Alright, buckle up. This review of Евгений Клячкин’s В Сторону Руси ain’t your grandma’s polished write-up. It’s raw, it’s real, and yeah, maybe a bit rough around the edges—just like this album.
First off, let’s get one thing straight: this isn’t just another pop-ballad snoozefest from 1994 Russia. Nah, Клячкин didn’t phone this one in. Released under МП "Авторская Песня," В Сторону Руси hits hard with tracks that feel more like diary entries than songs. And trust me, some of these cuts stick to you like gum on a summer sidewalk.
Take “Маме,” for example. Damn. If you don’t stop dead in your tracks when he starts singing about his mom, then I dunno what’s wrong with ya. The guy doesn’t scream or shout; nope, he just lays it all out there with zero filter. You can practically smell the stale bread and Soviet-era wallpaper while listening to this track. It’s simple but brutal in its honesty. Like, who even writes songs like this anymore? Everyone’s too busy chasing TikTok virality to sit down and pen something so gut-wrenching.
And then there’s “В Сторону Руси.” Yeah, the title track. Big surprise—it delivers. This tune feels like walking through an old Russian village at dusk, where everything’s quiet except for the sound of your own thoughts screaming at you. The melody drags you along like a stubborn dog on a leash, refusing to let go until you’ve soaked in every word. By the time it ends, you’re left staring into space wondering if life is actually worth living. Heavy stuff, huh?
But here’s the kicker: as much as this album punches you in the gut, it also kinda makes you wanna grab a vodka and toast to… well, something. Anything. Maybe the fact that music like this still exists—a relic from a time before Spotify playlists ruled our lives.
So yeah, sure, В Сторону Руси might not be perfect. Some tracks drag longer than they should, and yeah, the production screams ‘90s budget studio vibes. But honestly? That only adds to the charm. It’s messy, unapologetic, and dripping with soul. Kinda like Russia itself.
Final thought: Listening to this album feels like flipping through someone else’s photo album without permission. Intrusive? Maybe. Beautifully haunting? Absolutely. Now go listen to it—but don’t blame me if you end up crying in the shower afterward.
