As the war in Ukraine persists, musicians and music venues are redefining the country’s musical status quo while navigating the war-induced challenges
Looking in from outside, it might seem unusual to see Ukraine’s concert booking websites full of events, more than three and a half years in a war that has battered the country and its people physically and morally. A glance at something like bandsintown.com unveils a variety of events ranging from pop and rock to techno and house; even the Ukrainian National Opera House has several productions scheduled for the upcoming month. At the same time, some world-known clubs such as K41 and Closer in Kyiv -a city renowned pre-invasion as a clubbing powerhouse- have reopened their doors to late-night revellers. Music has not only been proven to be surprisingly resilient in Ukraine solely as an artistic expression; it’s also become profoundly essential for the country’s resistance.
Historically speaking, it hasn’t been uncommon for music to serve as a unifying force during times of conflict and war. For instance, when Germany invaded Poland in World War II and the future seemed uncertain, Polskie Radio played Chopin’s triumphant Polonaise in A Major to let the world know that the Polish capital still lived. The Allies had also -ironically- adopted Beethoven’s 5th “Fate” Symphony to signal a victory, as the first notes spelled out the letter “V” in Morse code. Across the pond, in the U.S. during the Vietnam War, supporters of the G.I. anti-war movement gathered in well-known coffeehouses around the country, where protest songs by artists like Phil Ochs and Joan Baez were performed; songs that would later become popular pacifist anthems.
In Ukraine, musicians are helping restore the country’s spirit through various means, from performing in bomb shelters and frontlines, to touring outside its borders in an effort to raise awareness of the ongoing struggles back home. The example of Cultural Forces, an association that organises cultural events to boost military morale, founded by musician Mykolai Sierga only a few days after the Russian invasion, serves as evidence that music and culture are things Ukrainians can’t live without; even when the enemy is at their doorstep.
Yet, judging by the country’s Music Top 20 Chart, it seems that the wartime music scene isn’t limited to songs with strictly patriotic content or combative anthems. Many prefer to use music as a device to translate their feelings towards the new reality that surrounds them, often using metaphors rather than direct references to the war. Others like to imagine a more peaceful, post-war reality, such as Marie Hellstein, a musician, singer and participant of MusicLab Ukraine, whose repertoire blends indie and alt-pop with dreamy autobiographical lyrics.
I started talking to a lot of Ukrainian refugees in Germany, asking them what kind of music they needed now. Patriotic songs? Songs about the war? Almost everyone said no – they wanted ”normal” songs, ones that reminded them of peaceful life, of the time after.
Her relationship with music started at a very young age, and she’s been living and breathing it ever since. Having moved to Germany at the age of fourteen, she shares that songwriting in her home studio was her main outlet and lifeline, while dealing with the challenges of migration, loneliness and bullying. She is one of the many Ukrainian artists, whose high hopes and expectations for a fruitful musical journey came to a grinding halt after the 2022 Russian invasion. It took her about nine months, working in the meantime as translator at refugee camps and employment centers, before music returned to her life’s foreground.
Every time I feel lost, sad, or heartbroken, I write songs and sing. So when the full-scale war began, music remained my lifeline – the one thing that helped me survive all those heavy emotions. I honestly can’t imagine my life without it […] For a long time, I was in this kind of emotional paralysis, questioning whether it even made sense to keep doing music. It felt secondary, almost inappropriate, when everyone around was focused on helping – the army, the wounded, the refugees.
Her birthplace, Kharkiv, a rather grey industrial-looking city, Ukraine’s second largest, used to be a major cultural hub; until the war that is. Marie explains that it’s a predominantly Russian-speaking city, but that’s set to change. She grew up speaking the language in her family, but switched to Ukrainian after the invasion. “I believe Russian content has no place in Ukraine anymore” she mentions, adding that the longtime cultural influence held by Russia had allowed for the boundaries between the two countries to be blurred. Once the war started, many of its residents joined the army, or relocated to other Ukrainian cities, rendering the local music scene virtually unrecognisable. Recently, a former factory on Ivanovska street, nowadays called the Center of New Culture, became a flash of hope.
We want the music to show that we’re not only a nation fighting for its freedom, we are a creative nation and we want to show Europe and the world that we have something new.
Anton Nazarko, member of TYSK, a team of Ukrainian musicians with electro running through their veins, and co-founder of Some People, a creative team from Kharkiv, has been busy rebuilding the city’s cultural scene, literally. He and his team have been repurposing an old Soviet industrial space into a cultural “multiplex”, including concert halls, co-working spaces and more. They are already regularly organising club nights, with resident and visiting musicians from around the world, and seek to contribute in renewing Ukraine’s musical identity, an idea Anton is visibly passionate about during our video call. He aspires to see the creation of an independent Ukrainian music scene, in the Ukrainian language, which has a rightful place in the European musical sphere; obviously, the shared language and influence due to the proximity with Russia, are now a thing of the past.
When the war started we understood what the real magic of music was. Because, during the war people are very alone. They sit alone in Kharkiv, and when we make showcases, concerts etc. the people going to the venue and standing on the same dance floor are sharing the same “culture code”. Many people are alone due to the difficult times in the city, and when you are in unity you understand that there are people thinking like you. We didn’t really understand that before, I think. Music can make you forget, indeed, but more importantly, it creates unity.
TYSK’s music doesn’t revolve around physical objects, yet what Anton defines as “important questions” in a country that’s in the middle of not only a territorial war, but a clash of two different worlds; who we are, how we are transforming, who will be in the future. The name TYSK itself means “pressure”, the kind of pressure you physically feel when their hard-edged fusion of broken beats and punchy lyrics vibrate your chest, in a bomb shelter slash dance floor in Kharkiv. I proceed to ask Anton about the practical conditions of performing, as electrical outages and air raid sirens going off are not uncommon. “In our club, the main stage is a bomb shelter, when the air raid sirens start we tell everyone to go to the dance floor”, he says laughing. “Does the music stop when the sirens go off?” I add. “No, not at all”, he replies.
On the heavier side of the musical spectrum, Ukrainian post hardcore prog-rock ensemble VØVK recently released their new album “LITERA”. According to their bandcamp page, it’s “an emotional landscape in times of upheaval”, combining multiple genres with Ukrainian lyrics to create a universally-resonating sonic experience. The process of producing this album has been far from sunshine and roses, they admit. Their current lineup started rehearsing a month before the invasion, making their first recording and mixing sessions painfully slow. “For a while, everything came to a halt – but eventually, we simply couldn’t stay away from music” they say, adding that music has helped them “stay connected to a peaceful life”, be more stable and disciplined, and heal “invisible wounds”.
Their album features fellow Ukrainian musicians participating in the choir and spoken word parts, as well as foreign ones, such as Johannes Pearson from the Swedish band Cult of Luna. “The boundaries between different music genres disappear, and the shared goal comes first”, they say, speaking of solidarity between artists in difficult times. In Ukraine today, many concerts serve a dual purpose; not just cultural events, but also volunteering efforts to aid fundraising for the army, provide medical aid to the injured, and support to the children of the ones who never returned.
To some, a “soldier” might just be a person in uniform. To us, it’s a guitarist from a friend’s band who needs new gear, or a drummer from three local projects who’s gathering medical supplies for his unit. These stories are intertwined with our shows and with our ability to keep creating.
Marie Hellstein, TYSK and VØVK will all be performing at the Control Club, Bucharest on the 22nd of October 2025, as part of this year’s Ukrainian MusicLab line up.
By Orestis Plakas
