“Baskov’s “Morning Mail” cannot be revived”

Why didn’t they know? Early in the morning, on Sunday, on the main state channel. Well, of course, you still sleep like tsutsiki. Day off is sacred. “Sleep off in nature” is not about you.

The cult program is hosted by Nikolai Baskov. Also a good option. Cheerful, witty, a favorite of the public.

If in the USSR “Morning Mail” was shown not at 11.00, but, say, at seven in the morning, the whole vast country, as one person, would get up early on the alarm clock, just not to miss it. Because it was Yuri Nikolaev, Yura, Yurochka, Yuri Alexandrovich, and with him the melodies and rhythms of the foreign stage and all the cream of the domestic.

Yuri Nikolaev, Yura, Yurochka put their soul into the program, looked for talents, found them. It was not necessary to count on one of his inhuman charm (and in fact, very human), it was necessary to plow here. Yuri Alexandrovich and plowed.

You will say: this is the Soviet Union, a country of total shortage, and all the best flocked to the Morning Post, like to the Beryozka store. Yes, rare, unusual clips, iconic artists, and in the end Toto Cutugno, or Celentano, or Freddie Mercury himself … Only half an hour, but this charge of good taste and vivacity was enough for unpretentious Soviet people for the whole week.

To appear in the “Morning Post”, to light up there was unusually prestigious. The whole country recognized you, in a second you became popular. What does it mean? Concerts, TV, radio – life is good. Further, however, everyone himself turned out to be the blacksmith of his own happiness, but if he didn’t lay much on the collar, had the right nationality and walked in the favorites of Leonid Ilyich or the all-powerful television boss Lapin, you are on horseback.

It’s just that Yuri Nikolaev got to the right place, at that very hour, on time, so he became the idol of generations. What now? You see, you didn’t even know that the Morning Mail still had something to say then …

But Kolya Baskov is not to blame. He is charming, almost like Pinocchio, he was also created to please people. Content is important here, if you know what I mean. These songs… No, they are not songs. I listened and forgot. Straightaway. Here is the music of the Union of Composers, the words of the Union of Writers, there is nothing more of this. It evaporated like smoke, like Atlantis, like the Soviet Union, which someone, for some reason, wants to restore.

Do you want songs? I don’t have them anymore. And you don’t. Pain of memories. When they waited, when they sang. Remember how they waited for Pugacheva, Rotaru, Tolkunova, Khil, Kobzon, Leshchenko, Mulerman, Obodzinsky, Magomayev, Senchin, “Yalla”, “Secret” … Where is it all? And now the eternal Leps and the same Baskov with Kirkorov, the right guys, who have long been familiar to everyone, some other incomprehensible people …

Kolya is not to blame, but he cannot revive the Morning Post. And Yuri Alexandrovich can no longer be revived, with all due respect. The time has gone.

Sing, sing and sing again!

“If I, instead of operating, start singing in chorus every evening in my apartment, I will be devastated.”

(Professor Preobrazhensky, Heart of a Dog).

It’s late, they’re already singing. Right on the First – “We will sing in the kitchen by the whole country” under the strict guidance of Comrade Pelsh. They sing on the second, on “Russia”, the accompanist and chief conductor is Andrey Malakhov. But how did you sleep?

It is better to sing than to speak. And then Russians, Soviets, Gypsies, Ukrainians (well, where would it be without them) – it grabs the heart, pinches the nose, tears in the eyes and a smile from the whole mouth – so that the soul unfolds and then curls up.

I would make all the news anchors sing. Directly in the program “Time” and in “Vesti”. And in Vesti Nedeli he ordered Kiselyov to sing. And Norkin, and Sheinin, and Skabeeva with the Popov duet. And they already sing, they are flooded with a nightingale. The people like it. The people simply have nowhere to go from these trills.

Sing, guys, and no need for prose. We will sing and laugh like children. From the most reading country, we have become the most singing. Is a song!

London, goodbye

And now about sports, about my favorite football. Leonid Slutsky, once a great, famous coach, is sinking, blowing bubbles. I flew with my Rubin to the first league, the other day I lost in the Cup not to Zenit, not to Spartak, but to the Ulyanovsk Volga. Full ales kaput!

Grateful kind fans are right there with posters “Lenya, goodbye!” and with the music from the song. Which? London Goodbye, of course.

And then I remembered everything. This song, which you can’t strangle, you can’t kill, was sung by Sergey Lemokh (real name Ogurtsov) back in perestroika. Not so much singing as dancing in the Kar-men group. Yes, he also performed with Bogdan Titomir, then the guys dispersed like ships in the sea.

Serega was then fashionable, popular. Young, flexible and resilient. Seryoga was in the price.

… And recently I saw him on Nostalgia. He danced again. With difficulty, barely moving. All sweaty, poor thing. Youth easy movements were clearly not given to him. It was evident how unbearably disgusting they were to him. Behind Uncle Seryozha, a boy and a girl who looked like a boy were writhing on a dancer. Dancing, and in general, tormented and breathing heavily, Sergey opened his mouth, and in the phonogram, for the first time, “London, goodbye” sounded for him a million times. Cursed, I think, a song that has long bothered him. But you have to, Fedya, you have to.

It was a heartbreaking sight. I looked: yes, he is my age! And here is the conclusion for you, morality – for yourself, for Slutsky and for Seryoga Lemokh-Ogurtsov: each vegetable has its own fruit. Everything has its time, which must always be met. It’s like in sports: it’s better to leave five years early than five minutes late. In order not to look as pathetic as this forgotten idol. Law of life.