A.Vertinsky, Slashchev, the executioners.

I have already written more than once that in my youth I really liked Vertinsky. Of course, there was also the influence of my Mother, who bought several records of his songs and let me listen to them.

How was he attractive to former Soviet citizens?

Basically, it was his lack of Childhood that he wrote about ordinary human feelings. purely biological, without any struggle for a bright future and other fake pathetics pouring out of the Soviet mass media of defecation — disinformation.

But, growing up a bit outlandishly, I began to feel some kind of disappointment in his repertoire due to, again, some kind of MEDIOCRITY of the author’s thinking. And sometimes even irritation at his assumed, slightly hysterical, arrogance.

Everything began to seem very gregarious, stereotypical, philistine.

But there was something worse!

His song “How easily you lose your Head” directly celebrates the pogrom of the French rabble, street rabble, aristocracy and, in general, the entire educated French intellectual elite, magnificently, by the rioters themselves, called the Great French Revolution.

Punks, mobs, and plebs, incited by cunning schemers, smashed up universities, and killed thousands (under, of course. RRRRRRRRRRRRREvolutionists “tricolor”) aristocrats, among whom there were many highly educated people.

And what else is all this scum capable of besides robbing, killing, sadistically torturing and raping? Is she able, at the call of the “leaders”, to go to study, read, listen to talented music, and think about scientific and technical problems?

It is clear that she is NOT INTERESTED AND UNNECESSARY!

Neither the belly nor the genitals will experience any SATISFACTION from all this “smartness”!

And Vertinsky enthusiastically praises this abomination in the playful style of an unbridled slave, parodying the allusion of the banal phrase about the “loss of head” by the king, queen and hundreds of thousands more elite citizens of France.

But Vertinsky doesn’t stop there.

The book of his memoirs is called “Twenty-five years without a Homeland,” which is why the title of the note is borrowed from him.

In a purely Soviet style, he describes how, while in the “white” Crimea, he was invited to the headquarters of General Slashchev. The only feeling that this description evokes is disgust for the painter himself.

He describes Slashchev, a talented military commander, as completely repulsive both physically and spiritually: an inveterate drug addict, alcoholic, with his mistress gray-eyed, “in which madness was reflected.”

In general, the White Guards are miserable and disgusting in all respects. And then how did these drug addicts, alcoholics, psychopaths and libertines hold the defense of Crimea for TWO YEARS from the insane meat assaults of the Red Army, which significantly outnumbered them in manpower and weapons?

Yes, Slashchev took drugs, mainly morphine, as a poorly healed wound caused him unbearable suffering, and he had to satisfy his pain with morphines.

When Vertinsky wrote these memoirs, he did not know that after the white flotilla sailed from the Crimea, the Soviets, through their agents, learned about Slashchev’s spitting by Wrangel (already in exile in Turkey) and almost putting him on trial for “officer honor” and invited him as a lecturer to the Academy of Red Commanders! Guaranteeing him complete immunity.

During one lecture, he was very critical of the ability of the Red military leaders to conduct modern combat. Then Budyonny jumped up from his seat, spreading his cockroach mustache, and began firing a pistol at Slashchev, who stood calmly under fire, not hiding, straightening up to his full height. When Budyonny ran out of ammunition, Slashchev calmly added: “That’s how you shot, that’s how you fought!”

Later, during Stalin’s time, he was shot by the hands of an assassin (a kind of alleged “avenger of the family”).

Meanwhile, if it hadn’t been for Slashchev, Crimea would have quickly become Soviet under the blows of the Red Army, and the Red soldiers would have immediately killed Vertinsky who was stuck in it. But before that, le Vertinsky, who wrote his penitent memoirs already in the Stalinist USSR, where he moved during the Second World War (in 1943) from Japanese-occupied China, and whom the Japanese not only did not touch, but also provided free passage with his wife and daughter to the Soviet Union.

And another particularly vile episode, which stinks of falsehood and hypocrisy. In Paris, Vertinsky performed concerts several times, perhaps knowing French, he translated the lyrics of his songs for the public to understand. And he had a certain intelligent fan, a Frenchman, who admired the songs of the poet and even invited him to his house. There Vertinsky met his charming daughter and the white canaries in a large cage, which both the owner and his daughter tended with tenderness and care.

At that time, Vertinsky had friendly relations with the local aborigines, among whom there was one madamochka. And once she turned to the hero with a very strange, but not to be refused, request. Her boyfriend was supposed to be guillotined in a certain Paris square for some particularly serious crimes (Such “procedures” were abolished in the highly intelligent and educated French Republic, it seems, only in the early seventies of the last century).

And madamochka, anticipating her spontaneous fainting from the terrible sight, asked Vertinsky to participate as a spectator of this decapitation of her lover, and then as a pick-up of her fainting body. Obviously, this body was quite appetizing, and Vertinsky agreed to take touching care to keep it from falling on the Paris pavement.

And WHAT did he suddenly see? That the executioner who brought the freshly sharpened trapezoidal knife was just that intelligent admirer of Vertinsky’s artistry.

“A flock of white canaries fluttered up and flew out of my head,” Vertinsky concludes his story about a chance acquaintance with the chief executioner of Paris with an almost poetic tirade.

It is strange that he does not describe the canaries that flew out of his head when he sang in front of a “select SPECIAL audience” of the NKVD and the KGB.

They did not fly out when he was allowed under the high eyes of the illustrious Soviet executioners and respectfully shook their hands.

Obviously, there weren’t enough canaries anymore…

For any of the above actions of Vertinsky, he completely lost my admiration and respect for him!

Just as I became disgusted with Maya Plisetskaya, a fake sadist and murderer of defenseless birds, perhaps swans in particular!

I am expressing my personal opinion, no more, without claiming any “objectivity”

16 III 2026