Lady Gaga

“Can You Hear Me, Enchanting Marishka?”

One legend tells of a girl of otherworldly beauty named Marichka, whose lineage traces back to Mezhyhirya and the vast Carpathian expanses—where “mountains and meadows, where swift streams and rivers flow.” Her surname, or perhaps stage name, comes from a healing evergreen herb with magical medicinal properties found in Polissya.

Others said her childhood was nomadic, spent in harsh and difficult conditions of a gypsy camp. From there, by the way, came her pitch-black hair and the captivating gaze of her large, beautiful eyes. Still others gossiped that she was a dark-skinned American woman, allegedly found in one of the officially prohibited establishments frequented by distinguished gentlemen and ladies of easy virtue.

People in the courtyards and stairwells of the country, where the only source of information about foreign pop culture was “radio voices” from transistor radios (and those not officially allowed), or at best Artemiy Troitsky’s articles in the monthly magazine Rovesnyk, would invent all sorts of stories.

In the 1970s, only those lucky enough to possess original or licensed records of the Dutch band The Shocking Blue or illicit tape copies distributed through underground channels could explain who “Shizgara” was and what it meant.

Actually, there was another semi-legal loophole on an official level, thanks to friends from the “socialist camp,” who, as is known, were always quite progressive.

In 1972, the state company “Melodiya” released a record with a plain cover (strictness and discipline – “Soviet style”) titled Pop Orchestras of Aldo Zeman and Yuri Velchovsky, featuring recordings of Czechoslovak orchestras. The last track was “Venus,” performed by Czech singer Olga Shabova. On the other hand, perhaps it was fortunate that Soviet listeners received a cover without identifying marks: had they seen the artist’s photo, the “microchips” in their heads might have overheated. After all, Shabova (whether by chance or not) looked very much like Marishka Veres—the original performer of the popular song “Venus.” It’s hard not to consider this as a “response to the capitalists.”

Here is that song:

Being a Rock Star Is No Easy Job

The Czech version of the song clearly shows English articulation, and the chorus distinctly sounds like “She’s got it,” a phrase that somewhat misled Soviet people and gave rise to the myth of the mysterious “Shizgara.”

This was no coincidence, as Marishka, with Hungarian-Romani blood in her veins, reportedly didn’t speak English very well, and the Dutch pronunciation further contributed to the “Shizgara” phenomenon.

The singer was born in the famous Dutch city of The Hague; her father, a Hungarian Romani by nationality, was a violinist in a Romani ensemble, and her mother had Russian-French roots. As a child, Marishka sang in an ensemble with her father, while her sister Ilonka played the piano. Later, in the mid-1960s, she became fascinated by rock music and the popular beat groups of the time. Interestingly, The Shocking Blue originally had a vocalist who was drafted, so the band was looking for a new lead singer.

Impressed by one of Marishka’s performances with the beat group, the manager of The Shocking Blue persuaded the band leader and guitarist Robby van Leeuwen to recruit the talented girl as the new lead singer. And certainly, he did not regret it. Although male sex symbols dominated the world rock scene at the time (The Beatles, Jagger, Morrison, Plant, Gillan, etc.), the dark-haired girl with a mystical gaze and an amazing contralto foretold future success. She was the “Venus” that the world would come to know.

However, things were not as simple as they seemed. Despite her stunning appearance and talent, Marishka was extremely modest, shy, and even reserved. No alcohol or cigarettes, let alone anything more. Before joining The Shocking Blue, she was given a condition: no relationships with band members and to maintain an ethical distance—or subordination, if you will.

In a late interview, Veres admitted she felt like a “painted doll” at the time, and no one dared approach her. Like every strong and independent woman, Marishka was highly vulnerable, and being in a strict male rock group sometimes took its toll. One notable incident was when van Leeuwen raised his voice at her during a rehearsal, causing her to cry and run to call her mother, who then complained to the band’s manager about the “tyrant guitarist.”

The hit you all know is by no means an original song by the Dutch authors, though credited to them. It’s more of a transformation of “The Banjo Song” by the American folk trio The Big 3, which existed only for one year, in 1963, and became famous for this song. Later, the lead singer of that trio, Cass Elliot, would sing in the famous American group The Mamas and the Papas (you’ve probably heard “California Dreamin’”). And here is the origin of “Shizgara” itself:

“Shizgara” in the Cherry Orchard

Thanks to its simple and accessible chords, “Shizgara” was insanely popular in the USSR, echoing in courtyards and stairwells, during student brigades in collective farms, and breaks between Komsomol songs during work expeditions. Authorial text reinterpretations were common (special English-language schools in the USSR were far from accessible to everyone). Here is an example of such amateur creativity:

I am your virus, I am your dude,
Let’s head to Israel.

It’s worth explaining again that after the Soviet government officially allowed emigration to the “Promised Land,” it became a mass phenomenon, and in 1973, at the peak of the hit’s popularity, over 34,000 citizens left the country.

Producers of the female pop group Bananarama were the first to cover “Shizgara,” giving it a second life and climbing the charts in the 1980s. Since then, many others have done the same, sometimes blatantly plagiarizing, like the popular 1990s band “Mechtat’” that effectively turned “Venus” into their song “Pilot.” No less original is the version by the Lviv group “Pikkardijska Tertsia,” who brilliantly incorporated “Tam, u vyshnevomu sadku” (“There, in the Cherry Orchard”) into it:

Perhaps The Shocking Blue would have remained a “one-hit wonder” for Soviet listeners, but in the early ’90s, noble audio “pirates” (a layer of society that simultaneously “robbed” foreign artists but also educated post-Soviet citizens) released a perfect compilation of The Shocking Blue’s “Golden Hits” on vinyl. In the ’90s, it was sold in domestic department stores, and now it can still be found at vinyl fairs or shops if desired.

And there is suspicion that this record inspired those who created this pop hit for the graduates of the TV show “Chance”:

You don’t need to be an expert to hear that its authors, to put it mildly, borrowed from the Dutch band, and originally it was called “Long and Lonesome Road.” Listen here:

Such is the cyclical flow of the seven notes in nature. Or, as social media users say, “shocking blue” content.