Friday, November 13th, 2020

Dabro – Yunost’

Finally, a Russian answer to Yes Lad


Jessica Doyle: This is very slight and very sweet. The video is perfect: like Ferris Bueller’s Day Off with all of the smarm drained away and the father’s beloved car replaced by a Volkswagen. (And Chicago replaced by… where? The easy guess is Moscow, but that skyline doesn’t look like Moscow. The Volkswagen’s registration plate puts it in Tatarstan, so maybe they’re in Kazan?) Apparently the filming came with sing-alongs. I can’t swear you’ll remember much of it in a week, not even the “Это юность моя, это юность моя” bit, but if you need a pick-me-up it’s more than worth a listen.

Scott Mildenhall: Being not unlike Troye Sivan’s more powerful “my youth is yours”, Dabro have a hook that would work as well in English as it seems to in Russian. The dynamics they employ — acoustic/electronic and sung/rapped — further ensure that “Yunost'” maintains wistfulness at the same time as urgency. This all could be happening in the past or the present, but is timelessly direct and melodic regardless.

Thomas Inskeep: This Russian sibling duo slide with ease between singing and rapping, and between acoustic and EDM accompaniment. It would be easy to hate if they didn’t pull it off so well — in lesser hands, this would be a Chainsmokers record, so credit where it’s due.

Tobi Tella: I’m a sucker for a youth anthem, but that 2012 Mike Posner beat is not helping us in the “kids these days have no taste!” argument.

Alfred Soto: Obama-era trop-house nostalgia from a pair of Russian siblings is the kind of cunning of history I can chew on with cornflakes. 

Nortey Dowuona: A low-slung guitar sweeps Dabro onto the shivering waters of synth, then they leap on the bass rocks with the shell drums, swinging around, unconcerned by the churning ocean. Picking and strumming the floating guitar, they start hopping from rock to rock, shells shaking on their ankles as they leap so high, it looks as if they’re flying, sun on their face. Then a massive wave full of pebbles washes over them, sweeping back over the beach, before receding at last, leaving them struggling to hold onto their guitar while they strum themselves free, coughing and stumbling back up the beach to their car.

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