Buniyatov Ziya Musaevich
Seidmamedova Zuleikha Gabibovna
Maguerramov Malik Malikovitch
Mamedov Khalil Mamedovich
Kuliyev Abbas Shakhbazovich
Mamedov Israfil Mageramovich
Babajanyan Amazasp Khachaturovich
Isakov Ivan Stepanovich
Bagramyan Ivan Khristoforovich
Sarkisyan Mkrtich Divinovich
Maksimova Tamara Alexandrovna
Koshkarbayev Rakhimzhan
Zhanybekov Shangerey
Gabdullin Malik
Dospanova Khiuaz
Simanovsky Iosif Bentsianovich
Zholudev Igor Valentinovich
Blyakher Arkady (Abram) Moiseevich (Movshevich)
Itkina Zinaida Arkadievna
Klevensky Mark Mitrofanovich
Karatyghina Vera Alexandrovna
Chaushansky Dmitry Nikolaevich
Lerman Boris Iosifovich
Surdutovich Alexander Grigorievich
Pakhmutova Alexandra Nikolaevna
Karimullin Abrar Gibadullovich
Popov Serafim Alekseevich
Kanamatov Khamit Abulovich
Volkov Yuri Nikolaevich
Varavva Ivan Fedorovich
Fatyanov Alexei Ivanovich
FATYANOV ALEKSEI IVANOVICH
http://library-vyazniki.vld.muzkult.ru/about/
In June 1941, during the redeployment of units, the ensemble was in an air garrison near Bryansk. Here Fatyanov saw the beginning of the Great Patriotic War. From the very first days of the war Alexey Ivanovich gave up to three performances a day before the soldiers, he had to write relevant satirical ditties and skits, poems and songs. In addition, Fatyanov repeatedly requested the command to send him to the front:
Marshal G. K. Zhukov called the song ‘Nightingales’ one of the best songs of the war era. Mikhail Lukonin, another front-line poet, wrote in his memoirs: “How we sang: nightingales, nightingales, don't disturb the soldiers... And how wonderfully Fatyanov himself sang. I even remember tears in Tvardovsky's eyes.”
“It was in early March 1945, just two months before Victory Day. At that time a collective of artists from the Riga Philharmonic arrived at our 10th Guards Army.... A large hospital tent was equipped as a music hall. Before the stage they laid several rows of long logs, which replaced the seats ... Needless to say that the tent was so full not even a poppy seed could fit. However, no one complained about the cramped conditions. Of course not - there was a concert! Even those who could not get into the “music hall” were happy. The tarpaulin walls of the tent allowed the words and music to pass freely, and they were heard far beyond the tent....
- And now, comrades, an artist of our Philharmonic - the announcer called the name of the singer - will perform a song by the composer Solovyov- Sedoy to the words of Fatyanov ‘Nightingales, nightingales...’. The hall welcomed the singer with polite applause. The accompanist gave an introduction and the performer sang. The first words of the song stunned the listeners:
Пришла и к нам на фронт весна,
Солдатам стало не до сна...
Litteral translation: Spring has come to our front, // The soldiers are no longer able to sleep...
It was so authentic that one could even believe that the song was written yesterday or the day before yesterday, and not now, this minute, right here in this hospital tent. And the singer continued:
Не потому, что пушки бьют,
А потому, что вновь поют,
Забыв, что здесь идут бои,
Поют шальные соловьи.
There exists all kinds of silence. But the one that prevailed in the hospital tent and around it was unusual, extraordinary in some way: unnatural, I would say. Everyone, as if mesmerized, fixed their burning eyes on the singer and waited, waited for new words and a new melody....
Соловьи, соловьи, не тревожьте солдат,
Пусть солдаты немного поспят.
No! I had never heard such a song throughout the entire war. Even though there were a lot of them, different kinds of good songs, songs that grabbed my heart and tore it apart, songs that lifted me up in battle, songs that cheered me up during the hours of short rest. But this one had everything, as if it accumulated all the feelings together.
So when the song ended, no one moved. The hall was silent, the singer was silent, and the accompanist's hands hung down like whips. And there was silence outside the tent. I turned my head and was stunned even more. In the window of the tent I saw the face of a young soldier. Tears were streaming down his face, making thin white streaks on his powder-smothered cheeks.”
“... early in the morning of May 9, on the Wednesday of the Holy Easter Week, many people woke up to the sound of machine gun fire. The sleepy people did not quite understand what was happening. In the churches that opened during the war there was a service dedicated to the celebration of the icon of the Mother of God of Kasperov. The churches preached the good news “Christ is risen from the dead...”. Those praying anxiously listened to the street sounds - the sounds of increasing gunfire.
But these shots were the forerunner of the long-awaited victory salute.
It was the beginning of a worldwide, all-embracing and nationwide celebration... Such a celebration of Easter had never been seen in the world. The Great Victory was achieved by blood, by the loss of two hundred million Soviet lives against four million Nazi lives... But all the survivors could not and did not want to hide their righteous rejoicing. They rejoiced that life went on, and they had remained to witness it, to return home. “It's been a long time since we've been home,” hundreds of thousands of soldiers' mouths were saying, just like Fatyanov. 'Come home soon,' millions of women's and children's hearts answered each one.”
