The prank that didn't end
Photo: @klochk0v
Video: victoria.prosh
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In the spring of 2007, a number on the Kyiv TV show "Chance" happened that no one had planned seriously. Three guys from the Quest dance troupe, whose job was to dance behind other people, were handed a microphone as an April Fools' joke. They sang "Ya ustal" ("I'm Tired"), the Russian version of the old "Long and Lonesome Road" by the Dutch band Shocking Blue. It was meant as a one-night gag, but the audience thought otherwise and gave the number more than 60,000 votes.
The prank had no chance of ending. That same year the debut album "Dlya tebya" ("For You") went platinum, and a year later the group took home the MTV Europe Music Award as best Ukrainian act. Then came "Belaya strekoza lyubvi" ("White Dragonfly of Love"), "Ya tvoy narkotik" ("I'm Your Drug"), "Ty tak krasiva" ("You're So Beautiful"), "Santa Lucia" — songs you couldn't hide from at the end of the 2000s and the start of the 2010s.
As often happens with boy bands, the lineup fell apart over time. Borovsky left first, in 2012; the other two left in 2016, only to reunite with him later in the band Agon. The trio returned under the old name only in 2022 for a charity tour to help Ukraine.
"The original lineup under the original brand. The very QUEST PISTOLS!" — Savlepov wrote then.
A floating venue beneath the fortress
This fall Quest Pistols are on the road again: ten European cities, and Belgrade fell on a Sunday, right after Vienna and Bratislava. The third concert in three nights. The tour was billed as the return of all the founders, but in Belgrade two took the stage — Savlepov and Borovsky. Nikita Goryuk wasn't there that night. But beside them was the graceful and captivating Yulia.
They were given a stage on the water. Zappa Barka — a splav, as clubs on pontoons are called in Belgrade — sits at the foot of Kalemegdan, near the Nebojša Tower. A fitting place for a group that once started with dance: the fortress above, the music below, right by the river.
They opened with a compliment to the crowd.
"We came to you too, dressed up like you. You just look so beautiful."
And they warned honestly: there would be no revelations, only songs everyone already knew. That's why people go to concerts — to hear the familiar again, only live. A little later one of the vocalists admitted he'd already given everything twice: each song for him was like a separate life.
Songs everyone knows by heart
There was no emcee in the usual sense — there was a conversation that kept spilling off the edge of the stage. Anton first asked the girl at the front what her name was, then spoke to her like an old friend:
"Anya, ready? Then jump."
For Yulia, their dancer, the musicians asked the crowd for a separate round of applause and immediately, unable to resist, joked that they had "so to speak, found her right here, in Belgrade." Songs weren't so much announced as introduced like mutual friends. One confessed: they might not intentionally play it, but if it happens to come on, it hits you with childhood. And they didn't want to sing "Belaya strekoza lyubvi" alone: they invited the audience to join in, louder.
"Belaya strekoza lyubvi" has its own story, almost as incredible as the band itself. It was written in 2004 by a ten‑year‑old Nikolai Voronov, and in 2009 Quest Pistols turned the boy's home recording into a pop hit. A song dreamed up by a child was sung in chorus by adults seventeen years later.
Anton shared the same thing from the stage without metaphors: people write to him who listened to these songs back then.
The circle
They saved "Ya ustal" for the end of the night and presented it not as a hit but as a starting point: this song started it all in 2007. Nineteen years later it played on the splav beneath Kalemegdan, and immediately after it something happened that won't fit into any set list. Anton and Konstantin asked the crowd to stand in a circle — and themselves stepped off the stage down into it. The distance between stage and audience, usually kept all evening, was canceled in a couple of steps and Anton and Kostya danced together with everyone.
In that gesture the whole biography of the band converged. Nineteen years ago dancers were made to sing as a joke. Now the singers are dancing again — and there is not a drop of irony in it.
The farewell was short and honest.
"We gave everything," they said from the stage and sent the crowd home. The musicians themselves were headed next for Limassol, Berlin and six more cities on the tour.
