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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
