Nikolai: Hello, Alex. It’s good to see you again. It’s only early November, and you already have Christmas projects and plans for next year. Let’s look back a little: what kind of year has this been?
Alex: A very full one — meetings, new projects, so much happening. I reread our previous interviews and thought, “Surely you’ll cut half of this!” But you left it all in. I’ll have to watch my language so the stronger words don’t end up in print.
Nikolai: Keep talking, and if there’s something you want to stay between us, just say so. You said, “This year had everything.” How would the Alex of today surprise the Alex of January?
Alex: My life has always been busy, but it used to be predictable. I work for an American company involved in films and television series: I write music and develop musical concepts. There are projects, deadlines, schedules. Things change or get added, but on the whole it’s steady.
Then, about a year ago, Sam called and told me Zhenya was ill, the treatment options had been exhausted, and we needed to get together. We met and decided to return to the stage as a four-piece: Viktor on bass, Sam on keys, Zhenya on drums, and me on guitar and vocals.
It all happened spontaneously. I had to rearrange schedules and turn down some projects. I kept the most important ones and stopped taking on new work: I didn’t know how I could physically manage both.
I owe an enormous thank-you to my sister. Without her organisational skills, her administration and her creative involvement, everything would have been much harder. I think she’s brilliant: she brings our songs to the point where they’re ready to be released. I might miss something, run out of time or put it aside. She’ll read it thirty times, listen a hundred times and get it right — both the lyrics and the music.
We put a programme and a tour together. Germany, Austria, then parts of America. It was a whirlwind.
Nikolai: You said every performance remained uncertain.
Alex: Yes. We couldn’t promote the shows heavily because we didn’t know whether Zhenya would be able to play the next venue. That’s why we chose smaller halls and clubs. It wasn’t a question of how many people we could draw. What if he couldn’t play?
And it was a miracle to us, seeing him come alive again. I think it was one of the most wonderful periods of his life after the diagnosis. After Germany and Austria he needed another hospital stay, and then we went to America.
It was harder there: the heat, the way he was feeling. We did everything we could to make him comfortable, but we all knew how it would end. The doctors had warned us. We cancelled the last two concerts in Texas and flew to New York.
By the end of summer, we no longer knew how to move forward. What we had known was inevitable had happened.
But Zhenya left an enormous body of work. When he first learned about his diagnosis, he began training an AI model on his own playing, his own style. He recorded loops and worked on it for a whole year. He managed to do so much.
We’ll use those materials. I’ve already discussed that at work too, in connection with our projects. His creativity will live on.
It’s hard for me to talk about this without pausing: it all comes back. People leave, but something very important and substantial remains. Now I’m thinking about the possibility of preserving my own playing, my own creative style too. I’m still considering it.
Nikolai: What was your return like for the audience? Many people remembered you for heavy music.
Alex: That was quite something! My old fans turned up — bearded men in leather, on motorcycles. They were expecting something heavier. And here I was with these lyrical songs. You can’t exactly whisper “Good morning, darling” tenderly in someone’s ear with a growl.
There are songs my sister and I sell, and songs we keep for ourselves, for the soul. Those were the ones we chose for the programme. My stories, my life.
Playing our own material was the easiest and most comfortable option. The guys knew it and could pick it up quickly, and we didn’t have much rehearsal time. Some of those songs have already come out on streaming platforms this year; others are still to come. There’s no point releasing everything at once.
Probably half the audience at the first show had come for heavy music. They were happy to see me and wanted to talk, but the repertoire disappointed them. Afterwards, there was an incident involving a wrecked bar. The four of us went over, talked to them and helped sort out what had happened. In the end, there were no further consequences.
Then their wives, daughters and granddaughters began coming to the following concerts. That was astonishing: one generation, then another, all listening to my music.
Someone called me from Leipzig: “Could somebody meet my granddaughter? She’s coming to your concert.” Of course! Send the details — either I’ll meet her or the administrator will. After concerts, we saw people off, put them on trains, drove some to the airport.
It was like a time machine.
Nikolai: Did the new listeners recognise themselves in your songs?
Alex: Very often. It was an unusual experience for me. I understand that everyone falls in love, feels the joy of meeting and the pain of loss. But these were my feelings, my experiences — and suddenly someone else recognised themselves in them.
Perhaps that’s why I don’t sell certain songs. I’m possessive about them. Right now, a very well-known singer wants one for his repertoire. There’s already a finished demo; he’s heard it. But every day I put off deciding.
I can’t give it to another man yet — I’m jealous, as if it were a woman I love. Do you understand?
I know songs are like children you eventually have to let go. Some leave easily. But when a song holds your memories of someone, your feelings, part of your life, it’s very hard to let it go. I’m not ready yet.
Nikolai: Let’s turn to another big story this year — Viz-Art Theatre. What’s happening with the theatre now?
Alex: It has always embraced different directions and genres, giving people a chance to realise their creative potential. I gradually became involved: first helping financially, then taking a greater part in the projects themselves, including the Romani song programme.
Keeping it going was difficult. First COVID, then other hardships. The former company became scattered: some people are no longer alive, some live in Europe, others in America. Everyone has their own story.
This year I tried to bring Viz-Art together again. But I can’t say it’s a fully assembled project yet. We rehearse, prepare programmes and discuss performances. But how do people in Germany, Croatia and America get together regularly? It’s very difficult.
Still, we support one another and take every opportunity to work together.
Nikolai: You mentioned your violinist, Yulia. How did she become involved again?
Alex: I spent months looking for Yulia. She had disappeared from social media, and I was beginning to fear she was no longer alive. We recorded our Romani songs with her years ago.
She survived a building collapse, suffered severe injuries and lost her left arm. Can you imagine what that means for a violinist? She underwent several operations in Germany. I don’t want to go into the details of her private life.
We found each other just as we were restoring the Romani programme and working on the romances. Yulia became our consultant on the string parts we were creating with AI tools.
She made us play keyboard parts over and over — a hundred times. Sometimes I thought Sam would explode! I also played parts on the guitar that would later become violin, viola or cello.
We had to achieve the right melody, the right notes, the sound we needed from each instrument. It’s an enormous amount of work. When people say it all happens at the press of a button, I don’t know what to say.
When Yulia heard the first results, she said, “My God, I can still play even without my arm.”
Now she writes music and calls us — she’s a different person. She has creative plans again. And I wouldn’t be surprised if one day she created a ballet or an opera. Created it: her knowledge, her ear and her decisions haven’t gone anywhere.
The string parts in our romance series were made under her guidance. Now I’m trying some things on my own, but I’m still a guitarist. Thinking in terms of a string orchestra doesn’t come easily to me yet.
Nikolai: Yulia’s story connects directly with another initiative you launched this year. You’ve organised several conferences, meetings and seminars about creativity and artificial intelligence. What is the main question you’re raising?
Alex: The place of human beings, their work and their authors’ rights in a world with more and more AI tools.
I think this subject is often approached wrongly. A piece of work gets a thoughtless “AI” label, and the person behind it seems to disappear. Their knowledge, their decisions, their time — all hidden behind that label. We need to distinguish between contributions, between different kinds of work. That’s what we discuss at our meetings.
This year we held conferences, seminars on copyright protection and a masterclass. It’s a substantial area of work that I’m developing. You can read more in the Lab section of the website; I won’t repeat all the discussions here. But it matters to me that there should be room for the human being in the conversation about technology.
Nikolai: What do these tools change for an independent artist?
Alex: A young artist often can’t afford a band, session musicians, an expensive studio or a producer. It’s wonderful if there are enthusiasts around who are willing to help. But what if there aren’t?
That artist may have talent, ideas and music they want to share with listeners. New tools give them the chance to realise something they simply couldn’t afford before.
I support technological development. I see very interesting creative people emerging because of it. Not just musicians: artists, designers, people working with video and telling stories. I can’t bring myself to reduce all that to the word “generation”. I see work with soul, heart, time and money invested in it.
I’m interested in the person who can bring an idea to life with these tools. Sometimes an idea they could never have realised without them.
Nikolai: But alongside those works, there’s an enormous amount of random, repetitive material. How do you feel about that?
Alex: I’ll keep saying it: this flood of rubbish will pass. I believe that. It will be filtered out. The tools are improving, people are learning to use them, and expectations of the results will rise too.
If someone expects to create a masterpiece with one button, they might happen to get something interesting today. Tomorrow they might get nothing. You need to have something inside you: music, poetry, stories, your own way of seeing the world. Otherwise, what are you going to express?
When someone knows what they want, they may spend a thousand hours trying to achieve exactly what’s in their head. They’ll rework it, search, listen and look. And the result will be different: it can bring joy, move people, hold their attention.
Nikolai: So while defending an author’s opportunities, you also leave them responsible for the result?
Alex: Of course! People are responsible for what they release. If they’ve made a pile of crap — let’s call things what they are — why blame artificial intelligence? There was a person behind it who decided, “This is what I’m going to show people.”
If someone has crap in their head, a tool won’t turn it into art by itself. But if they have something to say, technology can give them tremendous possibilities.
That’s why I’ll keep this initiative going. I’ll support talented people who find their own way of speaking to audiences through these new tools. And I’ll always talk about the person behind the work.
Nikolai: What would you like to bring to audiences next year?
Alex: First of all, Russian Romance and the Romani programme. Those are the two programmes we’re bringing back to life. We used to open several seasons in a row with Russian Romance. This year I finally acted on my idea of restoring that project. I think next year we’ll be able to present the first fruits of that work.
My sister and I write the repertoire, discuss it with the company, and look for opportunities to rehearse and perform.
This is independent, non-commercial creativity. We earn our living elsewhere: we have businesses that support us. Here, we invest our own money and our souls. And we get an enormous emotional return — especially when we see what this work means to people we’ve known for so many years.
Nikolai: And this Christmas, you have a children’s project too.
Alex: Yes, “Ночь тиха” — “The Night Is Still”. Some of us have children, some have grandchildren, and we had the opportunity to involve them.
The choir grew out of a music school. The children already knew each other and had studied together. We didn’t bring a group of strangers together from scratch for this project. That’s how our small DoMiSol choir came about — children of different ages.
At a parents’ meeting, we presented the song, set to a poem by Afanasy Fet. The music and arrangement are mine, and naturally my sister oversees the whole process.
I’ve known this poem since childhood. When the idea of a Christmas surprise with children came up, I remembered it instantly — and the melody just poured out. I simply started singing. I try to record things like that on my phone straight away, or you lose them. The children started joining in, and the song came together very quickly.
Nikolai: Originally, did you want the children to sing the whole thing?
Alex: All of it! But things turned out the way they did. I’ll let you in on a little secret: where the youngest ones really couldn’t hit the notes, there’s more of me singing on the recording. Instead of an entirely children’s performance, it became a collaboration.
And honestly, I loved it. I won’t pretend otherwise — I really did.
Many of the children know me as Uncle Lyosha: through cartoon characters’ voices and music. It’s funny to watch them suddenly recognise a familiar sound. They don’t say anything, their eyes just widen and they look at me. I say nothing, but inside I’m thinking, “Oops, I’ve been found out.”
Nikolai: Could this first recording be the start of something bigger?
Alex: I already have an idea for a separate children’s project specifically for these kids. There are songs in my notes, sketches and short audio recordings. Maybe something will grow out of it next year.
But you can’t make plans on children’s behalf. Today they want to sing; tomorrow they want boxing lessons or to ride a bike. As long as they’re interested, I’ll write for them.
I have a grown-up daughter and a granddaughter. Perhaps this is exactly the right time for a project like that. And I’m still working on cartoons. In 2017, children’s cartoons did a lot to get me back on my feet and give me a reason to keep going. Heavy music moved into the background then.
So I don’t know what all this will become yet. But the first song exists. We’ve done it.
Nikolai: I don’t want to put a firm full stop here. There are still two whole months left in the year. And Alex is Alex: while we’re getting this conversation ready for publication, he’s probably already dreaming up his next idea. So let’s leave it with an ellipsis. Until next time, Alex.