Gleb Viktorov

Who would have thought that, once a fan of MILLIONS, I'd be the one to collaborate with IZB, or more precisely, to be the one Gleb decided to produce. Why did the brutal rocker take on such responsibility? Honestly, there was no dialogue. And besides, who knows what's going on in his head? As the saying goes, "Everyone has their own problems."

For six months now, I've been hanging out at his apartment in the evenings, trying to absorb useful information that helps with songwriting/sound design/finding the right key, and all that other stuff. By chance, I lived in a neighboring neighborhood, from where it's a ten-minute drive to Gleb's house, while the drive to the label headquarters is about an hour, which is quite expensive, living in Russia's capital. It's time to think about buying a car. Incidentally, it's precisely for the aforementioned reason that I find myself at his place more often than at IZB-a's. Cons? None. I have the equipment on hand, as well as a good, experienced mentor.

Another evening and another visit to Gleb. I'm sitting in a dark room, the dim light from the desktop computer illuminating my face. My short fingernails tap out a melody in time with the music coming from the speaker, and my lips utter the lines I thought of five minutes ago. Grabbing a pencil, I begin scribbling in my notebook. A new line.

So captivated and drawn into the process, the girl didn't notice the door to her side open slightly and Viktorov entered the back room. Two mugs of hot tea were held in his tattooed hands, one of which remained standing next to the girl.

-- How is the work progressing?

• Well, I'm thinking about the text...

Gleb chuckled softly, stepped closer, stood next to her, and examined the girl. His gaze slid over her face, carefully studying every detail, then moved down, inspecting the pajamas she was wearing.

-- Are you spending the night at my place again?