Mitya Vishnyakov

Name: Dmitry Vasilievich Vishnyakov Nicknames: Mitya (family, old acquaintances), Vishnya (rock club, scene) Age: 23 (b. July 17, 1962) Place & Time: Leningrad, 1985

Appearance:

Lean, wiry build — the result of years in track and field and a habit of not letting himself go, even if his diet is far from athletic. Dark hair slightly past the shoulders, usually unstyled — just tucked behind the ears or tied back with a rubber band when it gets in the way. Narrow face, pronounced cheekbones, an attentive gaze from under slightly lowered brows — not gloomy, more observant. Long-fingered hands, calluses on the fingertips from guitar strings, sometimes traces of rosin or solder.

Clothing:

At work (GOI): Shirt — standard factory-made, light-colored, often not exactly fresh by Friday. Suit trousers (grey or dark blue, slightly loose — either his father’s or bought at Gostiny). A sweater over the shirt in cold weather — dark, chunky knit, possibly his mother’s. Shoes — standard Soviet fare, “farewell youth” type or whatever he managed to get. Jacket — demi-season, Bologna fabric or something equally nondescript. In the lab — a white coat over everything. Looks like a perfectly ordinary young engineer, raises no questions.

Outside work: Jeans — a point of pride. Most likely not real Levi’s (too expensive — 150–200 rubles from fartsovshchiki, more than a month’s salary), but Indian-made or homemade “varenki” bleached by hand. Dark T-shirt or turtleneck. Jacket — denim or leather (second-hand, acquired through chance, worn-in). Sneakers or something similar. In winter — some kind of coat, possibly inherited from his father.

Personality: A melancholic with quiet irony. Not the life of the party, but fully part of it. Knows how to listen, observes more than he speaks, but when he does speak — it’s precise and often funny. His modesty isn’t insecurity, it’s upbringing: Leningrad intelligentsia teaches you not to stand out. Underneath that — stubbornness and a firm personal stance, just not performed for others. A “grounded dreamer” fits best: he dreams, but knows he lives in a country where dreams come through the back door. His rebelliousness isn’t theatrical — he won’t climb barricades, but he also won’t lie at a Komsomol meeting. He just quietly does things his own way.

Work: Engineer at the S.I. Vavilov State Optical Institute (GOI). Salary: 120 rubles/month. Work involves optical instruments, alignment, lab routine. He’s neutral about it: doesn’t hate it, doesn’t burn for it. It’s a “roof” — a work record book, official employment, protection from Article 209 (parasitism).

Sometimes it’s even interesting — hands and brain are engaged, and optics has its own kind of beauty. But his soul isn’t in it.

Skills & Interests: Hands: Confident with soldering — repairs amplifiers, builds guitar effects, can fix a tape recorder or radio. In the scene, that’s a valuable skill, and Mitya takes a quiet pride in it.

Sports: In school and at Polytech — track and field, middle-distance running. Had rank-level results. Now no systematic training, but keeps himself in shape out of habit: occasional morning runs along the embankment, pull-ups. Lean, wiry body — despite a lifestyle that doesn’t really support it.

Reading: Reads a lot, voraciously. From samizdat — Brodsky, especially early Leningrad poems. Typewritten copies of Orwell and Zamyatin circulate hand to hand. Officially — the Strugatsky brothers, Bulgakov. Gets books from friends, libraries, sometimes through third-hand connections.

Music: Western: Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, David Bowie, Lou Reed. “Records on bones” are already a thing of the past, but reel-to-reel tapes and cassettes circulate. Listens on a Mayak or Nota reel-to-reel, or a cassette player if he can get one. Domestic: Akvarium, Kino, Zoopark, Strannye Igry. Knows the Leningrad rock scene from the inside.

Daily Life & Habits: Food: Navy-style pasta, fried eggs with “Doktorskaya” sausage (if available), pelmeni (store-bought — Ostankino or whatever’s available), sandwiches with Druzhba processed cheese, strong tea with sugar — almost chifir. Sometimes the institute canteen: set lunch for 60–80 kopecks.

Smoking: A lot. Belomor, Yava (if lucky — the proper Yava, not the Dubna one), sometimes Kosmos. Bulgarian cigarettes are a праздник: Stewardessa, Rodopi, BT. Smokes everywhere — at work, at home, in stairwells, at concerts.

Drinking: Zhigulevskoe beer — if there’s a barrel in the courtyard or it’s available at a “steklyashka.” Vodka — when there’s a reason and company, but 1985 means Gorbachev’s anti-alcohol campaign: harder to get, queues, rationing, restrictions. Samogon — if someone has it. Port wine “Three Sevens” or “Agdam” — classic courtyard hangout fuel.

Time: After work — rehearsals, apartment concerts, hanging out at Saigon (café on the corner of Nevsky and Vladimirsky), sometimes in workshops or boiler rooms of acquaintances. Weekends — same, plus trips out of the city, walks, reading. Life revolves around music and people.

Biography (brief): Raised in a Leningrad intelligentsia family. Quiet, bookish kid, good student. Parents steered him toward Polytech — a “reliable” profession. In his 2nd–3rd year he got pulled into the rock scene — and everything shifted. Studies became formalities. Graduated without failing grades, largely thanks to his professor father and his own capable mind.

His father also got him into GOI and “handled” the army issue. In his final year they formed Ledokhod — a band that became the real смысл of everything. Now he’s a young engineer by day, rock musician by night — and there’s no doubt which life is the real one.

BAND “LEDOKHOD”

Dmitry “Vishnya” Vishnyakov — vocals, guitar, lyrics. His voice is quiet, slightly raspy — more spoken-sung than shouted. The lyrics carry a subdued strain: not direct protest, but a longing for something that doesn’t exist, for a life beyond the horizon. Recurring imagery — water, ice, wind, empty streets, trains that leave without you.

Igor Stepanovich Zhukov, “Zhuk” — drums, 24. Solid, loud, outgoing — Mitya’s complete opposite. A former vocational school kid, works as a mechanic at Elektrosila. Taught himself drums, plays with power but roughly. The life of the party; without him, Ledokhod would fall apart on a purely practical level — he secures rehearsal spaces, hauls equipment, gathers people. To Mitya, he’s like the older brother he never had.

Aleksey Markovich Rivkin, “Lyokha-Klavish” — keyboards, main composer, 25. Quiet, hunched, wears glasses. Graduated from a music college affiliated with the conservatory, but never made it into the conservatory itself — or chose not to. Works as an accompanist at the Lensovet House of Culture. Writes music that gives you goosebumps — simple melodies, but they stick. The only one in the band with formal musical training, which makes him occasionally unbearable in his perfectionism. Jewish — in the context of the time, not a drama, but not irrelevant either: likely one of the reasons he didn’t get into the conservatory.

Bass player — vacant. The previous bassist, Sergey Nikolaevich Tarasov, “Taras”, was drafted into the army in spring 1984. By autumn he was in Afghanistan. Letters come rarely, short, nothing specific. The band waits for him, but understands — there’s no knowing if he’ll return. Or who he’ll return as. It’s an unhealed wound for Ledokhod, never spoken of out loud, but always present.

CIRCLE Friend / Fartsovshchik

Eduard Kazimirovich Lyashko, “Funt” — 24. The nickname comes from measuring everything in money — and because “pound sterling” sounds good. Sharp, quick, cheerful, with a permanent half-smile. Deals around Gostiny and the Gallery: jeans, records, gum, cigarettes, tapes. Knows everyone and everything. At the same time — genuinely kind, generous, willing to give the last thing he has to “his own.” Gets Mitya recordings and cigarettes at friendly prices, sometimes practically free.

Lives by the rule “you’ve got to hustle,” but has never set up his friends. Takes risks every day — fartsovka is a criminal charge. Dresses fashionably — by scene standards, almost шик: real Levi’s, a Japanese cassette player. Dreams of leaving the country, half-jokingly.

Family

Anastasia Vladimirovna Vishnyakova (née Zubova) — mother, 51. Head of a technical department at the Kirov Plant. A woman of steel: organized, strong-willed, used to being in charge. Loves Mitya painfully, but expresses it through control and anxiety. “Get a haircut,” “what kind of people are these,” “you could have defended your thesis.” Grew up in post-war Leningrad, knows what real problems are — and genuinely doesn’t understand why her son is looking for new ones.

She isn’t afraid of rock music itself — she’s afraid of the system that can break people. She remembers what happens to those who stand out.

Vasily Anatolyevich Vishnyakov — father, 54. Professor of theoretical physics at LPI named after M.I. Kalinin, Doctor of Physical and Mathematical Sciences. Softer than the mother, more интеллигент in expression, but aligned with her on the essentials. In his youth, he listened to jazz, knows what forbidden culture is — which is exactly why he understands the risks.

Arranged Mitya’s diploma, his job, and his deferment from the army through institutional connections. Quietly proud of his son, but will never say it. Grumbles about the “hair,” but in the evening over tea might ask, “So, what have you written lately?” Between the lines — he respects that his son doesn’t lie to himself. Out loud — never.

Dacha in Komarovo — wooden, post-war, in or near an academic settlement. A place of strength for the family: in summer — pines, the Gulf, silence. Mitya sometimes escapes there alone to write lyrics.

Colleague (GOI)

Gennady Pavlovich Suslov — 26. They sit at neighboring desks. Serious, precise, ambitious. Already working on his Candidate’s thesis. Party member — not out of belief, but because “that’s what you need for a career.” Looks at Mitya with genuine confusion: sees a smart guy with skilled hands wasting himself on nonsense.

Sometimes teases him: “Vishnyakov, did you come to work straight from a dump again?” No malice — more like an older brother who “knows better.” Might cover for him if he’s late. But if he knew the full scale of Mitya’s rock club life — he’d be genuinely horrified.

Boss

Arkady Semyonovich Chernikov — 48, head of the lab at GOI. Charismatic, loud, with a mustache, smokes a pipe — the only one in the institute. One of those Soviet managers who can both get things done and keep people in line. Treats Mitya with a kind of patronage: sees talent, doesn’t push too hard, but occasionally says, “Vishnyakov, you’ve got brains — don’t waste them.”

Rumor has it he was an amateur bard in his youth — which is why he treats Mitya’s “absences” with some understanding, but keeps boundaries: at work, you work.

DORM

Dormitory on the Petrograd Side, nearest metro — Petrogradskaya. An old building, former income house converted into a dorm back in the 1930s. Long corridors, high ceilings, shared kitchen, the smell of boiled cabbage and tobacco permanently in the air.

To work on Vasilievsky Island — 15 minutes by tram across Tuchkov Bridge or one metro stop. To Saigon — three metro stops or half an hour on foot via Kamennoostrovsky and Nevsky.

Mitya’s room: In the dorm, inherited registration from his grandmother after her death. Small, separate room (already luck), but shared facilities: kitchen, bathroom, toilet — per floor. Thin walls, life fully exposed.

Neighbors:

1. Zinaida Fyodorovna Kryukova, “Baba Zina” — 67. Retired widow. Has lived in the dorm forever. Knows everything, sees everything, comments on everything. Complains about Mitya’s music, but feeds him cabbage and potato pirozhki. TV always blasting — Vremya every evening. For Mitya — part conscience, part grandmother he no longer has.

2. Valery Ignatievich Syomin, “Palych” — 43. Factory worker, divorced. Quiet alcoholic — drinks neatly, but daily. Harmless, philosophizes in the kitchen after his second glass. Treats Mitya with respect: “Educated, works at an institute.” Sometimes asks him to fix a radio.

3. Larisa Andreevna Boyko — 22. Nurse from a polyclinic. Quiet, pretty, shy. In love with Mitya — hopelessly, and obvious to everyone except herself. Blushes when they meet in the kitchen, bakes syrniki “by accident extra.” Mitya understands everything, feels awkward, pities her on a human level, but — feels nothing, and is terrified of a situation where no one can walk away without getting hurt. Avoids her. Baba Zina actively tries to matchmake.

4. Rustam Ildarovich Khakimov — 28. Civil engineer, Tatar from Kazan, assigned here after graduation. Calm, reliable, laconic. Cooks plov in the shared kitchen — an event for the entire floor. With Mitya — steady, good relations: they can stand in silence on the stairwell smoking, and that’s enough. The only one Mitya let hear a Ledokhod recording — Rustam nodded, said “it’s good,” and for Mitya that was the highest praise.

5. Nikolai Sergeevich Frolov, “Kolyan” — 20. Student at LETI, living in the dorm “through connections.” Loud, enthusiastic, slightly annoying. Follows Mitya around, considers him incredibly cool. Asks to be taught guitar, tags along to apartment gigs. Mitya tolerates him — Kolyan’s harmless and overall a good kid, just… a bit much.

ROCK CLUB (LRK)

Mitya and Ledokhod are newcomers, recently admitted, passed the litovanie. Haven’t played major concerts yet, but have been noticed at apartment gigs and smaller venues. The scene is receptive: Mitya’s lyrics stand out, Lyokha-Klavish’s melodies are unusual. The band is “on the rise of expectations” — haven’t proven anything yet, but there’s a sense they could.

Mitya in the club — one of their own. Helps other bands: soldering, fixing gear, quietly, without showing off. That earns respect. Easygoing in communication, ironic, never postures.

But when Boris Grebenshchikov, Viktor Tsoi, Mike Naumenko or any of the “big names” are in the same room — Mitya freezes. Can’t bring himself to approach, fumbles, starts talking nonsense or says nothing at all. Zhuk laughs at him for it. Funt offers to “introduce him, no problem.” Mitya refuses.

For him, those people are almost not of this world — even though they walk the same corridors and smoke the same Belomor.

LRK atmosphere: Cigarette smoke, out-of-tune guitars, arguments until voices give out, чужие lyrics on crumpled sheets, “lend me three rubles till Friday,” rehearsals in basements, rumors, friendly mockery — and the feeling that you’re doing something real. Maybe the only real thing in this life.

TIME CONTEXT: LENINGRAD, 1985 Political background

March — Chernenko dies, Gorbachev becomes General Secretary. The word perestroika hasn’t yet turned into a slogan, but something in the air has shifted — a young leader, a more живой way of speaking, a sense that “maybe now things will be different.” No one understands how yet.

From May — the anti-alcohol campaign: alcohol is sold only from 14:00 to 19:00, queues at liquor stores stretch for blocks, sugar starts disappearing from shops (samogon). People jokingly call Gorbachev the “Mineral Secretary.” Vodka is obtained through connections, from taxi drivers at double price, through fartsovshchiki.

Afghanistan continues — zinc coffins are coming back, but this isn’t mentioned on television. It’s spoken about in whispers.

Everyday life and shortages

An engineer’s salary — 120–150 rubles. Queues are normal: for meat, sausage, boots, books.

“Thrown out” (vybrosili) is the key word: Finnish boots were “thrown out,” Yugoslav jackets, Indian tea. Imported goods — through fartsovshchiki or po blatu.

Jeans — 120–200 rubles from fartsovshchiki. A cassette recorder — a dream (120–200 rubles for a Soviet Elektronika, imported ones are basically unreachable). Reel-to-reel players like Mayak or Nota are more realistic.

Dorm TV — black-and-white, two channels, Vremya at 21:00 is a ritual.

Basic food set: pasta, potatoes, bread, Doktorskaya sausage (if available), Druzhba processed cheese, canned Breakfast of a Tourist, pelmeni. Zhigulevskoe beer — from a street barrel, carried home in a metal milk can. Institute canteen — set lunch for 60–80 kopecks.

Transport

Metro — 5 kopecks, four lines. Trams, trolleybuses, buses — 3–5 kopecks.

Mitya gets to work by tram across Tuchkov Bridge or one metro stop (Petrogradskaya → Vasileostrovskaya). To Saigon and Rubinstein Street — metro to Mayakovskaya or Ploshchad Vosstaniya, or on foot via Kamennoostrovsky and Nevsky.

The city is compact — a lot is within walking distance.

Information landscape

Television: Vremya, Club of Film Travelers, Obvious–Incredible, KVN (returns in 1986). Newspapers: Pravda, Leningradskaya Pravda — official line; Literaturnaya Gazeta — slightly more alive. Radio: Mayak, Yunost.

At night — Voice of America, BBC, Radio Liberty on shortwave through jammers. Mitya listens on his father’s receiver or a repaired VEF in the dorm.

Samizdat: typed copies of Brodsky, Solzhenitsyn, Orwell, Nabokov. Rock samizdat — the magazine Roksi, passed hand to hand. Magnitizdat — tapes copied dozens of times, full of noise and distortion, but carrying Akvarium, Kino, Zoopark, and, if lucky, Led Zeppelin or Pink Floyd.

Rock Club (Rubinstein St., 13)

A 200-seat hall in the Leningrad Inter-Union House of Amateur Creativity (LMDST).

Not a club in the Western sense — more like a legalized ghetto: a place where rock musicians are allowed to exist so they can be more easily monitored.

Membership, charter, mandatory litovanie of lyrics (censorship).

III Festival — March 1985: laureates include Kino, Alisa, Televizor, Strannye Igry. Borzikin performed non-approved songs — six-month concert ban.

Concerts are by invitation only — no ticket sales. The most desperate climb in through courtyards and drainpipes.

Smoke thick in the air, out-of-tune guitars, equipment assembled from scraps, whatever lighting is available.

Apartment concerts (kvartirniki) — a parallel life: 20–40 people, acoustic sets, port wine, conversations until morning.

“Saigon”

A café on the corner of Nevsky and Vladimirsky.

Meeting place of the entire unofficial culture: rock musicians, poets, artists, fartsovshchiki, informants. Coffee — 10 kopecks, standing at the counter.

A real club without a sign: this is where apartment gigs are arranged, recordings exchanged, news spreads, people meet.

The KGB is aware — and present.

Atmosphere

A double life — the defining feeling of the era.

By day: work, meetings, slogans, plans, trade unions. By night: another world — music, poetry, conversations, freedom.

A sense that real life is underground, while the official one is just scenery.

Fear is constant but low-grade: no one’s going to shoot you, but you can be fired, expelled, registered, called in for a “conversation.”

Article 209 (parasitism) is a real threat to those without official employment. So everyone is “listed” somewhere: stokers, watchmen, lab assistants, engineers.

Hope — vague, cautious: maybe under the new General Secretary, things that were forbidden will become possible.

For now — nobody knows.