Propaganda does not dominate the musical preferences of the majority of Russians, and opposition musicians have not disappeared from the charts in the country. According to Alsu Buiting and Lisa Gaufman, this reflects subtle societal processes: nothing is permanent, everything is possible. Diving into the evolving music landscape in Russia during its full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the authors show that even under oppressive conditions, opposition can find ways to be heard - often through unexpected voices.

Still from the  video ‘Apple Orchard’ by Shortparis.

At first glance, the Russian music scene seems divided into three camps: propaganda music, silent artists, and opposition voices abroad. However, when it comes to actual listening preferences, people seem to want to escape into the world of fast cars, handsome lovers and Godzillas. Propaganda does not dominate the musical preferences of the majority of Russians, and opposition musicians have not disappeared from the charts in the country, reflecting more subtle societal processes. Top songs often feature artists who remain silent on political issues, and who sing about ‘asphalt wet as my eyes’, ‘not needing Monaco sun’ or ‘getting used to’ a woman that feels like a drug. 

Kindergarten-approved propaganda

Shaman and his hit ‘I'm Russian,’ that is frequently played at official venues and government-organized rallies, has been touted as the new face of governmental entertainment propaganda.  However, his popularity is mostly artificially hyped by the state. The Top 100 songs listed on VK (the Russian equivalent of Facebook), updated daily, do not feature his songs at all. Only a small portion of Russians engage with open propaganda: books of war poetry are not sold out, war films fail at the box office, and Shaman had to cancel concerts from his ’Victory’ tour this past autumn. Moreover, Shaman trying to register an ‘I am Russian’ trademark for vodka and sex toys has also turned even the most vocal war supporters against him, who were already annoyed at him for driving a BMW and using an iPhone.

Some other artists with a softer approach have been more successful in the charts. A recent example is Tatyana Kurtukova, a neo-folk singer who managed to climb to the 20th place in the charts with her song 'Mother', where she sings about Holy Rus’ being a mother to her but a pain to others. An ostensible recipient from VTB state bank funding, Kurtukova is very outspoken about her Orthodox beliefs and adherence to 'traditional values'. She performs in traditional folk costumes and named her daughter born in 2023 'Evnika' - 'glorious victory'. One does not need to stretch the imagination as to what victory Kurtukova might be referring to. Reportedly, her song has been used in kindergartens probably because its motherland-loving message is not as overtly militaristic as Shaman’s. 

Blacklisted bands

In sharp contrast with the kindergarten-approved music, the Russian government has created a list of musicians, who are blacklisted from performing in venues. The list includes artists who are not even openly oppositional, as well as some surprising names of  known Putin supporters like Eurovision winner Dima Bilan and former husband of Soviet pop-diva Alla Pugachyova and a popular singer himself Filip Kirkorov. 

Opposition music varies in its expression of attitudes towards current events, ranging from pain and aggression towards the Russian state to support and empathy towards Ukraine. For the past two years, Russian artists like Noize MC, Maxim Pokrovsky, Monetochka, Zemfira and Boris Grebenschikov have been performing at venues worldwide, mainly for Russian-speaking audiences and in many of these concerts the audiences chant ‘no to war' with the singers. The 2023 music video for Monetochka's song 'I'll survive' (2020) is a compilation of personal videos from her fans, and includes images shot in detention vans and bombed cities. 'We will survive all of this nonsense, all of this nastiness and filth,' she tells her audience:

'And the bubonic plague and Vova the Plague
Alien enmity, and a swan on a pond
New rap and old rock and grandma's sweater
And the hungry, hungry wolf will not eat me
An infantry regiment will not crush me
Just throw a handful of earth on me while my lips whisper:
I'll survive'

Although their anti-war songs are banned in Russia, these artists remain available on Russian streaming platforms. Since October 4, however, they have been labelled as foreign agents and their content is restricted to audiences aged 18 and older. 

Additionally, some musicians continue to perform opposition music within Russia. Alongside the established tradition of protest art, dating back to the Soviet era, there is a growing field of artistic experimentation in a deconstructive, rather than critical, mode – a method aptly categorised by Maria Engström as metamodernist. It means that many artists employ oblique and indirect message of criticism that allows them to avoid criminal prosecution and yet convey the message of opposition for those willing to hear it.

The obvious example is Shortparis, a blacklisted band that still tours Russia with their subtle anti-war message, which they think is essential in order to maintain the anti-war solidarity among those who are unable to leave. Apart from protesting on the streets at the beginning of the invasion, on March 11, 2022 they released a video to their song ‘Apple Orchard’, featuring the choir of WWII veterans singing ‘the native land is sleeping/the evening is mutilated/above the Kremlin Cathedral/ashes rise’ and the veterans burying the red apples in the frozen ground. One of their latest videos, 'Grapes of Wrath' features a mob attacking the singer while he tries to persuade them that 'I like everything here', alluding to the fact that most people would never openly criticize the government even if they were subjected to state violence, as well as numerous videos from Russian artists praising the ‘special military operation’ after being subjected to governmental pressure.

The Bashkir music scene

Within Russia, there are some specific local dynamics as well. An example is  Bashkortostan:  a culturally rich region that has produced many famous musicians, from rock legends like Yuri Shevchuk of DDT and Zemfira, to rappers like Face and Morgenshtern. Many Tatar singers also come from this republic, which is not surprising, as Tatars are the third largest ethnic group, after Russians and Bashkirs, living in Bashkortostan. Bashkortostan is known for providing a steady supply of soldiers for the 'Special Military Operation' (SVO) and harsh suppression of the local opposition. This mirrors national trends, but with its own local cultural complexities. Just like on a state level, in Bashkortostan, the local government uses various channels, including music, to promote the war. Russian propaganda songs can be divided into three categories, also found in the Bashkir music scene:

The first category focuses on glorifying defenders and the war. Artists like Ramil Badamshin (with 1.46K followers on YouTube), with his military songs and project 'Guitar is also a Machine Gun', aims at youth and local communities to promote the war and sees his role in maintaining the patriotic spirit.

The second category includes songs about family and love, such as the song Paths of Wild Geese, which was not widely known until a Bashkir-Tatar battalion volunteer sang it. With 4.3 million views on YouTube, its themes of personal change, love and separation have resonated with many: 

'The flight of wild geese soars high, so high. Repeating your name again and again, I count the stars. I know you’re searching for answers in the past. Much has changed - Why don’t you want to understand? I am different, and so are you. Don’t curse fate in vain. Souls are like wounded swans.'

Labelled as an anthem for Tatar soldiers by the government platform A Billion of Tatars, it illustrates how personal and sentimental songs can shift into symbols of state values.

This transition becomes even more pronounced in the third category, which centres on songs about Motherland Russia and the 'small' homeland. This theme, deeply rooted in the Bashkir-Tatar music tradition, is now being recontextualized. Recently, a version of the famous Tatar hit Tugan Yak (meaning 'Homeland') was released in Russian under the name of Native home. Originally written in three languages (Russian, Bashkir, and Tatar), the song gained widespread popularity in the Tatar language 20 years ago. For Tatars the song has always represented the theme of love and beauty of their region: 

'There’s every kind of flower - homeland, homeland, fragrant and colorful - homeland, homeland. Nowhere could compare to this place - homeland, homeland. It seems nothing could ever equal - homeland, homeland.’ 

Its Russian rendition, however, has taken on a different meaning. The song’s new text and performance in front of the Russian flag has turned it into a symbol of unity under Russian identity:

'Here, our grandfathers left us a glorious past. I’ve learned forever. What matters most: Wherever I am, wherever I go, in a foreign land, I never forget my native home, my native home.’  

Moreover, the Bashkir-Tatar singer of this song, Elvin Grey (with 1.06 million followers on YouTube), is also known for claiming that today, Bashkirs, Tatars, Chechens, Mari people, and many others should prioritize their common Russian identity over their ethnic belonging. While ethnologist Harun Sidorov sees this as an ideological choice, it also aligns with the main messages of current Russian propaganda. Similar themes appear in the works of artists like Shaman and Tatyana Kurtukova.

Human megaphones

Just like on a federal level, artists in Bashkortostan are supposed to demonstrate loyalty to the government. After the protests in Baimak in January 2024, sparked by the sentencing of Fail Alsynov for a charge of ‘incitement to hatred on the grounds of ethnicity’ for a speech he made at an ecological protest, the head of Bashkortostan, R. Khabirov, organised a concert to show that he also had public support. R. Khabirov’s act mirrors similar strategies seen at the national level, where concerts and artists are used to affirm support for state policies. This reflects the ongoing pressure on artists to align with the regime. At the same time,  as the war continues, it becomes more difficult to balance loyalty with self-expression and professional survival, as the state demands more human propaganda megaphones.

An interesting example is the Bashkir rapper Altynai Valitov (with 17.5K followers on YouTube), who transitioned from collaborator to member of the opposition. In order to protect his career, he at first participated in a state concert to prevent people from joining the protests in support of Navalny. Moreover, in March 2022, he recorded what he calls a veiled song, a piece of music with indirect and subtle messaging, in which he proclaimed he didn’t need Instagram, iPhones, McDonald’s, or KFC, saying he could eat buckwheat (a very common anti-sanction narrative), was unafraid of a nuclear bomb, and ended with a quote from Putin: 'We will go to paradise as martyrs.' This song didn’t raise any concerns with the local authorities and he could continue to work. In January 2024, during protests in Baimak, Valitov — by his own account — lost his patience and distanced himself from the regime. Fearing imprisonment, he fled Bashkortostan. While in exile, he recorded the song 'Namys' (meaning 'Honor' or 'Conscience'), reflecting on the Baimak protests. He raps that ‘conscience drowned in the lake’, and questions how to explain the suppression of the Bashkir people to future generations.

Unexpected voices

But  even in these difficult circumstances, resistance persists. Another heartbreaking example comes from Fail Alsynov’s 11-year-old son, Iskandar, whose recent song 'To my people' also addresses the struggles of the Bashkir people and the arrest of his father:  

'Thousands of people came to defend my father. They couldn’t protect him. Many of them are now in prison. Free my father. He didn’t deserve this. Kushtau, Irandyk, the wealth of the land...
The head is afraid of the people. My father is strong. It would be right if they swapped places. What is destined for you, my people? Pain pierces the soul, flames devour the soul.'

Iskandar’s song is especially powerful because it comes from such a young artist who  dares to speak up. This story serves as a reminder that even under oppressive conditions, opposition can find ways to be heard - often through unexpected voices. This form of resistance is part of a larger struggle in Bashkortostan, where unresolved issues of language, identity, and corruption are now compounded by the devastating toll of war.

Although it may seem that the Russian music scene is divided into three camps: propaganda artists, silent and opposition voices, the reality is more complex. The boundaries between and within these categories are fluid and it is not always clear how personal relationships among the artists have been affected by their diverging views on the war. Artists may move between them due to fear or changing political or societal winds. Nothing is permanent, everything is possible: yesterday’s stars can become today's outcasts or loyal artists can join the opposition. For instance, even some Ukrainian-born artists chose to stay in Russia (e.g., Taisia Povaliy, Anna Asti, Ani Lorak) and even showcased their new Russian passports during the presidential elections in Russia. 

Music in Russia today mirrors the society and brings the personal struggles of individuals into sharp focus. In this grey area, where nothing is permanent, music creates a unique tone through which we can observe different layers of transformation within Russian society. These processes are important to document, not just for capturing the role of music during the invasion, but for understanding the broader social dynamics at play.

Drs. Alsu Buiting is Teacher and Coordinator for Russian Language Proficiency at the University of Groningen. She specializes in Russian language and culture, language acquisition, translation and bilingualism.

Dr. Lisa Gaufman is Assistant Professor of Russian discourse and Politics at the University of Groningen. Her research focuses on the exploration of verbal and visual enemy images through big data analysis.