A chorus of approval.

When the Gay Men's Chorus of Los Angeles took their music and message to Eastern Europe, they wound up joining a post-Communist revolution of gay visibility. One participant recounts their remarkable trip

FROM RUSSIA WITH LOVE--that was on the back of the T-shirts worn by most of the 137 members of the Gay Men's Chorus of Los Angeles and their entourage as they arrived in Moscow, beginning a tour of Russia and Eastern Europe. I was lucky enough to be along for the ride as the cameraman for a tour documentary.

Thursday, October 7, 1999

My adventure began immediately, when a humorless customs agent decided he wouldn't let me into the country with all the video and sound equipment I had. Time for a bribe. The chorus's Moscow concert was to include Russian superdiva Alla Pugacheva, and I'd heard that the tickets were going for $400 a pop on the black market. After a hushed conversation, four tickets changed hands, then I grabbed my equipment and ran for my bus. I was Sean Connery.

After dinner in the Hotel Rossiya dining room, we walked across the street to Red Square and stood dumbstruck by the sights: the Kremlin, Lenin's tomb, St. Basil's Cathedral, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier--all right there. I was overwhelmed by the history that had taken place on these cobblestones: Moscow had just celebrated its 850th birthday, and standing there was humbling.

Friday, October 8

This afternoon a group of around 20 chorus members headed to an AIDS ward at a branch of Moscow Municipal Hospital to perform for the patients. An AIDS charity in each tour city was designated to receive concert proceeds, and this was the Moscow recipient. The doctors and nurses were very caring, but the floors were filthy, orderlies were smoking in the hallways--it seemed very primitive. And depressing.

The short concert took place in an auditorium downstairs. The few patients who made it down from the ward and some additional young people (out-patients, I assumed) all sat respectfully and listened but seemed a little confused. During the Q&A that followed, someone finally asked why we were there. It was explained that AIDS has had a tremendous toll on the chorus during its 20-year tenure--over 140 members have died from AIDS complications. At that point an older man, very sick, raised his hand and asked, "Do any of you have HIV?" When he and the rest in the audience saw how many hands shot up, they were shocked. A bridge had been built; it all made sense. He sat back in his chair and simply said, "Spasibo": Thank you.

That evening the entire group went out to the Chance Club, Moscow's largest gay club. The crowd was mixed, male and female, gay and straight, and predominantly young--the age of consent in Russia is 14. The Russians love a good show, and the clubs all have a drag show, strip show, or some sort of entertainment. It was a festive night out.

Saturday, October 9

As Maura Reynolds, the Moscow correspondent for the Los Angeles Times, had explained to me the night before, "No one in Russia commands an audience like Alla Pugacheva. Not even Yeltsin. She's like Streisand and Bette Midler combined." Maura was right. Tonight's show was broadcast live on Russian TV, and we were on the front page of most of the Moscow papers the next day.

The show included Broadway, classical, and American folk pieces, and Alla joined the chorus for their trademark finale, "We Shall Overcome." The chorus came back for two encores because of the clamorous standing ovations. I was surprised by the quantity of gay men and lesbians in the audience and at the reception afterward in the theater's lobby. The day before the concert, Alla had given an interview to Moscow's most popular paper, publicly proclaiming her love for her gay friends. One young man I spoke with went so far as to say that this concert "made being gay OK in Russia." It seemed like the first Moscow Gay Pride, their Stonewall. You couldn't help but feel a part of something extraordinary.

Sunday, October 10

We arrived in St. Petersburg after a boisterous overnight train trek. Tonight the chorus sang in the beautiful old Glinka Choral Hall. With its perfect acoustics, the sound was breathtaking.

Evidently, not all of the sold-out audience was aware of the "gay" part of the Gay Men's Chorus of Los Angeles. When that was explained there were audible gasps and lots of shifting in the seats. However, being the true music aficionados that Russians seem to be, they were quickly charmed and absorbed by the show. The applause was thunderous and sincere, particularly for a Tchaikovsky piece sung in Russian.

At the show's conclusion, I noticed a young black man, probably mound 19 years old, standing behind the back row with his friends. They were clapping but also joking around. Yet this young man was clapping his hands high over his head, a huge smile on his face. His friends gave a questioning look, as if to say, "Trying to tell us something?" But he just smiled brighter, kept on clapping, and raised one sassy eyebrow as he turned back from his friends to face the stage and continue Iris moment of pride. You go, girl! It was beautiful.

Monday, October 11

My favorite day of the tour. St. Petersburg is absolutely beautiful. A statue, a park, a palace, a church--name a thing of beauty, and there it is. The leaves were changing, the fountains were flowing, and we were in our jackets and scarves (always a thrill for us Angelenos), running through parks that seemed to be filled with children. I even got permission from some little old ladies, babushkas and all, to have my picture taken with them. It's my favorite from the trip.

Tuesday, October 12

Today we toured the Hermitage, where we had received special permission to videotape chorus members in the museum. The former Winter Palace of the Russian czars, it is filled with one of the most amazing art and artifact collections in the world--on a scale with the Louvre. As beautiful as it was, it was equally disturbing. Many paintings were exposed to the elements; some had direct sunlight hitting the paint. It was mortifying.

After shopping, a nap, and dinner, we headed out to Club 69, St. Petersburg's undisputed king of discos. As one local English-language paper put it, "You don't have to be gay to have fun in St. Petersburg, but it sure helps." This night was slow, but it was still a fun spot. Unfortunately for Olga, our tour guide, Tuesday is a strictly enforced men-only night, so she had to wait in the bus. We loved Olga--what a trooper!

Wednesday, October 13

Time to move on. The day was spent on a bus to Helsinki, with a long and arduous border crossing into Finland. We passed the time playing Password and enjoyed the beautiful countryside. Not a bad day.

Thursday, October 14

Our first morning in Helsinki, the chorus director and a couple of chorus members were interviewed on Good Morning Finland. Quite a little controversy had begun, and they seized their 15 minutes of Finnish fame. A request had been made to perform in the "Church on the Rock," one of Helsinki's premier tourist attractions--a gorgeous Lutheran church carved out of solid rock. The vicar denied permission, citing the group's sexual orientation as the reason it would not be "appropriate." The local gay community responded, and we had instant scandal.

That evening's concert was to benefit the nonprofit Finnish AIDS Council. It didn't sell out, but it was still a great show, and the reception afterward was fun. I met one of the AIDS Council's directors, who credited the government's quick, decisive response for the disease's limited impact on his country. According to him, "when HIV was first discovered, the government sent condoms and safe-sex literature to every household and every teenager in every school" to educate its people. I was told that the council's caseload in Helsinki, the largest city in Finland, is 50. Five-zero. I was stunned.

Friday, October 15

A super hydrofoil took us across the Gulf of Finland to Tallinn, Estonia--definitely the most comfortable mode of travel to date. After immigration, we all piled on buses and had a quick tour of the beautiful old city, which is the capital of this former Soviet republic (now an independent nation of 1.5 million).

Singing is a rich tradition here, and the central park has a huge amphitheater that looked like it could easily accommodate an audience of 50,000. Our tour guide explained that this was the epicenter for Estonia's 1991 movement for independence from the U.S.S.R. At Tallinn's annual choral festival, the national chorus performed all the songs approved by the local Communist Party. But the chorus didn't stop there. They kept singing traditional Estonian songs not permitted by the Communists. The power was killed. The lights went out. But the chorus kept singing. The audience was on its feet, hand in hand, together in solidarity. The next day the newspapers, the public--the entire country--got behind what was dubbed the "bloodless revolution" and declared its independence. It was quite a moving story.

Saturday, October 16

After four shows you'd think I'd be sick of the concerts. I wasn't, and tonight, like usual, was great. There were a lot of straight couples and families in this audience. Next to me was a group of music students fresh from class with their instruments. They giggled when they heard the "gay thing," but they all applauded honestly and vigorously at the show's conclusion.

And what a conclusion it was. Jon Bailey, the chorus's artistic director, speaks with the audience on a few occasions during each show--introducing the group, welcoming the audience, explaining the tour's purpose, and so forth. This night, referring to Estonia's recent independence, Jon explained that the finale, "We Shall Overcome," was the chorus's own freedom song, peacefully advocating its own pride and independence.

When performing this song, the chorus came down as always from the risers to the stage front and joined hands while singing. We were all completely overwhelmed when an older couple, man and woman, rose from their seats and held hands in a show of unity. The entire audience followed suit, standing up to salute what the chorus was doing. No one seated had to be gay to understand the value of freedom. Somehow, through the tears, the chorus members sang their hearts out, visibly moved by these strangers' show of camaraderie.

I think every member of every gay and lesbian chorus in the country has long known the power of song and music to inspire and unite. It was my privilege to be invited into this universal family through the Gay Men's Chorus of Los Angeles, men dedicated to their art--and to each other.

Cooley is a writer and independent feature film producer (Montana, Smut).