Dream Note
Hold onto your vodka glasses, comrades, because we need to discuss what is arguably the most deranged theatrical production in the history of Soviet entertainment — and considering this is the same country that gave us ballet dancers defying gravity for six hours straight, that's saying something considerable. In 1931, a young Dmitri Shostakovich — yes, THE Shostakovich, the brooding genius who would go on to compose symphonies so emotionally devastating they could make a statue weep — decided to write a full-length score for the Leningrad Music Hall. And when I say 'full-length,' I mean this man apparently looked at the concept of restraint and laughed directly in its face like a Cossack who'd just been told to quiet down. The resulting show was less a theatrical production and more a fever dream assembled by a committee of insane geniuses who'd each been given different substances. Dancing girls? Naturally. A jazz band? Of course. A dancing DOG? Why on earth not — we've already abandoned every convention of civilized entertainment, let's throw in a poodle with rhythm. But wait, there's more, because this extravaganza also featured sequences of silent film — because why commit to one medium when you can have two — simulated air raids and gas attacks that must have been absolutely delightful for an audience living in constant fear of actual ones, a literal lorry driving around, a storm effect, waiters and waitresses performing in a luxury restaurant scene, and — I cannot stress this enough — RIVER NYMPHS. As if all that weren't enough to make every theatrical producer in history feel like an underachiever, the piece climaxed with a scene set in Heaven where the Devil and the Twelve Apostles performed a blasphemous knees-up. Let me repeat: THE DEVIL AND THE APOSTLES. DANCING. TOGETHER. IN HEAVEN. This is the kind of audacious, sacrilegious, magnificently unhinged artistic vision that could only exist in a society teetering between revolutionary fervor and totalitarian nightmare. Shostakovich would later face official condemnation for far less, which makes this glorious madness even more precious.
Hold onto your vodka glasses, comrades, because we need to discuss what is arguably the most deranged theatrical production in the history of Soviet entertainment — and considering this is the same country that gave us ballet dancers defying gravity for six hours straight, that's saying something considerable. In 1931, a young Dmitri Shostakovich — yes, THE Shostakovich, the brooding genius who would go on to compose symphonies so emotionally devastating they could make a statue weep — decided to write a full-length score for the Leningrad Music Hall. And when I say 'full-length,' I mean this man apparently looked at the concept of restraint and laughed directly in its face like a Cossack who'd just been told to quiet down. The resulting show was less a theatrical production and more a fever dream assembled by a committee of insane geniuses who'd each been given different substances. Dancing girls? Naturally. A jazz band? Of course. A dancing DOG? Why on earth not — we've already abandoned every convention of civilized entertainment, let's throw in a poodle with rhythm. But wait, there's more, because this extravaganza also featured sequences of silent film — because why commit to one medium when you can have two — simulated air raids and gas attacks that must have been absolutely delightful for an audience living in constant fear of actual ones, a literal lorry driving around, a storm effect, waiters and waitresses performing in a luxury restaurant scene, and — I cannot stress this enough — RIVER NYMPHS. As if all that weren't enough to make every theatrical producer in history feel like an underachiever, the piece climaxed with a scene set in Heaven where the Devil and the Twelve Apostles performed a blasphemous knees-up. Let me repeat: THE DEVIL AND THE APOSTLES. DANCING. TOGETHER. IN HEAVEN. This is the kind of audacious, sacrilegious, magnificently unhinged artistic vision that could only exist in a society teetering between revolutionary fervor and totalitarian nightmare. Shostakovich would later face official condemnation for far less, which makes this glorious madness even more precious.
— Dreamer's log, recorded 2020 in the clouds