Антон Батагов: Пушкин. Бесы

Антон Батагов: Пушкин. Бесы
(из альбома ОПТИЧЕСКИЙ ОБМАН)

Александр Коренков, вокал
Ася Соршнева, скрипка
Сергей Калачев "Grebstel", бас-гитара
Владимир Жарко, барабаны
Антон Батагов, рояль

звук: Руслан Зайпольд

монтаж видео: Алиса Наремонтти
при участии Даниила Богдана

камера:
Алиса Наремонтти
Алекс Йоку
Максим Постаногов
Михаил Ширинкин
Андрей Войченко
Андрей Соловьев
Владислав Гнездилов

спасибо:
студия Cinelab SoundMix
Вадим Нерухов
Дягилевский фестиваль
Александра Домрачева
Студия Flanger

продюсер: Сергей Красин

© FANCYMUSIC 2021

_____________

Anton Batagov: Pushkin. Devils
(from the album OPTICAL ILLUSION)

Alexander Korenkov, vocals
Asya Sorshneva, violin
Sergey Kalachev "Grebstel", bass guitar
Vladimir Zharko, drums
Anton Batagov, piano

recorded and mixed by Ruslan Zaipold

video edited by Alisa Naremontti
with the participation of Daniil Bogdan

camera:
Alisa Naremontti
Alex Yocu
Maxim Postanogov
Mikhail Shirinkin
Andrey Voichenko
Andrey Solovyov
Vladislav Gnezdilov

thanks to:
Cinelab SoundMix studios
Vadim Nerukhov
Diaghilev Festival
Alexandra Domracheva
Flanger studios

Executive producer: Sergey Krasin

© FANCYMUSIC 2021

- - -
Devils
(Pushkin, 1830)
Storm-clouds hurtle, storm-clouds hover;
Flying snow is set alight
By the moon whose form they cover;
Blurred the heavens, blurred the night.

On and on our coach advances,
Little bell goes din-din-din...
Round are vast, unknown expanses;
Terror, terror is within.

- Faster, coachman! "Can't, sir, sorry:
Horses, sir, are nearly dead.
I am blinded, all is blurry,
All snowed up; can't see ahead.

Sir, I tell you on the level:
We have strayed, we've lost the trail.
What can we do, when a devil
Drives us, whirls us round the vale?

There, look, there he's playing, jolly!
Huffing, puffing in my course;
There, you see, into the gully
Pushing the hysteric horse;

Now in front of me his figure
Looms up as a queer mile-mark -
Coming closer, growing bigger,
Sparking, melting in the dark."

Storm-clouds hurtle, storm-clouds hover;
Flying snow is set alight
By the moon whose form they cover;
Blurred the heavens, blurred the night.

We can't whirl so any longer!
Suddenly, the bell has ceased,
Horses halted... - Hey, what's wrong there?
"Who can tell! - a stump? a beast?.."

Blizzard's raging, blizzard's crying,
Horses panting, seized by fear;
Far away his shape is flying;
Still in haze the eyeballs glare;

Horses pull us back in motion,
Little bell goes din-din-din...
I behold a strange commotion:
Evil spirits gather in –

Sundry, ugly devils, whirling
In the moonlight's milky haze:
Swaying, flittering and swirling
Like the leaves in autumn days...

What a crowd! Where are they carried?
What's the plaintive song I hear?
Is a goblin being buried,
Or a sorceress married there?

Storm-clouds hurtle, storm-clouds hover;
Flying snow is set alight
By the moon whose form they cover;
Blurred the heavens, blurred the night.

Swarms of devils come to rally,
Hurtle in the boundless height;
Howling fills the whitening valley,
Plaintive screeching rends my heart...

Translated by Genia Gurarie

Видео Антон Батагов: Пушкин. Бесы канала Anton Batagov