Kostya Belyaev biography. Konstantin Belyaev: brief biography and creativity

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Konstantin Nikolaevich Belyaev

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Konstantin Nikolaevich Belyaev(November 23, 1934 - February 20, 2009) - performer and author in the genre of criminal songs, compiler of the cycle of couplets “There are only Jews around.”

Biography

Konstantin Belyaev was born in the village of Bolshaya Dolina, Akkarzha station, near Odessa. Mother - Nadezhda Aleksandrovna worked on a state farm, father - Nikolai Zakharovich, died at the front.

Until 1953, Konstantin Belyaev studied at an Odessa special boarding school where a number of subjects were taught in English. After that, he moved to Moscow and entered the Institute of Military Translators, where he studied for three years. During the post-war mass demobilization campaign Soviet army(October 1956) almost the entire course of the institute was disbanded. Belyaev went to work as a teacher in English to the Otar station, near Almaty, where he taught English in high schools for a year. After that, he returned to Moscow and entered the translation department, which he graduated in August 1960, receiving a specialty as a translator and teacher of English.

In the 1970s, he lived on Gorky Street and rented an apartment for two years from the famous performer of gypsy songs Lyalya Chernaya. In 1966-67, Konstantin Belyaev met Yura Mironov and David Shenderovich, who organized recordings and concerts of chanson bards in Moscow, including Arkady Severny. The first recordings of Belyaev, Mironov and others were carried out in the second half of the 1960s in the House of Science and Technology, which was located opposite the Pushkin Museum on Volkhonka. The sound engineer was Alexey Mankhegov, who worked there. During these same years, Belyaev became interested in collecting branded discs, of which more than eight hundred had accumulated by 1983. In the late sixties, Belyaev met and became friends with the poet and artist Igor Erenburg; before that he was already familiar with Sasha Shcherbakov (Shlemik), Dima Dmitriev and Vladimir Khazov, with whom he began performing and recording songs, including songs by Igor Erenburg, which he sang until the end of life. The main recordings of concerts took place in Moscow (at David Shenderovich and others) and Odessa (at Stas Eruslanov), sometimes Eruslanov came to Moscow and organized recordings at Belyaev’s house. In St. Petersburg, Belyaev signed up during his visit to the 20th anniversary of the death of Arkady Severny, in April 2001, with Sergei Ivanovich Maklakov.

In custody

On the loose

After his release, he worked for some time as a night watchman in garage societies, then as a teacher at a boarding school for orphans.

On February 19, 2009, Konstantin Nikolaevich underwent surgery in one of the Moscow hospitals, after which he was transferred to the intensive care unit, where he died on the night of February 20, 2009.

Creation

Konstantin Belyaev mainly wrote songs based on other people's poems and performed other people's songs. Among the most famous songs: “Couplets about Jews” (“Once the tram got on the rails...”), “Muscovites” (“Electric trains are rushing to the sea...”) to the verses of Yevgeny Aleksandrovich Yevtushenko, “At the parade to Aunt Nadya, a young commissar...” by poems by Igor Erenburg and one verse by Belyaev, retexture to the melody “A wonderful neighbor appeared in our house...” on a Jewish theme, “...And I am a proletarian, went to the planetarium...” to poems by Igor Erenburg.

The repertoire included approximately 400 songs: lyrics, romances, gypsy songs, criminal songs and, of course, Odessa-Jewish songs.

He also recorded at the Northern Motive studio with M.V. Inozemtsev, although he preferred to record with his Moscow friends Alexander Volokitin, Sergei Lepeshkin and producer Vyacheslav Samvelov. In total, since 1966, he has released 73 exclusive albums and concerts. Digitization and restoration of old reel-to-reel recordings are constantly being carried out.

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Notes

An excerpt characterizing Belyaev, Konstantin Nikolaevich

From then on, the legend about the Flowers of the Lord began. They say that they always grow at the abodes of God to show the way to those who come...
Lost in thought, I didn’t notice that I was looking around... and literally woke up right there!.. My amazing miracle flowers grew only around a narrow, dark crack that gaped in the rock, like an almost invisible, “natural” entrance!!! A suddenly heightened instinct led me exactly there...
No one was visible, no one came out. Feeling uncomfortable, coming uninvited, I still decided to try and approached the crack. Again, nothing happened... There was no special protection or any other surprises. Everything remained majestic and calm, as from the beginning of time... And who was there to defend against? Only from people as gifted as the owners themselves?.. I suddenly shuddered - but another similar “Caraffa” could have appeared, who would have been gifted to some extent, and would have just as easily “found” them?! ..
I carefully entered the cave. But nothing unusual happened here either, except that the air became somehow very soft and “joyful” - it smelled of spring and herbs, as if I was in a lush forest clearing, and not inside a bare stone rock... After walking a few meters, I I suddenly realized that it was becoming lighter, although it would seem that it should have been the other way around. The light streamed from somewhere above, here below it was dispersed into a very soft “sunset” lighting. A strange, soothing melody began to sound quietly and unobtrusively in my head - I had never heard anything like it before... The unusual combination of sounds made the world around me light and joyful. And safe...
It was very quiet and very cozy in the strange cave... The only thing that was a little alarming was that the feeling of someone else’s observation was growing stronger and stronger. But it wasn't unpleasant. It’s just a parent’s caring gaze behind an unintelligent baby...
The corridor along which I walked began to expand, turning into a huge high stone hall, along the edges of which there were simple stone seats that looked like long benches that someone had carved right into the rock. And in the middle of this strange hall stood a stone pedestal, on which a huge diamond crystal “burned” with all the colors of the rainbow... It sparkled and shimmered, blinding with multi-colored flashes, and looked like a small sun, for some reason suddenly hidden by someone in a stone cave .
I came closer - the crystal shone brighter. It was very beautiful, but nothing more, and did not evoke any delight or connection to something “great”. The crystal was material, simply incredibly large and magnificent. But that's all. It was not something mystical or significant, but just extraordinarily beautiful. But I still couldn’t understand why this seemingly simple “stone” reacted to the approach of a person? Could it be possible that he was somehow “turned on” by human warmth?
“You’re absolutely right, Isidora...” suddenly a gentle voice was heard. - No wonder the Fathers value you!
Startled in surprise, I turned around, immediately exclaiming joyfully - North was standing next to me! He was still friendly and warm, just a little sad. Like a gentle sun that was suddenly covered by a random cloud...
- Hello North! Sorry for coming uninvited. I called you, but you didn’t show up... Then I decided to try to find you myself. Tell me what do your words mean? Where am I right?
He approached the crystal - it shone even brighter. The light literally blinded me, making it impossible to look at it.
– You’re right about this “diva”... We found him a long time ago, many hundreds of years ago. And now it serves a good purpose - protection against the “blind”, those who accidentally got here. – North smiled. – For “those who want, but cannot”... – and added. - Like Caraffa. But this is not your hall, Isidora. Come with me. I'll show you your Meteora.
We moved deeper into the hall, passing some huge white slabs with writing carved into them standing along the edges.
- It doesn't look like runes. What is this, North? – I couldn’t stand it.
He smiled friendly again:
– Runes, but very ancient ones. Your father did not have time to teach you... But if you want, I will teach you. Just come to us, Isidora.
He repeated what I had already heard.
- No! – I immediately snapped. “That’s not why I came here, you know, North.” I came for help. Only you can help me destroy Karaffa. After all, what he does is your fault. Help me!
The North became even more sad... I knew in advance what he would answer, but I did not intend to give up. Millions were put on the scales good lives, and I couldn’t just give up fighting for them.
– I already explained to you, Isidora...
- So explain it further! – I abruptly interrupted him. – Explain to me how you can sit quietly with your arms folded when human lives go out one after another through your own fault?! Explain how such scum as Karaffa can exist, and no one has the desire to even try to destroy him?! Explain how you can live when this happens next to you?..
Bitter resentment bubbled up inside me, trying to spill out. I almost screamed, trying to reach his soul, but I felt that I was losing. There was no turning back. I didn't know if I would ever get there again, and I had to take every opportunity before I left.
- Look around, North! All over Europe your brothers and sisters are burning with living torches! Can you really sleep peacefully hearing their screams??? How can you not have bloody nightmares?!
His calm face was distorted by a grimace of pain:
– Don’t say that, Isidora! I have already explained to you - we should not interfere, we are not given such a right... We are guardians. We only protect KNOWLEDGE.
– Don’t you think that if you wait any longer, there will be no one to preserve your knowledge for?! – I exclaimed sadly.
– The earth is not ready, Isidora. I already told you this...
– Well, perhaps it will never be ready... And someday, in about a thousand years, when you look at it from your “tops”, you will see only an empty field, perhaps even overgrown with beautiful flowers, because that at this time there will be no more people on Earth, and there will be no one to pick these flowers... Think, North, is this the future you wished for the Earth?!..
But the North was protected by a blank wall of faith in what it said... Apparently, they all firmly believed that they were right. Or someone once instilled this faith in their souls so firmly that they carried it through centuries, without opening up and not allowing anyone into their hearts... And I couldn’t break through it, no matter how hard I tried.

Konstantin Belyaev is a teacher in Kazakhstan. 1956

I started collecting criminal songs as a boy in the early eighties. It all started with emigrants - Tokarev, Gulko, Shulman. Then our performers of “forbidden” songs were added to these names: Severny, Zhemchuzhnye Brothers, Rosenbaum, Belyaev. A neighbor, Ilyusha Tsukerman, whose mother worked as a manager at the Jewish Theater, which was then located on Taganka, told me about the existence of Kostya Belyaev and his, let’s say, very peculiar creativity. She often visited bohemian companies and in one of them, as Ilyusha claimed, she came across this nugget and even purchased a couple of his cassettes. Right there on the spot he sang me several songs that literally made my hair stand on end.

Of course, by the time I was 10-11 years old, I was well aware of the existence of obscene language and even I myself inserted a word or two into the conversation. However, all the dirtiest curses known to me by that time could not stand any comparison with what I heard performed by Tsukerman. It was as if a bucket of “royal vodka” had been poured into the tender brain of a Soviet schoolboy, a concentrated acid from the most sophisticated swearing, thickly seasoned with something incredibly dirty, obscene, which at that time I was barely aware of.

Enjoying the effect produced, the tempter kept adding more, spitting out everything in my surprised face, either ditties about girls doing an incomprehensible, as I heard, “benet” and for some reason “on a voluntary basis”, then about a priest who was used in... or about a certain Ivan Kuzin, proud of his “corn”.

Konstantin Belyaev - playboy of the 70s

Following the ditties, songs came, one angrier than the other. Having sung to his heart’s content, Zuckerman, at the end of the “creative evening”, announced that the performer of the repertoire he had voiced in this moment is in prison. This fact, to be honest, did not surprise me at all. When the first shock subsided a week later, curiosity took over and I still wanted to hear the original source. Through my friends, I got hold of a tape with Belyaev’s recordings. The original sounded much better than the “copy”. And although my strawberry-hungry neighbor did not misinterpret the words, Ilyusha, alas, was unable to convey the charm, charisma, and with them the unique humor and irony of this performer.

The high voice of the mysterious Kostya Belyaev, shouting out more and more verses to the strumming of the guitar, where every second word was obscene, did not, however, evoke anything but a smile. I couldn’t understand the nature of this phenomenon at the time, and I hardly thought about it, but I remembered the artist’s name and began to hunt for tapes of his songs. There were a lot of them, and, of course, there were not only “fence songs”, but also simply humorous Odessa “things”, and caustic satire, and even love lyrics.

Belyaev, as it turned out, had plenty of artistry, and he mysteriously managed to sound organically in a variety of genres. There was almost no information about underground music performers in the USSR. We all collected it bit by bit in newspaper feuilletons, in queues or kitchen gatherings, and therefore it is not surprising that all my attempts to clarify the fate of the “foul-mouthed person” ended in a fiasco. But I remembered the name.

15 years have passed. Almost everything that was banned in the Union has long ceased to be a secret. Calendars with Willy Tokarev were sold in every kiosk, records of the mysterious “metalheads”, whose re-shot photos I showed in pitch darkness, locked in the bathroom, no one wanted gathering dust on the shelves of the Melodiya store, and even a book was written about Arkasha Severny and filmed documentary. And only about Kostya Belyaev there was not a word or a breath. Either he continued to sit in the camp, or he emigrated, or maybe he died altogether...

Konstantin Belyaev in Sukhumi. 1982

On a summer day in 1997, I looked into a tiny pavilion at the Vykhinsky market and was dumbfounded: on the counter lay a new product - Kostya Belyaev’s CD “Mischievous Greetings from Stagnant Years.” There were a dozen things on the record that were familiar to me from the old days. Of course, there were no swear songs there, but the selection was good. In addition, all the songs were arranged. The disc stirred up memories, and I wanted to restore those old recordings, long lost in the whirlpool of the nineties. Better yet, find the performer himself, who, as follows from the text on the insert, was recently released from prison. There was no Internet then, but there was already a mysterious “Fido”, where one of my work colleagues used to hang out. One day he reported that someone had posted a directory with all the addresses and telephone numbers of Muscovites. I asked him to download the information and, having printed out a stack of sheets for the letter “B”, began to look for the required initials.

Three hours later, having called about twenty people, I ran into a familiar voice. Now I can’t remember where, perhaps from conversations between songs that were heard on recordings of his home concerts, but I knew the performer’s middle name.

— Konstantin Nikolaevich?

- I'm listening to…

— Are you the same Belyaev who sings Odessa songs?

- The same one...

After giving the usual compliments, I asked if he still had any old notes. It turned out that it was preserved and, moreover, Belyaev himself offered me to buy the discs from him.

The August crisis was still far away, and a dollar was worth either 5 or 6 rubles, so the fifty kopecks requested by Konstantin Nikolaevich for the disk seemed to me not a small amount, but a reasonable one. I said that I would like to meet on the weekend, but Belyaev began to gently but persistently convince that it would be better to meet today. Denying and referring to urgent matters, at some point I realized that my interlocutor was simply desperately in need of money. Having entered into the situation, I agreed, not the same day, but the next day to come to his home. Fortunately, he lived not far from my then work, on Aminevskoye Highway.

Konstantin Belyaev - last wedding

The door was opened for me by a large man, dressed casually, in a T-shirt with the words “Ohio University” and Soviet training boots with stripes. We said hello. He motioned for us to pass. Modest one-room apartment. Everything is absolutely standard: the wall, the carpet, the photo on the wallpaper... The eye was only drawn to the good equipment. Catching my gaze, Belyaev immediately spoke: “I love good technique. My weakness. When I was released, I began selling foreign equipment and was an intermediary. It was a rarity then, and I earned good money, I even traveled abroad, and visited London twice. After all, after prison I had absolutely nothing left. Everything went to waste... What a gorgeous collection it was...” he sighed heavily.

By the time of our meeting, I already knew that Konstantin Nikolaevich was imprisoned in 1984 for “illegal entrepreneurship” - he wrote new musical releases from his music library for money to everyone. “They took me by accident. They were waiting for my neighbor, set up an ambush, and while they were tracking him down, they saw that some people were constantly coming to see me, so they decided to take a closer look, and then Andropov just started tightening the screws, and I came under attack. Four years of camps at my age. “No joke,” Belyaev sighed again and stared out the window for a long time.

“I’ve prepared the discs for you,” the maestro perked up. “You asked for old ones, look, you found something, but I don’t have many of them, everything disappeared after the arrest.” But now I’m recording new songs all the time. Don't you want to listen?

And, without waiting for my consent, he turned on the disk with lyrical songs at full power. Moreover, some of them were sung in English for some reason.

Konstantin Belyaev entertains people with his songs on the beach in Yalta

Unable to withstand the powerful sound wave, I smiled politely and at the same time made it clear that I had fully enjoyed the new product. But Belyaev did not let up, waiting for the song to finish until the last note, he started the next one, then another. All that was left was to endure in silence.

- Do you hear that sound? There's a whole orchestra there! And what songs! - Taking the disk in his hands, he began to read the contents of the disk in detail and clearly and did not stop until he read to the very end.
“Why couldn’t he just give me the disc to read for myself?” - flashed through my head.

– Why did you sing in English?
“So I’m a professional English teacher,” Belyaev unexpectedly declared. “I always made money by giving private lessons, but recording it all was more for the soul.” By the way, don’t you need to tighten up your language? I charge inexpensively, $10 per lesson.

“He has some kind of sacred figure, these 10 dollars,” I remembered the purpose of my visit.

– What do you have left of the old discs?

He took several records and prepared to read out the track lists to me, but I hastened to take them from the pedantic owner and familiarize myself with the contents. I chose two or three and counted out the money.

- What about new ones, don’t you want them? - he asked with offense.

– Another time, Konstantin Nikolaevich.

***

Belyaev and Nos

From that visit, we began to occasionally call each other, and once every couple of months I would drop by for another batch of discs at his home or meet at Gorbushka, where Belyaev spent every Saturday. About six months later, he called me and, clearly worried, said that he had his first big concert planned in the concert hall of the Olympic Village. It was impossible to refuse, and I myself wanted to listen to the maestro live.

Exactly at seven, Belyaev, dressed in a respectable gray suit - a professor for all intents and purposes - came out onto the stage with a guitar and sat down on the prepared chair. He set up a music stand with lyrics in front of him, and it began just like in his own song: “I sang for a long time, the strings couldn’t stand it...”. It was clear that Belyaev was trying very hard and was desperately worried, but the former enthusiasm was not felt. Either age was to blame, or the situation put pressure on him, or the texts interfered with him, to which he stuck and actually did not sing, but read from sight. But the old mischievous Belyaev was not here at all. One long, long song sounded for an hour and a half. There was no intermission.

About two hours later I went out to smoke and heard the wardrobe attendants talking:

- When is the end, Kirillovna?

- Yes, the dog knows him, they say he sat for a long time. Now you’ve got your hands on it, you can’t drag it off the stage...

As evil as these comments sounded, there was some truth in them. Belyaev and his friends sang for an indecently long time that evening, and the audience slowly began to leave the hall. And in ecstasy he kept striking and striking the strings. But, one way or another, the debut took place, and Belyaev began to be invited to give performances either in casinos, which were a dime a dozen at that time, or in a nightclub, or even in a concert hall. It turned out that fans like me, familiar with his songs from Soviet times, there's a lot left. One of his best evenings took place in the hall of the House of Journalists. There was a full house, and the chansonnier was in a great mood.

“Look, Konstantin Nikolaevich, the hall is full,” I flattered the artist.

- My hundred people will always come to me! - Belyaev snapped.

****

The observation was correct. Having experienced difficult times after release and new failure in the late nineties, when it became impossible to mediate the sale of electronics, Belyaev little by little began to make a living by performing concerts and selling CDs. Without hesitation or fear of anything, he announced his home phone number right from the stage and invited everyone to call and come for the discs. And it’s worth noting that he recorded new concerts tirelessly.

K. Belyaev with N. Rezanov at the grave of Arkady Severny. St. Petersburg, 2003

About a year and a half to two years after the first visit, I again found myself in his one-room apartment on Aminevskoye Highway, and he said with poorly concealed joy:

- I'm going for a record! Yesterday I recorded my 100th album!

“The pace, however...” I thought in surprise.

Then I did not yet know about the existence of another Moscow chansonnier - Alexander Volokitin, who today has more than a thousand “albums” in his discography.

Meanwhile, the vigorous activity launched by the singer was bearing fruit. He began to be invited to appear on TV in the program “Ships Came into Our Harbor...”, newspapers wrote about him, and in 2000, when Radio Chanson opened, his name was invariably announced on air with the prefixes “master” or “patriarch” of chanson. Yes, in general, he really was. Young performers flocked to Belyaev. They came, talked, took pictures... Katerina Golitsyna gave a computer as a sign of respect, and Konstantin Nikolaevich began to go online. I was happy like a child.

N. Rezanov, V. Medyanik, K. Belyaev

Fans made him a website, which he checked several times daily. Unlike many older people and old music lovers, he took with great interest the new, almost “disco” sound of “Russian chanson”, and he himself bought discs by Krug, Polotno, Nagovitsyn and many other young artists for his collection. And later he even began to write a column in some newspaper, where he wrote reviews about new products in the genre.

In December 2000, Radio Chanson organized the grandest musical marathon “Star Blizzard”. Konstantin Nikolaevich had the honor of opening the concert, of which he was incredibly proud. A couple of weeks before, he called me and offered to buy tickets at a discount, which the organizers apparently gave him. I agreed, but then didn’t call back and didn’t pick up the tickets. He was offended, and for five or six years we hardly communicated, we only nodded to each other from afar, occasionally crossing paths behind the scenes of group concerts.

*****

In 2008, I began writing the book “Songs Banned in the USSR,” where one of the chapters was dedicated to Belyaev. Feeling somewhat guilty, I finally took the plunge and dialed the long-familiar number. Konstantin Nikolaevich did not reveal any long-standing resentment, he cordially invited him to visit and promised all assistance. When I arrived, it was as if I had returned ten years ago. The same apartment, the same fit, but slightly aged owner, dressed, it seems, in the same constant sweatpants and a T-shirt with a foreign inscription.

He willingly gave an interview, signed permission to use the song, and provided photos. Looking through the photographs from the albums, I recalled with pleasure where they were taken, with whom: “Here Igor Erenburg and I are in the south with our mistresses, and this is me in Moscow, when I taught at the institute, do you see what suit I’m wearing? Finnish, I took them for checks at Beryozka. And this is me in an apartment on Tverskaya, which I rented from Lyalya Chernaya from Roman. What kind of concerts we put on there! Both Zhvanetsky and Vysotsky were there...”

— Konstantin Nikolaevich, maybe we’ll make a book about you? Shall we publish memoirs?

Konstantin Belyaev

I was almost sure that he would not refuse such an offer. But to my surprise, Belyaev categorically rejected the offer: “I don’t need any book. I lived a happy life. As I wanted. Everything happened, so why write about it? Nothing can be returned - write, don’t write. They listen to my songs, they know, and I don’t need anything else... If only I could live a little longer...” having said the last phrase, he somehow stopped short and fell silent for a long time. I looked at him furtively, looked around at the old kitchen, the simple furniture, the scattered bread crumbs on the table, and my heart, no matter how banal it may sound, sank. A wave of sympathy and pity washed over me... Saying goodbye, I bought several CDs from him and promised to be at the next concert at the Butyrka tavern.

That time there were a lot of people in the hall, Belyaev was selling CDs, taking pictures, I was about to snap a photo, but someone brushed me off, and I frivolously thought: “Oh, another time...”. So I don’t have a single photo with Belyaev left. Either in October or November 2008, he called again: “I’m organizing a concert here for my birthday. Come..." I began to deny it, because nothing had passed since our meeting at Butyrka. - Come! – Belyaev asked again somehow sadly and in a theatrical, heartfelt way. “After all, this is my last concert... “The old man presses for pity,” irritation boiled in my soul. But out loud I asked:

- Why is this the last one?

- My heart is very bad. I need surgery, they say, but I’m afraid. I feel like I can't stand it.

In response, I uttered some platitudes about his blooming appearance, about the absence bad habits(he didn’t drink or smoke all his life), about “75 is not age” and other appropriate nonsense. And, naturally, I didn’t come to the concert, thinking again: “another time.” In early February, a mutual friend reported that Belyaev was in the hospital awaiting heart surgery. And on the 20th he died on the operating table.

I can’t say that I’m spinning Belyaev’s CDs all night long today, but I always remember him with warmth and a slight feeling of guilt. And if my hand reaches out to the shelf with records, then more and more often I take exactly that disc with lyrical songs that I didn’t like so much when we first met twenty years ago: “The nightingale sang loudly there in the distance a song about happiness, oh love..."

May your memory be blessed, Konstantin Nikolaevich, and thank you for the songs...

Konstantin Nikolaevich Belyaev was born on November 23, 1934, died on February 20, 2009.

Mother - Nadezhda Aleksandrovna worked on a state farm, father - Nikolai Zakharovich, died at the front, has little brother Vladimir, lives in Odessa. In 1946, Konstantin was sent to an Odessa special boarding school where a number of subjects were taught in English, and he studied there until 1953. The special school was located on Bolshoy Fontana, and then moved to Botanicheskaya Street. Then Belyaev moved to Moscow and entered the Institute of Military Translators, studied there for three years, and then, during the period of Khrushchev’s demobilization (“one million six hundred and forty thousand”), almost the entire vector of movement was disbanded (October 1956). Due to the fact that it was not possible to continue studying ( academic year has already begun), Belyaev was recruited through the Ministry of Railways and went to act as an English teacher at the Otar station, near Alma-Ata, where he taught British language in high schools for a year. After that, he returned to Moscow and entered the translation department of the Institute foreign languages named after Maurice Thorez, who graduated in August 1960 and was assigned to the international department of Sheremetyevo Airport as a dispatcher-translator. Living in an airport hostel, in 1961 he began to master the guitar, began to hum and write songs.

In 1963, Belyaev resigned from Sheremetyevo and moved to the Lenin Pedagogical Institute for a teaching job, worked there for about three years, and created a ladies' student ensemble. Then Konstantin Belyaev taught at MGIMO, an English special school, the Institute of Foreign Languages, and the Academy foreign trade and the Institute of Steel and Alloys, where he worked until his arrest in 1983. In 1966-67, Konstantin Nikolaevich met Yura Mironov and David Shenderovich, the one who organized recordings and concerts of chanson bards in Moscow, including Arkady Severny. The first recordings of Belyaev, Mironov and others were carried out in the second half of the 60s in the House of Science and Technology, which was located opposite the Pushkin Museum on Volkhonka. The sound engineer was Alexey Mankhegov, the one who worked there. During these same years, Belyaev became interested in collecting branded discs, of which more than eight hundred had accumulated by 1983. In the late sixties, Belyaev met and became friends with the poet and artist Igor Erenburg, before that he was already familiar with Sasha Shcherbakov (Shlemik), Dima Dmitriev and Vladimir Khazov, with whom he began to perform and write songs, including the songs of Igor Erenburg, which he sings and to this day. The main recordings of the concerts took place in Moscow (at David Shenderovich and others) and Odessa (at Stas Eruslanov), from time to time Eruslanov came to Moscow and organized recordings at Belyaev’s house. In St. Petersburg, Belyaev signed up during his visit to the 20th anniversary of the death of Arkady Severny, in April 2001, with Sergei Ivanovich Maklakov.

Author of many famous songs and compiler of the cycle of couplets “There are only Jews around”. In the 1970s, he lived on Gorky Street and rented an apartment for two years from the famous performer of gypsy songs Lyalya Chernaya. In 1983, he was sentenced to 4 years (Article 162 of the Criminal Code of the RSFSR, illegal fishing), the term was served in a maximum security colony in Ustyuzhna near Vologda, the investigation lasted about a year, during which time Belyaev changed four prisons ("Matrosskaya Tishina", Butyrka prison , Krasnopresnenskaya transit and Vologda). After his release, he worked for some time as a night watchman in garage communities, then as a teacher at a boarding school for orphans. From 1988 to 1993 he was engaged in private commercial activities and also began actively recording. In 1996, he recorded for the first time at the professional studio "Rock Academy", then in 1997 the seminal official solo disc "Mischievous greetings from the stagnant years" was released. Over the period of time from 1966 to the present, he has exclusively released 73 albums and concerts. Old reel-to-reel recordings are constantly being digitized and restored. The repertoire includes about 400 songs: lyrics, romances, gypsy songs, Odessa humorous and mischievous songs, and criminal songs.

Married for the third time, lives in Moscow.

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Belyaev Konstantin Nikolaevich (11/23/1934 - 02/20/2009) - performer, poet and composer, was born in the village of Bolshaya Dolina, Akkarzha station (a German settlement near Odessa in the 1920s). Mother - Nadezhda Aleksandrovna worked on a state farm, father - Nikolai Zakharovich, died at the front, has younger brother Vladimir, lives in Odessa. In 1946, Konstantin was sent to an Odessa special boarding school where a number of subjects were taught in English, and he studied there until 1953. The special school was located on Bolshoy Fontana, and then moved to Botanicheskaya Street. Then Belyaev moved to Moscow and entered the Institute of Military Translators, studied there for three years, and then, during the period of Khrushchev’s demobilization (“one million six hundred and forty thousand”), almost the entire course was disbanded (October 1956). Due to the fact that it was not possible to continue his studies (the school year had already begun), Belyaev was recruited through the Ministry of Railways and went to work as an English teacher at the Otar station, near Alma-Ata, where he taught English in high school for a year. After that, he returned to Moscow and entered the translation department of the Maurice Thorez Institute of Foreign Languages, which he graduated in August 1960 and was assigned to the international department of Sheremetyevo Airport as a dispatcher-translator. Living in an airport dormitory, in 1961 he began to master the guitar, began to sing and compose songs.

In 1963, Belyaev resigned from Sheremetyevo and moved to the Lenin Pedagogical Institute to work as a teacher, worked there for about three years, and created a women's student ensemble. Then Konstantin Belyaev taught at MGIMO, an English special school, the Institute of Foreign Languages, the Academy of Foreign Trade and the Institute of Steel and Alloys, where he worked until his arrest in 1983. In 1966-67, Konstantin Nikolaevich met Yura Mironov and David Shenderovich, who organized recordings and concerts of chanson bards in Moscow, including Arkady Severny. The first recordings of Belyaev, Mironov and others were carried out in the second half of the 60s in the House of Science and Technology, which was located opposite the Pushkin Museum on Volkhonka. The sound engineer was Alexey Mankhegov, who worked there. During these same years, Belyaev became interested in collecting branded discs, of which more than eight hundred had accumulated by 1983. In the late sixties, Belyaev met and became friends with the poet and artist Igor Erenburg, before that he was already familiar with Sasha Shcherbakov (Shlemik), Dima Dmitriev and Vladimir Khazov, with whom he began performing and recording songs, including the songs of Igor Erenburg, which he sings and to this day. The main recordings of concerts took place in Moscow (at David Shenderovich and others) and Odessa (at Stas Eruslanov), sometimes Eruslanov came to Moscow and organized recordings at Belyaev’s house. In St. Petersburg, Belyaev signed up during his visit to the 20th anniversary of the death of Arkady Severny, in April 2001, with Sergei Ivanovich Maklakov.

Author of many famous songs and compiler of the cycle of couplets “There are only Jews around”. In the 1970s, he lived on Gorky Street and rented an apartment for two years from the famous performer of gypsy songs Lyalya Chernaya. In 1983, he was sentenced to 4 years (Article 162 of the Criminal Code of the RSFSR, illegal fishing), the term was served in a maximum security colony in Ustyuzhna near Vologda, the investigation lasted about a year, during which time Belyaev changed four prisons (Matrosskaya Tishina, Butyrskaya Prison , Krasnopresnenskaya transit and Vologda). After his release, he worked for some time as a night watchman in garage societies, then as a teacher at a boarding school for orphans. From 1988 to 1993 he was engaged in private business, and at the same time actively began recording. In 1996, he recorded for the first time at the professional studio “Rock Academy”, after which in 1997 the first official solo disc “Mischievous greetings from stagnant years” was released. For the period from 1966 to the present, he has exclusively released more than a hundred albums and concerts. Old reel-to-reel recordings are constantly being digitized and restored. The repertoire includes approximately 400 songs: lyrics, romances, gypsy songs, Odessa humorous and mischievous songs, and criminal songs.

Konstantin Nikolaevich Belyaev(November 23, 1934 - February 20, 2009) - performer and author in the genre of criminal songs, compiler of the cycle of couplets “There are only Jews around.”

Biography

Konstantin Belyaev was born in the village of Bolshaya Dolina, Akkarzha station, near Odessa. Mother - Nadezhda Aleksandrovna worked on a state farm, father - Nikolai Zakharovich, died at the front.

Until 1953, Konstantin Belyaev studied at an Odessa special boarding school where a number of subjects were taught in English. After that, he moved to Moscow and entered the Institute of Military Translators, where he studied for three years. During the post-war mass demobilization campaign of the Soviet Army (October 1956), almost the entire course of the institute was disbanded. Belyaev went to work as an English teacher at the Otar station, near Alma-Ata, where he taught English in high school for a year. After that, he returned to Moscow and entered the translation department, which he graduated in August 1960, receiving a specialty as a translator and teacher of English.

In custody

On the loose

After his release, he worked for some time as a night watchman in garage societies, then as a teacher at a boarding school for orphans.

Creation

The repertoire included approximately 400 songs: lyrics, romances, gypsy songs, criminal songs and, of course, Odessa-Jewish songs.

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An excerpt characterizing Belyaev, Konstantin Nikolaevich

For a long time that night, Princess Marya sat at the open window in her room, listening to the sounds of men talking coming from the village, but she did not think about them. She felt that no matter how much she thought about them, she could not understand them. She kept thinking about one thing - about her grief, which now, after the break caused by worries about the present, had already become past for her. She could now remember, she could cry and she could pray. As the sun set, the wind died down. The night was quiet and fresh. At twelve o'clock the voices began to fade, the rooster crowed, and people began to emerge from behind the linden trees. full moon, a fresh, white mist of dew rose, and silence reigned over the village and over the house.
One after another, pictures of the close past appeared to her - illness and her father’s last minutes. And with sad joy she now dwelled on these images, driving away from herself with horror only one last image of his death, which - she felt - she was unable to contemplate even in her imagination at this quiet and mysterious hour of the night. And these pictures appeared to her with such clarity and with such detail that they seemed to her now like reality, now the past, now the future.
Then she vividly imagined that moment when he had a stroke and was dragged out of the garden in the Bald Mountains by the arms and he muttered something with an impotent tongue, twitched his gray eyebrows and looked at her restlessly and timidly.
“Even then he wanted to tell me what he told me on the day of his death,” she thought. “He always meant what he told me.” And so she remembered in all its details that night in Bald Mountains on the eve of the blow that happened to him, when Princess Marya, sensing trouble, remained with him against his will. She did not sleep and at night she tiptoed downstairs and, going up to the door to the flower shop where her father spent the night that night, listened to his voice. He said something to Tikhon in an exhausted, tired voice. He obviously wanted to talk. “And why didn’t he call me? Why didn’t he allow me to be here in Tikhon’s place? - Princess Marya thought then and now. “He will never tell anyone now everything that was in his soul.” This moment will never return for him and for me, when he would say everything he wanted to say, and I, and not Tikhon, would listen and understand him. Why didn’t I enter the room then? - she thought. “Maybe he would have told me then what he said on the day of his death.” Even then, in a conversation with Tikhon, he asked about me twice. He wanted to see me, but I stood here, outside the door. He was sad, it was hard to talk with Tikhon, who did not understand him. I remember how he spoke to him about Lisa, as if she were alive - he forgot that she died, and Tikhon reminded him that she was no longer there, and he shouted: “Fool.” It was hard for him. I heard from behind the door how he lay down on the bed, groaning, and shouted loudly: “My God! Why didn’t I get up then?” What would he do to me? What would I have to lose? And maybe then he would have been consoled, he would have said this word to me.” And Princess Marya said out loud the kind word that he said to her on the day of his death. “Darling! - Princess Marya repeated this word and began to sob with tears that relieved her soul. She now saw his face in front of her. And not the face that she had known since she could remember, and which she had always seen from afar; and that face is timid and weak, which on the last day, bending down to his mouth to hear what he said, she examined up close for the first time with all its wrinkles and details.
“Darling,” she repeated.
“What was he thinking when he said that word? What is he thinking now? - suddenly a question came to her, and in response to this she saw him in front of her with the same expression on his face that he had in the coffin, on his face tied with a white scarf. And the horror that gripped her when she touched him and became convinced that it was not only not him, but something mysterious and repulsive, gripped her now. She wanted to think about other things, wanted to pray, but could do nothing. She's big with open eyes she looked at the moonlight and shadows, every second she expected to see his dead face and felt that the silence that stood over the house and in the house shackled her.
- Dunyasha! – she whispered. - Dunyasha! – she screamed in a wild voice and, breaking out of the silence, ran to the girls’ room, towards the nanny and girls running towards her.

On August 17, Rostov and Ilyin, accompanied by Lavrushka, who had just returned from captivity, and the leading hussar, from their Yankovo camp, fifteen versts from Bogucharovo, went horseback riding - to try a new horse bought by Ilyin and to find out if there was any hay in the villages.
Bogucharovo had been located for the last three days between two enemy armies, so that the Russian rearguard could have entered there just as easily as the French vanguard, and therefore Rostov, as a caring squadron commander, wanted to take advantage of the provisions that remained in Bogucharovo before the French.
Rostov and Ilyin were in the most cheerful mood. On the way to Bogucharovo, to the princely estate with an estate, where they hoped to find large servants and pretty girls, they either asked Lavrushka about Napoleon and laughed at his stories, or drove around, trying Ilyin’s horse.
Rostov neither knew nor thought that this village to which he was traveling was the estate of that same Bolkonsky, who was his sister’s fiancé.
Rostov with Ilyin in last time They let the horses out to drive the horses in front of Bogucharov, and Rostov, having overtaken Ilyin, was the first to gallop into the street of the village of Bogucharov.
“You took the lead,” said the flushed Ilyin.
“Yes, everything is forward, and forward in the meadow, and here,” answered Rostov, stroking his soaring bottom with his hand.
“And in French, your Excellency,” Lavrushka said from behind, calling his sled nag French, “I would have overtaken, but I just didn’t want to embarrass him.”
They walked up to the barn, near which stood a large crowd of men.
Some men took off their hats, some, without taking off their hats, looked at those who had arrived. Two long old men, with wrinkled faces and sparse beards, came out of the tavern and, smiling, swaying and singing some awkward song, approached the officers.
- Well done! - Rostov said, laughing. - What, do you have any hay?
“And they are the same...” said Ilyin.
“Vesve...oo...oooo...barking bese...bese...” the men sang with happy smiles.

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