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Hysteria from Yura Shatunov and the group “Tender May” happened when I was in high school, my 11-13 years old, such a pre-puberty. I didn’t understand how you could go crazy over a shabby slob. I always thought he was sweaty and unwashed.
My classmates and everyone was crazy about White Roses, and I secretly trudged along Presnyakov Jr. and his falsetto and intellectual Dima Malikov. By the way, both were with long well-groomed hair. If anything, Tsoi also passed by.
I remember that in 2012 I came to perform at a nightclub in Kaliningrad. The owner saw me in Kyiv, was impressed and decided to show it to his relatives. Relatives reservedly appreciated, politely applauded and continued to ride to the disco of the 90s. I was also surprised: such a modern club – and such old-fashioned music.
And when “Gray Night” started playing, I fell into a stupor. Under 800 people, young enough, huddled in a single ecstasy, shouting out words. Then I realized that “Tender May” is transmitted by blood.
Today it was reported that Yura Shatunov had died. My Facebook feed and telegram channels were full of this news and their very caustic memories, they say, my youth is not some kind of Shatunov, I grew up on Jackson or George Michael.
And I grew up under Shatunov. It sounded from everywhere, no matter how much I wanted to hide. But it was. And good songs.
I repeat, I have no idea what Shatunov has been doing for the last 8 years, definitely not the kind of character that is interesting to watch.
And I have a toast: for us, for the living, and for the present!
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