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Boris Gagloyev seems to be one of the most boring St-Petersburg musicians. Jokes in his direction, however, are already irrelevant. It's time to tell the truth about him. He is hardly known in Russia, but, strangely enough, popular abroad (mainly in Germany). Musical circles of this miserable country (producers and media) accept his eccentricity and clumsy attempts to behave properly on stage with surprising tolerance. But even there he becomes less and less interesting, because he does not at all appreciate the cold German politeness. In brief, Gagloyev is too much for practically everyone. He is likely to consider himself a thing in itself, which does not need any comments whatsoever. As a composer, Boris Gagloyev is simply disgusting. In his professional career he has not been able to create any artistic concept, and, as a result, is still wandering in the darkness of his own near-musical madness. His pathologic fidelity to spontaneous improvisation does him, as a jazzman, self-interpreter and sportsman-guitarist-Stakhanovite-virtuoso, some credit, but does not justify the actual results of his work as a composer. These results, unfortunately, represent nothing more than elaborate noise and much outdated sonor cacophony with some rare droplets of sugary-melodious stylizations a la russe. The aesthetics of irony and lapidarity (conciseness), spontaneous psychopathic escapades and sugary lirism may be his best chatacteristics as a composer and guitar-player. At the same time we must admit, that as a performer he is not bad at all. Faultlessly and even brilliantly he copes with the most complicated pieces by Juliany, Segoviya and his own nervously ornate opuses, but as an interpreter he is always true to himself. Thus, for example, he would never finish perfoming any classical sonata without a lengthly senslessly virtuoso cadenza of his own invention, which the above sonata needs as a cat needs a cow's udder. His fanatical devotion to avantguard ideas, however, dos non at all prevent him from sometimes playing concerts and recording discs with absolutely normal groups, performing qbsolutely normal, for example, medieval music. He could somehow for five years work quite successfully as a guitarist and arranger with Un de Lion, couldn't he? Now, who is he, after all: a charlatan, desguised in a profi or a real artist, wearing a mask of a chatlatan to epater les bourgeois?! Who the hell knows!!! He calls himself the Orpheus of the Russian post-modern, composes plenty of music for films and theatre performances, plays wonderful concert programms with the best European musicians, but! But all that looks as if his main goal were to demonstrate his failure to exist in our world of "music for mass consumption". Maybe he mocks at us, or at himself, - who knows? Indeed, his concept is not clear. Got grant he has it whatsoever May, 1997 Alexander Pyart |
