Vladimir Putin Listens To Abba.

Whenever an evil spirit was upon Saul, David would pick up his lyre and sing (1 Samuel, Chapter 16, verse 23). In January 2009 it was reported that Vladimir Putin had celebrated the New Year at a concert by Abba tribute band Bjorn Again. The Kremlin denied the story but it gave me the idea for a poem.

“There was something in the air that night the stars were bright, Fernando.

They were shining there for you and me, for liberty, Fernando”

Vladimir Putin listens to Abba,

I know, I was with him one New Year

playing guitar for tribute band “Bjorn Again”

at Novgorod, in the Hotel Grand Pushkin.

 

Now, I could have predicted Putin grinning

at the sound of western rulers crumbling:

“at Waterloo Napoleon surrendered” and all of that;

but Vlad tapped his toes to our full repertoire.

 

The Kremlin’s pretending he wasn’t there

but I swear it I caught his stare as I plucked

the opening notes to “Chiquitita”.

 

So why is this a story they want to dismiss?

Is late seventies disco just a little too kitsch?

Was it a low-brow moment of weakness

that could leave us thinking Vladimir Putin’s not as serious

as, say, Mussolini who began each day

with a cup of coffee and a canto by Dante;

or as highbrow as Hitler, painting his watercolours

whilst listening to operas by Wagner;

or as lyrical as old Joe Stalin

who wrote prize-winning poems

whilst training to be a priest?

Next to such artistic complexity

does Vladimir Putin fear he’ll be teased

by pompous leaders at the next G20,

joking about flares, sequins and chest hairs,

whilst he’s sitting sad and lonely?

 

No, he’s not the type who gets picked on.

He’s a black-belt, an ex-KGB officer

who can probably down a bottle of vodka

whilst winning his hand at bridge or poker,

cocking a revolver at the head of James Bond

after tricking him with caviar and blondes.

 

With 80% approval ratings, a degree in international law,

a 5% stake in Gazprom and a black labrador,

what would Putin want ABBA for?

Those mawkish peddlers of cheap emotion,

singing about love in a lost revolution,

wishing away the world’s wicked tyranny

as little bright stars come out for liberty.

 

I don’t know why Vladimir Putin

doesn’t want us to think that he listens to Abba,

but I know that three days before we played in Russia

a journalist and a human rights lawyer

leaving a conference about rape in Chechnya

were shot in the middle of Moscow

in broad daylight.

 

I don’t know why I joke about playing in an Abba tribute band

but I’m not cynical about it, I’ve always been

genuinely thankful for music;

and I don’t know why you, or you, or even you

listen to Abba and I don’t mind,

just don’t pretend the songs can mend or undo anything.

But they are full of things worth living and dying for,

all of the things worth loving and crying for,

and even Vladimir Putin listens to Abba.

 

2010