In the summer of 2004, at the invitation of the Goethe Institute, I played four concerts in Siberia and in the Urals with my band Tocotronic. I was completely excited. The opportunity to learn something about the Siberian punk endground from first hand brought me to my sleep. In the aerofot machine towards Moscow I read a jubilee article about Putin in an allegedly liberal German-language Russian newspaper. With Ural Air we continued to Jekaterinburg. During a peculiar city tour, we visited churches and cathedrals that were demolished during the Stalin era. Instead, we looked at any buildings of socialist classicism. The many drinkers in the streets offered a sad picture.
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A post -Soviet cliché and yet reality. On the way to our venue we passed the huge building ruin of a television tower. Outside, somewhere in the forest, we played in a dilapidated techno disco. The public’s interest in our music was narrowly limited. I was still thrilled. After a few beers, my band blew. “I’m still staying,” I laid the other when they climbed into the shuttle. The next morning I woke up, stabbed by mosquitoes and helled heavily. I didn’t know how to get back to the hotel. I am still very surprised not to have been completely lost that night.
Lovable fine spirits who emphasized that they do not water alcohol
We met a few indie musicians in their studio. Lovable fine spirits who emphasized that they do not water alcohol. Many of the warm people we met on our trip avoided alcohol, especially vodka. The next day we continued with the plane to the Siberian Novosibirsk. Despite the countless prefabricated buildings, the city made a much more friendly impression than Jekaterinburg. We visited the “Academic Opera and Ballet Theater”. Actually, the avant -garde “House of Culture and Science” was to be created here. But Stalinism ended this dream. A touch of utopia still blows through the rooms.
It was my birthday. My bandmates gave me a bunch of bizarre cuddly toys. The “Nirvana”, in which our concert took place, looked like a club in Osnabrück or Marburg. A press conference was scheduled in the afternoon. An older journalist asked in German: “Lord of Lowtzow, how do you stand for the Catholic Church?” In the evening the hall was full of teenagers, who cheered from the first song and danced as if obsessed. We felt like the Beatles in 1964. Afterwards we wrote autographs in about three hours. I have kept a fan letter that was noted on a paper napkind.
They sounded good, unfortunately absolutely not Siberian – but according to Britpop
The next morning I was looking for postcards. When I wanted to give up, I heard my name: “Jan, Jan, Jan!” It was the Jewish-Russian music manager who had visited our concert the evening before. He had lived in Germany for some time. I entered his huge Mercedes. His mother was sitting in the back seat. He drove me to a shop where I actually got tickets. “My band is rehearsing this afternoon; I would be interested in your opinion,” he said when he stopped me at the hotel. So he chauffeured our mixer Sunny and me in the afternoon to the rehearsal room of his band, which was under the town hall in the catacombs. The band was visibly nervous, whether the international visit. The manager instructed the band to play a song. They sounded good. Unfortunately absolutely not Siberian, but according to Britpop. After the performance, the manager asked us: “Will this band get international success if I invest a million US dollars?” We warned ourselves in answers, then we said goodbye.
It continued to Krasnojarsk. 5,000 kilometers east of Hamburg. The city looks like the Soviet Union never stopped. The Goethe-Institut meant it well and booked us into the clean club. Here there was a ban on sneakers. We were amazed at the metal sticks on the stage. The audience sitting at tables showed little interest. After our appearance, strippers were ready. So. We fled to the local indie club.
The next day we contested the train ride to Omsk. 20 hours of forest. What a crazy German idea of wanting to take this huge country. In Omsk, strippers after our show again. But also a friendly audience and many autograph requests. Ten days in a foreign country. I am grateful for this experience that would no longer be possible today. I wonder much as the people we met at the time. Are they harassed? Are you exiled? Did you come to terms with the dictatorship, or – and this is the most terrible idea – has your spirit became the victim of the propaganda machine? I only wish you the best!
This column first appeared in the music express edition 8/2025.