The legendary journey of Oblachny Kray from 1978 to eternity
The founder and permanent leader of the band was born in Arkhangelsk.
Sergey Bogaev, Igor Lyskovsky and Nikolai Lyskovsky form the band. Their arsenal: a "Ural" guitar, a homemade bass, and children's keyboards.
At the very beginning of their musical journey, the members of the future band had absolutely no equipment, but their desire to play rock music was overwhelming. As a drum kit, they utilized all sorts of household items: old basins, pots, sofa cushions, fragments of broken furniture, and huge cardboard boxes from televisions. None of them had the slightest idea how real music was created at the time, but they spent hours banging on these objects, trying to replicate the rhythms of Western rock bands.
When the first real, albeit cheap, guitar appeared, Sergey Bogaev played it for a whole year without even suspecting the existence of proper guitar tuning. He carefully aligned all the tuning pegs in one straight parallel row, believing that this was how the instrument looked 'correct' and aesthetically pleasing. It was only when a more experienced classmate dropped by and showed him how to play real chords that an understanding of musical literacy began. But the technical experiments did not end there: to achieve the desired overdriven sound, Bogaev began buying radio components.
Chipping in three rubles each, they bought their first pickup, and then, studying schematics in magazines, soldered their first pedal—a 'fuzz' and a homemade 'wah-wah'. The sound they eventually produced was incredible: a harsh, dirty, piercing roar that, according to the musicians, literally picked them up and carried them forward, cutting through the space of their small room. This incredible artisanal ingenuity became the foundation of the unique, raw, and aggressive sound of early 'Oblachny Kray'.
The band's first experimental recording.
In the late 70s, the lack of high-quality effects was the main problem for Soviet rock musicians. Sergey Bogaev dreamed of a real surround sound—reverb, but getting such a device was impossible. After reading a tiny note in the 'Radio' magazine, he decided to build a spring reverb with his own hands. As a basis, he used a tungsten coil extracted from a standard heating element of a household electric stove.
Bogaev stretched this spring across the entire room. He firmly attached one end to the wall and glued the other to the cone of a speaker connected to a guitar amplifier. At the far end of the coil, he installed a homemade pickup—a piezo sensor taken from the tonearm of an old vinyl record player, and routed the signal from it to a second amplifier. The setup looked like a mad experiment by Nikola Tesla, but the result exceeded all, even the wildest, expectations.
When Sergey struck the strings, the room was filled with a deep, cosmic echo—it was a real, full-fledged hall effect. Bogaev was so astounded that he played the guitar for several hours straight, forgetting about school. When his musician friends arrived, they were so thrilled that right then and there, fueled by emotion, they composed and recorded a forty-five-minute program. This homemade reverb became the main feature of their first home albums, giving them their signature spatial sound.
The second album of the band, still under the name "Dead Ears". The title refers to the address of Bogaev's studio on Vaneeva street in Arkhangelsk.
Читать про магнитоальбомThe period of home rehearsals in a cramped room was inexorably coming to an end—the band needed more space and serious sound. The turning point was Sergey Bogaev's employment at the 'Krasnaya Kuznitsa' factory, where the local Komsomol committee, upon learning of his musical hobbies and talent for soldering amplifiers, offered him to be in charge of the factory disco. In exchange, the band was allowed to use the premises of the factory's House of Culture for rehearsals in their free time. It was nothing short of a miracle.
When the musicians first entered the small room allocated to them, they almost went crazy with happiness. There stood a real drum kit made by the Friedrich Engels factory, a powerful 'Rodina' amplifier with a huge speaker, the cult 'Brig' amplifier, several old but real electric guitars, and a 'Yunost' electric organ. For the first time in their lives, they could play at full volume without fear that neighbors would start banging on the radiators or pounding the ceiling with a mop.
All the money they earned was now spent on magnetic tapes. The guys bought reels by the dozens, recording every musical impulse, every new idea born during these deafening jams. Their sound quality instantly increased by an order of magnitude. It was a period of absolute creative freedom and musical happiness, when after work and school they would run to the House of Culture to dissolve for hours in the powerful, dense sound of real instruments, laying the foundation for their future famous albums.
In 1981, the factory management decided to send the band to a city contest of Soviet pop songs, obliging them to perform works by Soviet composers. This completely did not suit the musicians, and Bogaev proposed a compromise: they would take poems by officially recognized Soviet poets, but write the music themselves. However, a problem arose with the name—they couldn't put their working name 'Dead Ears' on the application for the City Committee. Secretary Yasha Poporenko categorically rejected it, as well as the backup option 'Big Iron'.
Yasha insisted on something reflecting the northern flavor. After going through options like 'Pomory' and 'Severyane', Bogaev jokingly threw out: 'Maybe we should call ourselves 'Oblachny Kray' (Cloudy Edge), you see, we always have clouds constantly...'. The secretary enthusiastically seized on this name, and so it was officially cemented. At the contest itself, the band caused a real shock. After a series of typical ensembles performing 'Malinovka', strange-looking long-haired guys in corduroy jackets and bell-bottom pants took the stage.
They delivered the heaviest hard rock in the vein of Black Sabbath and Deep Purple set to the poems of Tvardovsky and Simonov. The audience froze, the jury sat with wide, bulging eyes, and a dead silence hung in the hall. The band proudly left the stage to the clatter of their own heels. Backstage, local musicians enthusiastically patted them on the shoulders for their bravery. And although the factory received a scolding for such a radical performance, it was on this day that the legendary name 'Oblachny Kray' and their reputation as uncompromising rockers were born.
The band changes its name and begins professional activity.
The band's first official album, recorded with the full lineup.
СлушатьSergey starts designing custom electric guitars to achieve the desired sound.
Album that led to conflict with authorities and expulsion from the community center.
Recorded under extremely difficult conditions after the band was banned.
The band's arrival in Leningrad to record their first full-fledged studio album began with a highly informal meeting with legendary sound engineer Andrei Tropillo. The Arkhangelsk musicians understood perfectly well that serious work was ahead, but they also knew that a trusting relationship in the studio was the key to success. They brought with them two bottles of scarce Italian 'Cinzano' vermouth to properly celebrate the beginning of a new stage in their creative lives.
Tropillo welcomed the guests cordially, produced two faceted glasses from somewhere, and they solemnly raised a toast to the great and bright things waiting for them ahead, and to their dedication to the chosen musical path. The alcohol and shared passion for music quickly erased all boundaries—within half an hour, it felt like they had known each other for three hundred years. Andrei began peppering the conversation with complex technical terms and previously unknown phrases, talking about the intricacies of studio equipment.
Bogaev listened to him with genuine admiration, putting on an understanding expression and nodding his head. Tropillo was incredibly pleased to communicate with a person so deeply immersed in the technical aspects of sound recording and creating homemade effects. This warm conversation, steeped in vermouth and talks about audio frequencies, laid the foundation for a strong friendship and fruitful collaboration, resulting in the best 'Oblachny Kray' albums recorded in this very studio.
During the recording in Andrei Tropillo's studio, Sergey Bogaev realized that his own vocals were catastrophically insufficient for the material they were creating. The only person whose voice and frantic energy suited the new songs was his old Arkhangelsk friend Vova Budnik. Tropillo supported the idea of bringing him in, and Bogaev immediately flew to his hometown to literally drag the vocalist to Leningrad.
The problem was that Budnik was living a highly destructive lifestyle at the time. Arriving on a morning flight, Bogaev headed straight from the bus to Vova's house, knowing perfectly well that finding him in an adequate state would be a miracle. Fortunately, Budnik was extracted from his habitat and delivered to Tropillo's studio. Despite all the fears, once in front of the microphone, Vova transformed and delivered an incredibly powerful result.
His voice, sharp, dirty, and primal, fit perfectly over Bogaev's heavy riffs. Tropillo masterfully recorded this vocal squall, applying his famous studio tricks. Budnik gave it two hundred percent, as if it were his last recording. This spontaneous expedition to fetch a lead singer gave the album 'Ublyuzhya Dolya' (Bastard's Lot) that very aggressive vocal coloring that made it a classic of Soviet heavy rock.
Sergey Bogaev moves to Leningrad at Andrey Tropillo's invitation.
Listed among the 100 best tape albums of Soviet rock.
The band's music is played on Alexander Gradsky's program, bringing them union-wide fame.
The band receives official registration in the legendary Leningrad Rock Club under the pseudonym "O'KEY".
The period of recording the album 'Stremya i Lyudi' in Andrei Tropillo's studio coincided with the beginning of a strong friendship between Sergey Bogaev and Konstantin Kinchev. At that time, 'Alisa' was also spending a lot of time in the studio, and Kinchev, being a person incredibly passionate about music, literally lived the process. Even though he always had a place to sleep in Leningrad, he categorically refused to leave the studio premises, preferring to stay in the thick of things around the clock.
When Kostya ran out of energy, he didn't go home, but simply walked to the corner of the room where the musicians of 'Oblachny Kray' had already woven improvised sleeping places for themselves out of old instrument cases and rags. They slept on the floor in a heap, keeping warm with conversations and sharing meager food among everyone. This shared domestic disarray and fanatical dedication to recording created an incredibly strong spiritual bond between them. Bogaev always called Kinchev a kindred spirit.
During the day, they drank strong coffee together, discussed arrangements, shared ideas, and listened to Tropillo mix tracks. Kinchev was actively interested in the process of creating a heavy sound, and Bogaev, in turn, admired Kostya's poetic gift. This studio romance, devoid of any comfort but filled with pure creativity, became the foundation of a multi-year friendship that they carried throughout their lives, despite growing fame and stadium shows.
After their triumphant performance at the Arkhangelsk Rock Festival, the musicians of 'Oblachny Kray' and 'Alisa' gathered in the quiet buffet of the House of Culture to celebrate their acquaintance. Everyone settled on the windowsills; the atmosphere was relaxed and friendly. Drinks were poured into faceted glasses, and Konstantin Kinchev took the floor. Raising his glass, he delivered a very brief but pithy toast with his characteristic theatricality: 'To pops!'
The Arkhangelsk rockers exchanged bewildered glances. For them, severe metalheads, the word 'pops' (pop music/mainstream) was a swear word. Noticing their confusion, Kinchev immediately clarified his thought: 'Well, to pops, guys! So that today, on this beautiful evening, we elevate pops to the greatest level, to an unattainable height!' It turned out that in the capital cities, this word was just becoming fashionable as an ironic synonym for any musical or life event.
Even though the term still grated on their ears, Kinchev's charisma and authority did the trick: if he said so, it meant there was deep meaning in it. The musicians smiled, accepted the new rules of the game, clinked glasses, and raised them to their lips. At that very moment, the door swung open sharply, and the strict female director of the club appeared on the threshold. The whole group froze with their arms bent in a hussar-like fashion, like characters in a painting, immortalizing this funny episode in the band's history.
In 1987, a grand rock festival took place in Arkhangelsk. Sergey Bogaev personally persuaded the organizing committee to invite Konstantin Kinchev and the band 'Alisa', promising that it would be the culmination of the entire event. The performance was an incredible triumph. After the concert, all the musicians gathered in the foyer of the House of Culture to celebrate the successful conclusion of the festival. An atmosphere of universal brotherhood prevailed, drinks were poured, and toasts to rock and roll were made.
However, the joy was suddenly clouded by an unpleasant incident: Kostya Kinchev discovered that his favorite red sweater, which he had carelessly left on a chair, had vanished without a trace. Bogaev felt a huge personal responsibility—after all, he was the one who had invited the star to his hometown. The musicians turned the whole House of Culture upside down, checking every corner, but the sweater was nowhere to be found. The mood rapidly plummeted, everyone sat depressed, feeling the shame before their guest from the capital.
And suddenly, loud stomping echoed in the corridor. The door flew open, and a breathless guitarist from one of the local Arkhangelsk bands flew into the room. In his hands, he triumphantly clutched the very red sweater. It turned out the guy had accidentally grabbed it along with his own belongings, found it in his backpack at home, and rushed back like a bullet. Kinchev's face lit up with genuine happiness; he hugged the guy tightly and gave him an autograph. In that very second, the depression vanished, corks from stashed bottles began popping from all sides, and the festival ended with a grand, happy finale.
The conclusion of the Arkhangelsk Rock Festival was marked not only by brilliant performances but also by an incredibly soulful party within the walls of the local House of Culture. When the incident with Konstantin Kinchev's stolen sweater was successfully resolved, the tension subsided, and a real rock-and-roll bacchanalia began. Musicians from St. Petersburg and Arkhangelsk, forgetting about statuses and regalia, united in a single burst of celebration.
From all the bins, bags, and guitar cases, bottles began to appear, which the musicians had prudently stashed away for a 'rainy day'. The sound of popping corks merged with the joyful hum of voices. The leader of 'Alisa', having just gotten back his favorite sweater, was glowing with happiness and personally poured drinks into glasses. Musicians from 'Oblachny Kray', 'Autodafe', and other local bands hugged the St. Petersburg guests, exchanged impressions, and swore eternal friendship.
That evening, there was no division between capital stars and provincial amateurs. Everyone was united by a sincere, unclouded love for heavy music. Jokes were told, old stories were recalled, someone strummed on an out-of-tune guitar. This spontaneous banquet became the perfect culmination of the festival, proving that true music erases any boundaries and unites people into one big, noisy, and happy family.
Triumphant performance, recognized as one of the best at the festival.
A historic concert performance at the House of Culture in Arkhangelsk. Recorded as a separate live album.
In the winter of 1988, Oleg Rautkin returned from a long trip, and the band gathered at Dima Leontiev's place for a grand feast. The table groaned with homemade food, but the booze ran out instantly. In the midst of the anti-alcohol campaign, getting liquor at night was unrealistic. Then Bogaev proposed a risky plan: to go into the wilds of industrial Solombala, to a so-called 'yama'—an underground alcohol selling point controlled by harsh local criminals. Rautkin volunteered to go with him.
They trudged through pitch-black polar darkness among crooked fences and snowdrifts as tall as a man. Reaching the gloomy house on a wasteland, they knocked. The door opened, and they found themselves in a hotly heated room full of bare-chested men covered entirely in blue prison tattoos. An unthinkable amount of alcohol stood on the table. The leader, nicknamed Sherkhan, noticing their long hair, greeted the guests very unamicably. The situation grew tense, and then a local authority named Sivy shoved a battered acoustic guitar to Bogaev and ordered him to 'play something'.
Bogaev tried playing riffs from Led Zeppelin, but it only caused sullen irritation among the thugs. A beating seemed imminent. And then Rautkin took the guitar. After a theatrical pause, he struck the strings and, with his mighty voice, belted out an ancient underworld song about an ataman. The effect was like a bombshell: the bandits froze, and then exploded in delight. For the remaining hours, Rautkin sang their entire repertoire of prison lyrics, becoming the best friend of the criminal underworld. The bandits not only sold them port wine at cost but also treated them to vodka, and then carefully put them in a taxi home.
The visit to the Solombala bandits for alcohol unexpectedly turned into a long musical duel. After Oleg Rautkin brilliantly performed the underworld song 'A bullet, flying by, hit me in the chest', the ice was broken. The bandits, who had previously looked at the hairy rockers with unconcealed hostility, suddenly became filled with the deepest respect for them. The best snacks appeared on the table, and the glasses were never empty.
The local authority nicknamed Sivy, who was considered the main musician of the gang, did not want to give up his position. He took the guitar and performed an old convict song. Rautkin answered him with 'Dangerous Quagmire', and then belted out another dozen similar hits of the criminal world. The guitar constantly passed from hand to hand. Bogaev, sitting nearby, was amazed: he had no idea that his friend, who performed hard rock, knew so much prison classics by heart.
By midnight, the line between rockers and thieves was completely erased. Rautkin was telling tall tales, exchanging phone numbers with authorities, and Bogaev was happily devouring delicacies while listening to the soulful stories of young criminals. Oleg's mighty voice shook the virgin peace of the surroundings, penetrating every house in the neighborhood. The musical duel ended in a friendly draw, and the bandits solemnly swore to protect the musicians from any problems in Solombala.
The life of independent musicians was always fraught with a lack of money, and receiving a rare salary at the office of the Lutheran community on Ligovka, which sponsored Tropillo's studio, was a major event. That day, Bogaev arrived first. In the office sat the chief accountant Vika and a brand new, terribly nervous cashier named Lora, whose balance wasn't adding up right before her first salary payout. Suddenly the door opened, and the legendary Sergey Kuryokhin appeared on the threshold with his trademark, invariably radiant smile.
Kuryokhin, who adored absurdity and trolling, immediately noticed the tense Lora. He pulled up a chair and began asking her ridiculous questions in the most sympathetic tone. Lora, having no idea who was in front of her, snapped back, but Kuryokhin continued to mock her: 'Don't be nervous, miss, finances are a delicate matter.' Eventually, Lora snapped. She raised a furious gaze at him and exhaled heavily: 'Young man, could you just shut up and stay quiet?' Kuryokhin instantly switched to the mode of an insulted aristocrat, which infuriated Lora even more.
She exploded: 'You are a boor and a beer-stand redneck! Now Kuryokhin—he is smart, well-mannered, noble, not like you!' Kuryokhin, barely containing his laughter, furrowed his brow and began seriously discussing exactly how he differed from this very 'Kuryokhin'. Bogaev and everyone else present were choking with laughter, hiding behind the payroll sheets. It was a classic 'Pop-Mechanics' performance in real life, played out by Kuryokhin right in the accounting office, driving the poor cashier to the boiling point.
In the winter of 1988, Konstantin Kinchev and the band 'Alisa' invited 'Oblachny Kray' and their friends, the band 'Autodafe', to perform at the Leningrad Youth Palace. The musicians joyfully gathered at the train station in a huge, noisy crowd. However, right before the train departed, it turned out that the drummer of 'Autodafe' had vanished without a trace and never showed up. The ticket was wasted, but they couldn't cancel the trip—they decided to go anyway, hoping to figure things out on the spot.
The journey began with the musicians 'expropriating' the funds of the president of the Arkhangelsk Rock Club, Rostislav Dubinin. Seeing a kiosk with unheard-of bottled beer at one of the stations, they forced him to spend all the club's official money on booze. They arrived in Leningrad in a wonderful, relaxed mood, completely forgetting that they were about to perform without a drummer in front of an audience of thousands of 'Alisa' fans.
The problem was solved in true rock and roll style. Mikhail Nefyodov, the drummer for 'Alisa', agreed to drum for 'Autodafe'. He was shown the material right there in the dressing room on his knees, and he brilliantly played the entire set without missing a beat. And for the last, most difficult song, Sergey Bogaev himself sat down at the drum kit. The audience, expecting an opening act, was thrilled with this improvised castling, and the concert went off with a bang.
The first official vinyl release through the state company "Melodiya". The underground becomes official.
О создании альбомаRecording the album 'Sloboda Zahoteli' (Wanted Freedom) at the famous Leningrad studio of the 'Melodiya' label became a true test of endurance and professionalism for the band. Unlike underground studios, time here cost a huge amount of money, and shifts lasted only four hours. The musicians had to work under the strictest timing, delivering the maximum result from the very first take. Their partner behind the console was the outstanding sound engineer and musician Yuri Morozov.
Morozov turned out to be a great partner and a true senior comrade. He instantly understood what sound the band needed and twisted the knobs on the huge console with incredible speed. The atmosphere in the studio was electrified: the musicians would fly into the live room, grab their instruments, and immediately start playing while Morozov worked his magic on the recording. Occasionally, Andrei Tropillo managed to miraculously secure additional hours for the band, and then the work continued deep into the night.
Such a pace eliminated the possibility of endless edits and polishing of parts. The band played hard, raw, and incredibly energetically, which perfectly matched the spirit of the album. Bogaev later recalled that it was exactly this Spartan approach that prevented them from 'relaxing' and made the recording so honest. Upon completion of the mixing, each band member received a coveted reel with the final mix, feeling like a triumphant conqueror who had subdued the country's main state studio.
Album "Freedom" and new horizons.
In the spring of 1991, the band's bassist Andrei Lukin was sitting in the restaurant of the fashionable Arkhangelsk hotel 'Yubileynaya', slowly sipping wine. At the next table, he struck up a conversation with a respectable businessman named Vadim, who turned out to be the chief accountant of a successful company called 'EDVIN'. Word by word, Vadim admitted that he was a passionate fan of heavy rock, and out of the local bands, he adored only one—the legendary 'Oblachny Kray'. He added with regret that he dreamed of meeting the musicians.
Lukin, tossing aside false modesty, declared: 'I know them perfectly well; what's more, I play bass guitar there!' Vadim was shocked by such a coincidence. He immediately invited Andrei and Sergey Bogaev to his luxurious hotel room. When Bogaev went up to the 13th floor, he was dumbfounded: a huge table was groaning with foreign delicacies and expensive drinks, which he had previously only seen in movies. The company's management sat at the table and offered the band an incredible deal.
The sponsors stated that they wanted to support domestic rock and roll. They offered to pay not only for renting the best recording studio in Moscow (a full 100 hours), but also for flights, accommodation, per diems, and to pay all band members a solid monthly salary. Furthermore, they agreed to pay for the crafting of an exclusive custom guitar for Bogaev by the best master. The musicians came down from the room absolutely stunned—their lives had changed in a single evening thanks to a random conversation over a glass of wine.
The tragic death of the band's bassist, which became a severe blow to the group.
An album recorded at Petrostudio in Moscow during a turning point year for the country.
О переломном альбомеIn mid-August 1991, the band was in Moscow, in an excellent studio fully paid for by generous sponsors. Work was in full swing, the music was written, and all that remained was to record the vocal parts. During one of the breaks, Sergey Bogaev, tired of sitting in a confined space, decided to take a walk along the avenue. The weather was beautiful, he looked at shop windows, walked into stores, enjoying the capital life. But upon returning to the hotel, he was seized by icy terror.
Putting his hand in his pocket, he found that his keys were there, but his precious notebook was missing. It contained not only all the phone numbers but, most terrifyingly, absolutely all the lyrics for the new songs that Oleg Rautkin was supposed to sing the very next morning! Bogaev's blood ran cold. The studio was paid for, all the musicians were gathered, expensive equipment was waiting, but there were no words. He retraced every inch of his route twice like a maniac, looking under every bench, but the book had vanished without a trace.
Returning to the room 'on petrified tiptoes', he bitterly informed his awakened friends of the catastrophe. The musicians were in shock, but panic quickly gave way to a brainstorming session. They spent the whole night agonizingly reconstructing the lyrics from memory, line by line. This extreme situation mobilized all their hidden reserves. In the end, despite the monstrous stress, the gamble to restore the lyrics was a success, and the next day Rautkin brilliantly performed all the parts, saving the recording of a crucial album.
Sergey Bogaev's technical ingenuity was always his calling card, but sometimes it led to disasters. Before leaving to record in Moscow, he built a new guitar pedal that was supposed to produce a unique sound. However, due to rushing, he didn't securely fasten the casing together, but simply tied the circuit boards with wires, turning the device into a fragile house of cards. In the studio, the pedal sounded great until a fatal incident involving guitarist Alexander occurred.
Alexander walked into the break room after a night shift and, seeing this marvel of engineering, decided to take a closer look. Unaware of the homemade device's structural quirks, he simply grabbed it by the top panel, where the potentiometers were mounted, and lifted it up. For a second, the bottom part of the casing, weighed down by the boards, hung on thin little wires, and then crashed onto the hard studio floor with a clatter. Small parts scattered in all directions.
Bogaev was in despair—the unique sound was irretrievably lost, and restoring the circuit under studio time constraints was impossible. However, there was no time to grieve. To save the situation, the sound engineers rummaged through the studio bins and handed him a Japanese digital effects synthesizer. And although Bogaev grumbled for a long time that 'digital' was inferior to analog 'meat', the recording continued. This incident became a harsh lesson: custom equipment requires reliable assembly, especially if curious colleagues are around.
Oleg Rautkin always amazed his colleagues with his natural vocal power, but what happened in the studio went beyond the limits of human capabilities. When the recording of vocal parts began, he could scream into the microphone for hours without showing the slightest signs of fatigue. His voice, hoarse, tearing, and incredibly loud, punched through any instrumental mixes, making the indicator needles on the studio consoles hit the red zone.
Sound engineers, accustomed to academic singers or rock vocalists requiring rest after every take, were in shock. Rautkin would simply push the chair aside, grab the microphone stand, and deliver one take after another. The most amazing thing was that despite all this aggressive delivery, he never lost his breath or tore his vocal cords. He could hit a wildly complex, high note, hold it for several seconds, and then calmly go for a smoke as if nothing had happened.
This phenomenal stamina allowed the band to record highly complex vocal arrangements in record time. Where others spent weeks mixing and layering takes, Rautkin recorded everything 'live', leaving on the tape the pristine, raw energy that became the trademark of 'Oblachny Kray'. Studio colleagues often joked that his vocal cords were made of the same materials as the ship ropes at the 'Krasnaya Kuznitsa' factory.
After the release of the album "1991" and Lukin's death, the band's activities are suspended for several years.
With the onset of the 90s and the changing political climate, the band suddenly found itself in the spotlight of official media. Arkhangelsk television, having secured the support of management, decided to shoot a full-fledged documentary for the tenth anniversary of 'Oblachny Kray'. A film crew was even sent to Leningrad, where journalists took detailed interviews with Andrei Tropillo, Andrei Burlaka, and Yuri Morozov. Sponsors from the 'EDVIN' company paid for Oleg Rautkin's flight from Ukraine specifically for these shoots.
The main part of the filming took place right at the band's rehearsal spot. The musicians were amazed by the attitude of the local TV crew—unlike the arrogant Moscow brigades, the Arkhangelsk journalists literally caught their every word and took into account all their wishes regarding editing and script. It was the first time they felt not like underground outcasts, but like true respected artists, the pride of their native region.
The film was edited in record time—just ten days—and broadcast in prime time across the entire northern region, preceded by a massive advertising campaign in local newspapers. On the day of the broadcast, the band set a rich table and celebrated their anniversary while watching themselves on TV screens. Bogaev recalled this evening with special warmth: at that moment, surrounded by friends and recognition, they truly felt like superstars in their own particular region.
An instrumental soundtrack album for an unmade film. Demonstrates the cinematic side of Bogaev's talent.
After a long hiatus, the band makes a triumphant return at the "AnTrop" studio.
История возвращенияOfficial inclusion of the album in the canonical list of the best Soviet rock recordings.
All of the band's albums were re-released on CD, making Oblachny Kray's legacy available to a wide audience.
The album continues the band's traditions in the new millennium. Socially charged lyrics and signature sound.
Подробнее об альбомеA prophetic look into the future with an English title but Russian content.
Читать статьюThe last album released during Sergey Bogaev's lifetime.
The band leader passed away at the age of 50.