(296 words) My first musical love happened to me in St. Petersburg. Every corner of this city seemed to me a part of great art. No less. I walked along the Bolshaya Morskaya, opening my mouth like an foreign tourist, not listening to a single sound flying through the street. Tired but happy legs led me to the Palace Square. And suddenly I heard a tune. She suddenly destroyed my auditory obstruction. The sounds of the drum fettered movement. And an unusual voice (with soft hoarseness) from the microphone cut off my video wires.
Then I did not see either the magic semicircle, or the magnificent Alexander Column. I just heard a bewitching song that flew outside the Palace Square and echoed in my chest. She stopped time and turned over my idea of real music. The one that is born at the behest of the heart, not a wallet. You know, now it’s very fashionable to rivet the heel of your left foot with a new track, which will be broadcast daily at every music radio station. Until you memorize a bunch of banal phrases with zero meaning. But that composition was part of a completely different story. Alien. She is not impersonal. There is a soul in it. She has value.
That was the Spleen group. A few bearded men with a guitar at the ready and a huge drum in the center of the pavement. They looked like free artists. Those who are penniless are walking the world with their own philosophy. The word "freedom" enveloped every line of the song. "And under this most amazing of the constellations ... Keep quiet for a bit." And then a pure melody poured. Without a single word. And you know, it made much more sense than in the songs of the leaders of Russian charts.
I remember growing to the pavement. I understood that now "something is holding me in this city, on this avenue." My heart already made its choice. And you know, but I would not be able to remember in detail the glorious Petersburg days. Without my first musical love. Thank you, "my dear, incredibly wonderful, beloved city ..." for this.
