Boris Grebenshchikov and his prominent rock band Aquarium, have been on the Russian music scene for 26 years now. The rock veteran is not short of ideas though, and has recently begun experimenting with yet another new genre. His latest project has him teamed up with the increasingly popular Vladivostok band Deadushki (a combination of the Russian word "grandaddies" and the English word "dead" as in Grateful Dead), exploring a new style defined as "synthetic electronic music." Grebenshchikov writes the lyrics and the music, while the Deadushki performs the arrangements. The union has proved a success, their singles air on all Russian radio stations, and their concerts have drawn the crowds.

Grebenshchikov, a cult figure of the '80s and early '90s, recently confessed he had the impression of becoming something of a "weathered bronze monument." Now, having celebrated his 40th birthday, he has once again shown himself capable of grabbing the spotlight.

In the Russia of the early '80s, Aquarium was a new phenomenon: a band that was emancipated, intellectual, self-sufficient, and that possessed its own philosophy. It provided something essential that had been missing up until then.

And the band's attractive young leader, non-conformist but undeniably nice nonetheless, charmed both young people and adults. It was as if he possessed some mysterious and important knowledge that kept him so tranquil and independent.

The band achieved notoriety after a rock festival in Tbilisi, Georgia, in 1980, where the musicians drank port wine right on the stage and made provocative body movements, which led to Grebenshchikov being kicked out of his institute right after the concert.

Being a man with a family to support, Grebenshchikov turned to his flutist for help and got a job as a watchman at a central heating plant (a common heating system for a complex of apartment buildings). He held that position for about two years, before being "remarkably promoted"to the job of head of amateur art activities at Thermal Power Plant number six But the promotion did not bring any more money into the family.

In the early '90s, Grebenshchikov signed a profitable contract with CBS and moved to London. The contract gave him creative freedom, a studio and complete financial support. But Grebenshchikov suddenly left England and returned to Russia, without warning anybody or even packing. Once back home, he set off on a lengthy nation wide tour, travelling from city to city, sometimes hitching his way, carrying his guitar and giving impromptu concerts.

Grebenshchikov once said that the model for his life came from his own family. His mother, Lyudmila Grebenshchikova, graduated from law school and then unexpectedly started working as a model. It was only quite recently that she settled down and got herself a job at an institute of sociology. As for Grebenshchikov himself, he graduated from Leningrad State University with a math degree. It was only after his studies that he got serious about music.

Grebenshchikov was raised by the women in his family. His mother was the one who convinced him that he could achieve anything. She paid a lot of attention to her son's education, taking him out, teaching him some French, and making him watch educational programs on TV.

On the down side, both his mother and beloved grandmother Katya, would often use corporal punishment. Indignation at such injustice drove the young Grebenshchikov to write letters of complaint to different newspapers, including the Pionerskaya Pravda youth magazine.

When he was 5, his parents found a letter he had written to Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev. "I know about your summit negotiations. Let's keep up the correspondence," it read. The letter contained no signature and no return address, and it was found in time before being sent and taken for a piece of provocation. Grebenshchikov's mother was initially frightened by the thought of it all, then gave her son a good scolding.

Lyudmila Grebenshchikova remains to this day her son's chief critic. She is present at all of his rehearsals and always armed with constructive suggestions.

His father, on the other hand, did not pay much attention to his son's upbringing. His only contribution was periodic grumbling at the young man's long hair and "weird clothes"as Grebenshchikov grew older.

"We were a good family," Grebenshchikov says. "We amused ourselves like all decent families of the thaw era and spent our time discussing literature, reading poetry and arguing about philosophy. It was that atmosphere that helped me develop my intellectual identity."

Grebenshchikov had a passion for reading even before he went to primary school, but he was not much into poetry until he turned 16.

"Rock began in the early '60s for me. They showed figure skating tournaments on television, with some of the compositions based on certain rock opera episodes. The radio started broadcasting modern Western music. All of this was like a magnet to me. And it wasn't just me, people in general started feeling a certain spiritual thirst."

That was how Grebenshchikov came to realise that rock 'n' roll was his vocation. He believes that music - rock music especially - is more comprehensible than literature. Language or tradition does not limit it, and it helps bring different people and different cultures together.

The issue of diversity and bringing cultures together is of particular importance to Grebenshchikov. At different stages of his life, he has taken an interest in various religions and read a lot of religious literature. He often quotes the Bible and has given a lot of thought to the commandments of Christianity.

"'Love thy neighbour' is a goal absolutely beyond my capacity, but it is most interesting to try to follow," he says. "I quarrel with my wife, with the postman, with my fellow musicians at rehearsals. Why is it that I have neither the strength nor the imagination to try and put myself in their shoes? Because I think myself to be some sort of important person, you see. Then I think to myself, 'what kind of a skunk am I?' And then I make peace with the people I fight with, only the next day it all begins again. But at least I think about these things."

Grebenshchikov does not limit himself to Orthodoxy either. He is also interested in Buddhism and Hinduism. He meditates regularly, travels to Katmandu and India and spends several months a year with his guru Satya Sai Baba. He took to studying Indian culture very actively when he was young, after hearing George Harrison play the sitar.

Aquarium's music combines both Oriental and Celtic influences and constantly explores the musical traditions of other cultures. This explains why the band's sound is constantly changing.

Grebenshchikov's admirers cover all age groups, from teenage girls who go crazy over his moving, soft voice, to intellectual adults.

Grebenshchikov himself is known to be a reserved person, even withdrawn. "I do have good feedback with my bandmates, but it is very insufficient," he says. "That is because I am so taken up with my own quest, my adventure. When a hunter is stalking a tiger and somebody leaps out of the bushes asking him for an autograph, he's not likely to pay any attention to the person he scribbles an autograph for, not when his mind is all concentrated on the tiger."

Grebenshchikov has always been reluctant to give definitions to things. "Defining means limiting," he says. In general, he dislikes anything that is too formal. "I am not a cog in any wheel, I am human. And that is how I treat other people. That may be why no one has to put me in my place. And I cross the street when I need to, and not just when there is a green light - unless there are cars in the way."

Another thing in which Grebenshchikov believes strongly is the power to take one's destiny in one's hands. "Obstacles do not matter. If somebody really wants to achieve something, they will. If a person is good at something, then, regardless of the formalities, nothing can destroy their talent."