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PASSPORT, PLEASE
Minsk
May 2007
By PARTHENON HUXLEY
 elarus: Roll up for the Magical Minsk-ery Tour!
My band The Orchestra recently performed two shows in Lithuania to absolutely fantastic crowds. (See Passport Please #2.) Both gigs were in modern basketball arenas and the crowds were great. It was truly an exciting couple of nights and we were well impressed with Lithuania.
After Lithuania we would be heading to Minsk, Belarus. We asked our Lithuanian hosts for their opinion: what was it like? They gave us a succinct answer. "Belarus is crappy. You won't like Minsk."
Hmm.
No, seriously, what do you really think?
I suspected there might be nationalistic reasons for their anti-Belarus attitude. Lithuania and Belarus are neighbors. While the Lithuanians have tilted Westward since the early '90s, Belarus remains closely linked to Russia. With Minsk only 200 kilometers down the road, it would be understandable if the Lithuanians looked down their noses a little bit at their staunchly Eastern Bloc neighbor.
Minsk. The name alone has always held a certain ironic charm for me. With its blunt single syllable and obligatory "-sk" finish, it just screams Soviet Obscura. Never in a million years did I think I would actually go there. Call it an un-dream come true.
In the week leading up to our arrival in Minsk I think all of us in the band cradled a small amount of dread. The Lithuanian assessment stayed in our minds. Adding fuel to Belarus' salty reputation is the fact that the West considers President Aleksandr Lukashenko to be a dictator. The president had in fact recently "discouraged" an upstart political movement in Minsk that modeled itself after Ukraine's Orange Revolution. Dictator 1, people zip.
Party on, Minsk!
We flew into Belarus at night. When we began our descent Minsk appeared as a golden circle of light in the distance below. Beyond the city's circumference the earth was pitch black. No suburban sprawl here. The lights of the city gradually drifted away from my window. The airport would be miles off in the forest.
At passport control we were greeted by sullen-faced authorities in military-esque garb who told us we needed to fill out visa applications "upstairs." Uh, okay.
We lugged our carry-on bags and guitars up to a fluorescent lighted holding area. We each filled out lengthy Soviet-style visa applications which required information about our families, our education, our travel histories, former employers, criminal records, health history, etc. It's the only form I can think of on which it might be a good idea to check "Yes" to the question "Are you now or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party?"
The visas cost us over a hundred bucks each. Our passports received fancy full-page stamps and we trudged downstairs. This time passport control waved us through. Victory. Our promoters seemed relieved and greeted us warmly at baggage claim.
Welcome to Minsk, comrades of classical styles for rock!
Our van from the airport was the only vehicle on the road for the first twenty miles in route to the city. We were surrounded by deep dark forest. Based on my view from the plane I knew we'd eventually hit a ring road and finally we did. Traffic picked up a bit. I think all of us were expecting to ride into a desultory, drab cityscape--the kind of place a Lithuanian would call "crappy." I expected crumbling apartment blocks, broken roads, dimly lit buildings, police check-points. The grim usual.
The road into the city became a wide boulevard, well lit and with a manicured grass divider. New apartments and neo-classical buildings lined the streets. Nicely detailed edifices were uniformly lit from a low angle for maximum visual effect. Orderly traffic coursed through the city, new cars everywhere. The sidewalks hummed with pedestrians. We crossed over a serene river on a wide handsome bridge. As we passed a stand-alone building that resembled the Kennedy Center our promoters said, "This is the venue for tomorrow night. Across the street is the presidential palace."
Well, hush my Minsk!
On we went for another mile, past clean wide sidewalks and more impressive architecture. We pulled up to a distinguished century-old building. Hotel Minsk.
"Here we are, please."
The lobby had thirty-foot-high ceilings and comfy oversized furniture. My room was spacious, modern and clean, with a tall ceiling and a nice view over a sprawling urban plaza. Across the way a fifty-foot high mural of Santa Claus stared back at me. Awwwww.
I ambled down to the hotel restaurant with a Minsk-y little skip in my step. The restaurant was old-school luxurious with formal table settings and overstuffed chairs. The menu was awesome-- pages and pages of dinner choices.
Halfway through the first course our collective ear was drawn to live piano and violin music. From our table we weren't able to see the musicians but their skills were so apparent we grew curious. I got up and peered around the corner, expecting to see some grey old geezers like us….
Nope. Minsk wins again! I spotted two gorgeous young women in cocktail dresses playing their asses off. The pianist riffed away on classical pieces, adding jazzy flourishes while the violinist sailed right alongside effortlessly. Geez.
Minsk...you little minx!
What were the Lithuanians thinking?
After dinner I hit the streets. I had my digital video camera with me and right away I felt conspicuous filming the city. Pedestrians stared a bit and I wondered, am I doing something that's frowned upon? No one said anything of course, but I still felt like a spy. Paranoid Yankee dog! Always with the suspicions!
I found a terrific mural in the Soviet Propagandist style set beneath an archway. I'm a sucker for this stuff--the noble farmwoman, the determined iron worker, the dedicated scientist all forging a brilliant future before a backdrop of tractors, skyscrapers and test tubes. (Plus a few tanks, jets and bombers for purposes of defense, of course!)
Next stop was the G.U.M. department store, Minsk edition. The Moscow GUM store was famous in the old days Before The Fall. For all we knew in the West, it was the only store in Russia. It was always trotted out as the equivalent or superior to the American capitalist department store.
GUM's impressive neo-classical façade occupied a full city block. Elaborate window displays had been prepared for Christmas. (Yes, Jesus and/or Santa Claus are officially okay again in the East.) From the looks of the building I figured GUM was at least Minsk's Macy's (say that three times fast), so in I went.
Okay, this is more like it. Sorry, Minsk. The Lithuanians have you pegged on this one. You can't win 'em all. GUM wasn't even a Marshalls. It was pretty much a flea market in an office building. Take a hundred vendors from the Rose Bowl Swap Meet, stick 'em in a wing of a Natural History Museum and you get the idea. GUM was a perfect representation of the banal Soviet milieu: a combination of monumental and crappy.
Of course, I kind of loved it.
The next day we were taken to lunch at a small café on a side street. It looked like a New York diner from the forties. The waitresses were dolled up in black and white uniforms and Glenn Miller poured from the jukebox. I love two things about places like this. First, the obvious effort from an owner with passion and a vision, and second, the inevitable inaccuracies-the almost-but-not-quite-right details-that ultimately reveal that "Manhattan" is spelled m-I-n-s-k. In this case it was the light fixtures. The booths were great, the uniforms, dishes, glassware all pretty good. But people in this part of the world just love those big-ass-ugly light fixtures. They can't help themselves. If a Russian could replace a fridge light with a chandelier he'd do it in a heartbeat.
As much as I liked the faux USA café--and the food WAS really good--the crowning achievement in this tale of Surprisingly Wonderful Minsk was yet to come.
But before we go there, I have to mention our gig at the Kennedy Center style place which I learned was the Palace of the Republic. It went well. The Orchestra Featuring Former Members of ELO was sold-out. (See poster as well as a closeup of "Parthenon Huxley" written in Russian, below). The crowd was great and after the show a delegation came into our dressing room and presented us with a special plaque or award from the city. There was a long speech in Russian by a nice lady who seemed pretty excited. We were grateful for whatever she said!
The only black mark during the show was a memorable move by our keyboardist and sometime guitarist, Eric. During "Ma Ma Belle," Eric and his guitar ventured to the front of the stage to increase the audience's proximity to the live Rock-a thoughtful and giving gesture on his part. Unfortunately the lighting guy decided to go "full black" at the precise moment Eric got closest to the edge of the stage. Over he went, landing awkwardly to say the least.
I didn't see it happen. I was busy singing a verse and then happened to notice Eric down at the audience level trying to find a way back onstage. Honestly, the first thing I thought was, "Why's show stealer working the crowd during my vocal?"
Poor guy. He twisted both ankles pretty bad.
After the show our promoters told us they wanted to take us to a special place for dinner. They said a famous Belarusian singer was celebrating his birthday and he'd be honored to have us there. We felt honored to be so honored. Off we went.
So.
Obviously by this time we were having a pretty good visit to Minsk, formerly Suckthuania. Great hotel, great food, impressive buildings, talented musicians, welcoming hosts, big-deal gig and so on. We were well pleased. Nothing more needed to be done by our Belarusian hosts to leave a favorable impression.
And then they took us to my new favorite restaurant in the whole world.
The Beatles Café.
Are you smiling? You're with me, right?
Anybody who knows me knows I'm a Beatles guy. In fact, everybody in my band is a Beatles guy and we're not afraid to admit it.
The Beatles Café is an amazing little place run by musicians and awash with Beatles memorabilia, much of which I'd never seen before. Eastern Bloc posters of A Hard Days Night, odd black and white photos, a life-sized mural of the Abbey Road cover, etc.
The place was packed. We were taken to a table reserved for us and introduced to the birthday guy. Everybody applauded, including us. It felt festive and fun. The staff immediately brought us drinks and dinner and the Beatles Café hummed with celebration. We ate some great food and glanced around the room at all the surprising stuff on the walls. What a cool place. This totally clinched the deal for Minsk, now officially the greatest city in the universe.
Then the house band got up and played. Two guys with acoustic guitars. One looked like Jerry Garcia, one looked like Jerry Buss. As we chatted over dinner they began playing. Each of us at our table stopped talking and turned to listen to these guys. They were doing instrumentals of Beatle songs…but…in a most unexpected way. Their arrangements were insane, really clever and well played. All of us were kind of mesmerized. We hadn't ever heard anything quite like them…and that in itself was ridiculous because of the material! We were blown away.
Misha, our Russian monitor/backline guy, told me that Belarus was famous for its musicians and singers. "In old Soviet Union all best singers are come from Belarus."
Just then the birthday man was getting onstage to sing. Misha said, "Thees guy beegest singer of Belarus in '70s." The singer began to perform to a backing track. Misha nodded, "This song ees beegest xhit."
I didn't understand a word, of course, but I understood this guy's star power. He was a great singer. Powerful voice. The song sounded like a classic '70s hit should-big arrangement, interesting melody, obviously passionate subject matter and big outro.
Misha's remark regarding the reputation of Belarusian musicians made tons of sense. I thought about the players at the hotel, the acoustic Beatles duo, this '70s singer--they were all top-notch.
I couldn't believe the "180" Belarus had pulled off in two short days. It just goes to show you…be wary of what your neighbors say…and never judge a country by its dictator. Dude: Belarus rocks!
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