 132, 149 “Oi tumany moi, rastumany” (Oh mists, my mists), 35, 69 Zar’ian, Kostan 133 Zelenaia, Rina, 186, 189 Zharkovskii, Evgenii, 20, 35, 52–53, 66–67, 70, 121, 146 “Okei Britaniia!” (OK Britannia!), 122 “Partizan Morozko” (Partisan Morozko), 146 “Pesnia o Gremiashchem” (Song about Gremiashchii), 32–33 “Proshchaite, skalistye gory” (Farewell, rugged mountains), 20, 131

Index “Sineglazaia moriachka” (Blue-eyed sailor’s girl), 146 Zharov, Aleksandr, 14, 21, 56–57, 60, 68, 70, 72, 99, 139 Bei vraga v pukh i prakh” (Completely rout the enemy), 14 “I kto ego znaet” (Who knows why), 84 “V boi syny naroda” (To battle, sons of the people), 14

“Za Komsomol, za rodinu, vpered!” (For the Komsomol, for the ­motherland, forward), 13 “Zavetnyi kamen′” (The cherished rock), 21, 180–181, 230 Zhukov, Georgii, 184, 222, 235 Zhukova, Elena, 193, 212 Zuev, Ivan, 221 “Koptilka” (Homemade lamp), 221 Zykina, Liudmila, 184

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