On Defender of the Fatherland Day, we remembered one story told by a talented author and performer, artist of the music publishing house “Zvuk-M” - Damir Yakubov...
He shared with us memories of his service in the army, and we, in turn, want to tell this story to you. She set out by Damir himself and, with the exception of replacing a pair of obscene words, the editors did not intervene in his statement, leaving the text as copyright.
So, we bring to your attention an excerpt from Yakubov's autobiography, which tells how cool music can suddenly change your life ...
“... The first couple of months in the army were not easy. I had to run in the mornings, stand up for outfits, shoot at night from all types of weapons, dig in, put on OZK and run in gas masks. I served in the infantry regiment in the PGT Desna near the city of Chernigov. He wrote letters to his grandfather and complained about the soldiers' life. He composed sad songs and dreamed to find and deal with his sergeants in the "citizen".
But one evening the life of Private Yakubov changed drastically.
The fact is that one of the sergeants tried to play the seven-stringed guitar solo from the song Highway Star from the repertoire of Deep Purple, but all his attempts to remove the great Blackmore were in vain. I cautiously offered to show an exercise, repeating that every day (48 hours per day for years through 10) my sergeant could play the famous solo. Sergeant Zhvinklis, that was the name of my sergeant, looked at me and said: “So that you, baba, was silent for 2 of the month. Let's go to the storeroom ... ", got out of bed and took me to the storeroom. All who served in the Soviet army know what it is to get into the cabinet after the end.
All my stern commanders sat in the quarters and drank tea with lump sugar, eating the tea with a loaf of thickly spread butter. On the table lay chocolates, sausage, Herzegovina Flor cigarettes and many other “civilian” things, forgotten during several months of intense service. At the head of the table sat the company sergeant major, Valentin Nalyvaichenko, who, when he saw me, stretched out his face in indignation and yelled at Zhvinklis: “Why the hell did you bring him here?” (The fact is that, despite the fact that I was only 2 months in the service at Oster, as the famous “training” was called, I was not distinguished by an easy-going character, having managed to fight in the kitchen; I loudly sent to 3 several times letters of sergeants, sabotaged orders, receiving for this “orders out of turn” and other privileges that stimulate the re-education of the “Caucasian character”).
“Valya, don’t yell!” Zhvinklis reassured Nalyvaichenko, “that blockhead Purple knows how to play!”
Nalyvaichenko opened his mouth, put a cup of tea on the table, got up, came close to me and shouted: “Attention! Do you play “Ladder to Heaven”?
- I'm playing! - I answered, - I keep playing...
“And estudei?” Nalyvaichenko continued.
“And estudey!”, I retorted, copying his pronunciation.
“Did Love Hunter hear?”
“LoveHunter,” I corrected him.
- Don't be a greyhound, blockhead. Lyokha,” he turned around, addressing Sergeant Kravchenko, “give me the guitar, let him play something.” “Well, that’s it, old man, you’re done for if you’re trying to pull the wool over our ears,” Nalyvaichenko said loudly, looking at me point-blank, and laughed...
I played and sang in English for two hours, everything that the sergeants who missed being a civilian asked me to do. My fingers refused to press the strings of the Soviet guitar, but I held on until the last moment until Nalyvaichenko came up to me and patted me on the shoulder and said: “Well, that’s it, Yakubov, your torment is over!” You will take over as company duty officer. Don’t send him on duty in the kitchen, don’t put him on the orderly, don’t force him to dig, don’t carry the round one and don’t roll the square one,” Valentin commanded, turning to the sergeants, “go, Yakubov, to sleep.”
I wished everyone good night, opened the door and already took a step into the open doorway, as Nalyvaychenko shouted again:
- What is your name, Yakubov?
“Damir,” I answered and went out to the company location.
“You’ll be the lead singer, Damir,” the words caught up with me in the corridor.
The company slept and snuffled. In the barracks there was a persistent smell of sisters. I smiled, rubbed my hands from the long guitar playing, walked to my bed, undressed and went to bed.
This is how my new soldier life began ... ”
