Russian Woodstocks

With each passing year, Russia’s summer festivals are gaining ground as alternatives to the stifled city music scene. Largely ignored by most media outlets, the festivals attract hundreds of thousands of musicians and music lovers and offer an atmosphere of amazing creativity and diversity. As well, the festivals offer regional performers from all over Russia a chance to make a name for themselves and build an audience without having to break into radio or television. 

Pustye Kholmy (“Empty Hills”) attracted 45 thousand people in mid-July to its traditional location along the Ressa river in Kaluga oblast. This is up from about 20 thousand fans last year (The first Pustye Kholmy in 2003 was attended by just 300 people). Some 500 musicians performed on wooden stages built by volunteers. 

The art sculptures, impromptu performances and workshops make Kholmy a bit similar to America’s anarchic Burning Man festival. The difference however, is a focus on music and the fact that there is no ticket charge. Kholmy is free, non-commercial and organized by volunteers, though in past years it has taken money from sponsors. 

In the 1960s, a group of students were camping and rafting on the Uda river in Samara region. One of them, Valery Grushin, died trying to save a man and his children from drowning after their boat flipped over. His friends returned to the area each summer to commemorate him, their habit eventually attracting more people and turning into the biggest festival in the Soviet Union, where young bards performed their songs and a jury determined the festival’s best song. 

By 1980, Grushin was attracting some 100,000 fans from all across the Soviet Union. But the thirteenth annual festival, scheduled for that year, was suddenly cancelled during a wave of political screw-tightening that discouraged any form of unsanctioned self-expression. 

Grushin was reincarnated in the late 1980s and has continued to grow as a cultural phenomenon. This year, some 100 thousand people attended two festival camps, one focused exclusively on traditional bard songs, the other venturing into other musical genres.

People who have more time or who consider Kholmy or Grushin too “old school” or “hippie” can attend KaZantip, an electronic music festival founded in 1991 on the Crimean peninsula. It runs for more than a month, turning into something like a 100-thousand-strong rave with 300 DJs and seaside dancing. Like other festivals, it started out just as a gathering of a few friends.

By far the strangest bird among Russia’s summer festivals is Ustuu Khure, which takes place near Kyzyl, Tyva, near the ruins of a Tibetan monastery that once was a place of study and worship for some 1,500 monks. Today, it is a performance space for traditional throat singers, drummers from Africa, and “ethnofunk” artists. 

– maria antonova