Glukoza’s been spinning her high-pitched nasal rhymes since 2002, but it’s the video for her single Schweine [Pigs] that caught my eye, initially. A 3D animation like most of her videos, the story takes place in a world overtaken by Nazi pigs, where brave Glukoza stands up to their tyrannical ruler.
And the song itself? Incredibly catchy, actually. The lyrics are decidedly girl-power much like in the rest of her repertoire - refreshing against the slew of saccharine pop sluts plaguing Russia’s airwaves. You watch now:
Glukoza Nostra, where Glukoza wears a hot Matrix-inspired outfit and kicks ass with what is best described as Gunkata
Sneg Idet [It’s Snowing], Where Glukosa gets melancholic, wears glowing boots and plays with her dog in the snow
Nevesta [Bride], where Glukosa wears white, carries Katana blades and battles an evil dinosaur
Nenaviju [I hate], where Glukoza is liberated by a breakup and floats along a Tokyo-inspired metropolis
Thanks to Jhonen McPiggensteen, possessor of all pig-related knowledge, for the link.
“Vladimir Nabokov’s final work — an unfinished manuscript scholars call The Original of Laura — was meant to be destroyed 30 years ago. When Nabokov died in 1977, he left instructions for his heirs to burn the 138 handwritten index cards that made up the rough draft”, reports NPR
However, once the beloved pervert kicked that bucked, the matter was out of his hands. Vera, the late novelist’s wife, didn’t carry out his final wish and now, years after her death, their 73-year-old son Dmitri Nabokov intends to publish the manuscript. Having agonized over this decision for 30 years Dimitri is now convinced it’s his gift to the world and his father would ultimately approve.
I’m inclined to believe that if a man requests something be burned, he means it. Nonetheless, whether publishing The Original of Laura is morally sound isn’t up to me to decide and I, undoubtedly with legions of ravenous fans, look forward to reading it. Sorry, Vlad! The choices made regarding editing should be interesting; whether the manuscript will be published as is or transformed into a cohesive novel is yet to be announced.
Are you sick of being victimized by the overly confident and spoiled women of America?
Are you intrigued by the exotic yet vulnerable women of Eastern Europe?
Do you want to feel like a Big Powerful Savior Daddy-Man?
If you answered “yes” to one of more of the above you are part of a growing demographic. A demographic that’s ever-expanding, cheerfully bubbling to the surface of the internet like a pot of boiling baby feces. Yes, legions of xenophiles are uniting in one common goal - to meet and wed a Russian Woman - the perfect blend of dignity and modesty wrapped up nicely in a blanket of historical misfortune. And they’re doing it on Russian Women: The Real Truth.
Here you are led by the brave American-born blog admin through the finer points of kindling Russian romance on the Web. He unveils the complex secrets of the Russian woman’s psyche, the way brute Russian men treat the ladies as a commodity and insightful tips on avoiding the scams of “mail order bride services”. How does he know so much about Russia, you might be wondering to yourselves. Well, that’s because he lives there now! Yes, living in Russia has granted him unique access to Russian intricacies the rest of you non-Russians aren’t privy to. Just look at the way he describes his inspiration behind the blog:
“Russian women are like heroic characters because they are always dealing with dirty situations and environments but somehow they still manage to stay beautiful and out of trouble. I am like most Americans in that I love a good underdog story where the hero faces incredible odds but still comes out as the champion. This is a labor of love because it is an opportunity to bring the true story of these women into the light.This is especially important since their own modesty would never allow them to do it themselves…Russian women are looking for manly leaders who have a clear direction and purpose in life and from a historical and survival perspective this makes a great deal of sense”.
Passions ignite at The Crucible foundry in Oakland, CA.
Down by the West Oakland Bart station, often late into the night, one may observe mysterious flickering lights accompanied by loud explosions. If it ain’t gunshots, you can be sure some welder, sculptor or pyrotechnics whiz at the Crucible foundry is burning the midnight oil.
Founded by Michael Sturtz in 1999, this nonprofit educational hub of fine and industrial arts has attracted a highly motivated group of artists, artisans and students from all over the country. “From cast iron to neon, and from large-scale public art to the most precise kinetic sculpture, The Crucible is fast becoming the best-equipped public industry & arts education facility on the West Coast.”
Ballet star Tina Bohnstedt cruises in a vintage Pontiac (Firebird, natch).
Photo by Gary Wilson
Last year, audiences were astounded by the collective’s incendiary production of Romeo and Juliet. Their second annual “benefit fire ballet”, a decidedly ballsy interpretation Stravinsky’s Firebird, opens tonight:
[A] unique fusion of classical ballet, aerialists, acrobats, fire performers, break dancers…paired with fire and industrial arts. It’s definitely ballet with an industrial edge provided by Crucible artisans, a cameo appearance by a Pontiac Firebird, and a ballerina’s graceful pas-de-deux with a motorcycle stunt rider.
The production’s running every night through the 12th, with additional shows on the 16th, 17th and 19th. Proceeds from ticket sales will go directly towards supporting the Crucible school. All shows are expected to sell out, so if you’re thinking of going (and I know folks as far away as San Diego and Portland are making the trip) get your tickets in advance.
Unicorn tank illustration by Roman Papusev. Larger here.
These steam-powered unicorn tanks belong to the world of “Black Ice Heart” a Russian novel-in-progress by Leonid Alekhin. The plot of the book is not yet fully known; Alekhin releases only snippets of scenes and dialogue on his journal. From what I’ve been able to translate, the story takes place on the fictitious continent of Akemon, which is devastated by technological revolution. The continent’s technology runs on a combustible mineral called Phlogiston, and its scientific secrets are based on the learnings of four ancient tribes. The inheritors of this knowledge became the houses of four different territories (Diamond, Emerald, Ruby and Sapphire), and each house developed its own pattern of technology as a result. The steam tanks belong to the Diamond territory, and they use it to defend themselves against aggression from the south (from the Ruby and possibly other territories).
Another take on The Unicorn by Boris Kharlamov. Larger here.
Most of the novel’s illustrations come from the talented Roman Papsuev. Here are the other illustrations from the story so far:
This looks like it’s going to be an interesting story! The atmosphere reminds me of what Philip Pullman created for the amazing His Dark Materials Trilogy, on which the film The Golden Compass was based. As Alekhin reveals more of the story, I’m really hoping to see some interesting female characters as well.
Placid nuns with milky alien-beauty faces, glowing children with otherworldly skin conditions, and the most ordinary faces made strange by details such as a chalk-white complexion, a subtle change in proportions, overly-glassy eyes. These are the images of Russian artist Oleg Dou, who combines conventional photography with graphic rendering techniques to produce matching portraits of unsettling consistency.
Like many other good things, Oleg Dou’s art was introduced to me by Elegy Magazine. Elegy just released Issue 52, which features Alexander Hacke, Thurston Moore, Tim Burton/Johnny Depp, Nick Cave and Lisa Gerrard.
On Sunday I had the heavenly pleasure of discovering another one of those LA places you won’t hear of too often. Olympic Spa is a women-only retreat in an otherwise barren stretch of Koreatown. Believe it or not, I’d never been to a spa unless you wish to count trips to the banya as a kid growing up in Russia.
Banya is one of those unforgettable [read: traumatic] quintessentially Russian experiences I’ll always treasure. At its core a bath house/steam room, the banya employs some interesting props and tactics, beyond the expected towel or, perhaps, loofah. Take, for instance, the venik. This is a bunch of actual fresh n’ leafy twigs with which one is expected to self-flagellate in order to achieve some ultimate softness. You have not known true confusion until you’ve seen a nude 70 year old babushka operate one of these things inside a packed steam room. An impressive explanation of banyas can be found on Wikipedia, where I chuckle at the writers’ innocent explanation of the term “podjopnik” as “something to sit on”. Pdjopnik, literally, translates to “under-ass-nik”. I’ve never actually heard anyone use it. But I digress.
Russkaya Venera [Russian Venus] by Boris Kustodiev
My banya experiences left me comfortable with the idea of a hall filled with nude wet women of all shapes, sizes and ages. Once the initial panic subsides, it all becomes relaxing and comforting in a primal way, as was the case at Olympic Spa. I began with a proper dry steaming, followed by a dip in a glorious tea pool, then a mineral pool and salt steam room. A very small lady called me from the salty vapor to begin the main event. As I followed her to the massage table my cobalt hair and tattoos earned a few sideways glances, but just a few - everyone was much too busy luxuriating to concern themselves with my towel-staining.
For the next two hours this tiny hurricane of a lady did things, things unlike any I’d experienced until that point. This involved an extremely vigorous scrub, buckets of seaweed water, what felt like at least a gallon of oil and more. I don’t want to spoil the actual magic of what their signature Goddess Treatment entails, but take my word for it - so worth it. Suffice to say within 20 minutes I was convinced I was in a harem filled with beautiful slave girls, being prepared for the Sheik [really]. And no, there was no happy ending, you perverts - just a very intense massage and exfoliating treatment that left even my elbows and knees velvet-soft. It would have been criminal not to share this place with the good women of Coilhouse and I fully intend to drag a few friends next time I go. Velvet-flesh for all!
Womens’ correctional facilities are the ultimate sleep-over party with all the trappings: pajamas, bunk beds, in-fighting, sloppy joes, getting touched up under the covers, and being told when to go to bed. Some prisons even let the girls play dress-up. Miss America, meet Miss Demeanor:
To be fair, it’s primarily inmates who organize these shows. It’s an increasingly popular phenomenon, with womens’ prisons hosting beauty pageants in Russia, Brazil, Peru, Honduras, Angola and the Philippines, amongst others, with working titles like Miss Captivity. The idea is to ‘boost’ the self-esteem of (at least the better looking portion of) the prison population.
There is arguably an obvious exploitative angle in this, one which perpetuates gender and class divisions in a place where women are their most vulnerable. The media is only too happy to join in, throwing the spotlight on the tragedy of a pretty young woman in distress, putting herself on display. A beauty contest under these conditions probably does next to nothing for the self esteem or prospects of the contestants in any meaningful way.
It’s almost a perverse caricature of a parole board hearing in a Van Halen video, an effort to charm your way into garnering favour from you captors and respite from your situation by any measure necessary. Having said that, spending years trapped like an animal in a gray, clinical dorm framed in razor wire, any warm-blooded woman would thirst for anything beautiful in her world. Participation in these productions transiently refashions the contestant from a shoplifter or drug addict into a graceful, sophisticated and beautiful person of seeming worth, if only for one evening. Who could condemn the contestants for their humble aspirations and for enjoying an event which breaks up the tedium of Gilligan’s Island re-runs on prison TV?
Ah, Soviet socio-political satire, ah Russian dystopia. Could anything be greater than a combination of both, in movie format? Unlikely, says Kin Dza-Dza! - a minimal and clever sci-fi masterpiece from the ’80s. Written and directed by revered director Georgi Daneliya, this film from my early years was only allowed to see the light of day thanks to its creator’s reputation. The plot revolves around the story of two oddballs who accidentally teleport to the mysterious planet Pluk in the Kin Dza-Dza galaxy. Fiddler and Uncle Vova unwittingly activate a device belonging to a hobo who claims to be an alien, and the fun begins.
Pluk’s inhabitants are a strange bunch; far advanced in technology, though scarcely evolved socially, with command of only a 2-word vocabulary. They look exactly like humans, have the power of telepathy, yet use a tool that divides all being into two groups - superior and inferior. Uncle Vova and Fiddler have many interesting encounters in store, and much to overcome if they’re ever to make it home.
Kin Dza-Dza! is rich with [not entirely subtle] critique of Communism and the poignant bitter humor I expect from Soviet Era films along with crunchy puns, rust, dust, and a Mad Maxy landscape throughout. Steampunk costumes and gadgets make appearances and are actually utilized in a way that makes sense! It’s a shame this Russian cult favorite isn’t better known - I deem it worthy of the pickiest sci-fi fans, provided they can get past the complete lack of any special effects.
When I returned to Moscow after 14 years things had changed. A lot. My Russian slang was suddenly dated, most older women had fire engine red hair and there were superior coffee shops everywhere. To adjust and get a better feel of the Motherland I spent my evenings watching television.
Moskva Instruktsiya, or Moscow Instruction, is a program claiming to be a guide to Moscow’s growing subcultures. Conventionally attractive (and somewhat condescending) hostesses serve as the viewers’ chaperones to the underground. While the show is informative and uses now edgy propaganda art-inspired titles it does feel like the reality TV exploitation we’re used to here in the States. Interesting nonetheless is this piece of Instruktsiya gold YouTube so generously provided. I give you Russian Emo, Punks and Cyber Goths on Moskva Instruktsiya.
