The meaning of the lyrics of the song "A singer's song at the microphone." (Pesnya pevca u mikrofona) the performer of the song "Vladimir Vysotsky"

I'm bathed in light, exposed to every eye,

Engaging in my usual routine.

I face the mic as if before an icon,

No, no, today it's more like a machine gun nest.

This microphone feels so wrong to me,

My voice itself would bore anyone to death.

I'm sure if I should tell a lie up here,

It would amplify it mercilessly.

The footlights burn beneath my ribs,

The spotlights glare unkindly in my face,

The sidelights blind me from the wings,

And the heat, the heat, the heat.

This beast, it's sharper than a blade,

Its hearing's flawless, catching every shade of fake.

It doesn't care if I'm off-key,

But let it be, I'll hit the notes just right.

My voice is cracking more than usual,

But I won't dare to change the key.

For if my soul should try to cheat,

It won't correct the crooked melody.

The footlights burn beneath my ribs,

The spotlights glare unkindly in my face,

The sidelights blind me from the wings,

And the heat, the heat, the heat.

This microphone around my bending neck,

With its serpentine head, it twists and turns.

The moment I go silent, it will strike.

I have to sing like crazy, till I drop.

Don't move, don't budge, don't you dare.

I've seen your fangs, you serpent, I know.

Today, I am the snake charmer,

I don't sing, I cast a spell on the cobra.

The footlights burn beneath my ribs,

The spotlights glare unkindly in my face,

The sidelights blind me from the wings,

And the heat, the heat, the heat.

It's ravenous, like a hungry chick,

It snatches sounds right from my mouth.

It'll put a bullet through my head,

My hands are tied, the guitar holds them down.

There'll be no end to this, I fear,

What is this microphone, can someone tell?

It's like a vigil lamp before my face,

But I'm no saint, and the microphone won't shine.

My melodies are simpler than the scales,

But when I stray from a sincere tone,

The motionless shadow of the microphone

Lashes across my cheeks with stinging pain.

The footlights burn beneath my ribs,

The spotlights glare unkindly in my face,

The sidelights blind me from the wings,

And the heat, the heat, the heat.

Я весь в свету, доступен всем глазам,

Я приступил к привычной процедуре,

Я к микрофону встал, как к образам,

Нет-нет, сегодня точно к амбразуре.

И микрофону я не по нутру,

Да голос мой любому опостылит,

Уверен, если где-то я совру,

Он ложь мою безжалостно усилит.

Бьют лучи от рампы мне под рёбра,

Светят фонари в лицо недобро,

И слепят с боков прожектора,

И жара, жара, жара.

Он, бестия, потоньше острия,

Слух безотказен, слышит фальш до йоты,

Ему плевать, что не в ударе я,

Но пусть, я верно выпеваю ноты.

Сегодня я особенно хриплю,

Но изменить тональность не рискую,

Ведь если я душою покривлю,

Он ни за что не выправит кривую.

Бьют лучи от рампы мне под рёбра,

Светят фонари в лицо недобро,

И слепят с боков прожектора,

И жара, жара, жара.

На шее гибкой этот микрофон

Своей змеиной головою вертит,

Лишь только замолчу, ужалит он,

Я должен петь до одури, до смерти.

Не шевелись, не двигайся, не смей,

Я видел жало, ты змея, я знаю,

И я сегодня заклинатель змей,

Я не пою, я кобру заклинаю.

Бьют лучи от рампы мне под рёбра,

Светят фонари в лицо недобро,

И слепят с боков прожектора,

И жара, жара, жара.

Прожорлив он и с жадностью птенца

Он изо рта выхватывает звуки,

Он в лоб мне влепит девять грамм свинца,

Рук не поднять, гитара вяжет руки.

Опять не будет этому конца,

Что есть мой микрофон, кто мне ответит,

Теперь он как лампада у лица,

Но я не свят, и микрофон не светит.

Мелодии мои попроще гамм,

Но лишь сбиваюсь с искреннего тона,

Мне сразу больно хлещет по щекам

Недвижимая тень от микрофона.

Бьют лучи от рампы мне под рёбра,

Светят фонари в лицо недобро,

И слепят с боков прожектора,

И жара, жара, жара.

In "The Song of a Singer at the Microphone," Vladimir Vysotsky utilizes the metaphor of a microphone to symbolize truth and exposure. The lyrical hero, standing before the audience, perceives the microphone not merely as a tool, but as a formidable judge, capable of amplifying not only his voice but also any falsehood.

From the very first lines, the hero acknowledges his vulnerability before the "all-seeing eye" of the microphone: "I am bathed in light, exposed to all eyes... No, no, today it's definitely an embrasure." The microphone is an embrasure, a battlefield where the artist fights for sincerity. He fears falsehood, for the microphone will "mercilessly amplify" any untruth.

The heat of the spotlights, the "unkind" glare of the lanterns – all this creates an atmosphere of tension and trial. The microphone, compared to a snake, becomes the embodiment of a ruthless critic, "subtle" and "unfailing" in its judgment.

The hero acknowledges the power of the microphone, its ability to expose the truth. He cannot allow himself any falsehood, because "if I twist my soul, it will never straighten the curve." The microphone demands honesty, even if it causes pain ("The immobile shadow of the microphone immediately slaps me in the face").

In the final part of the song, the motif of confrontation is replaced by the motif of dependence. The microphone is likened to a lamp – a symbol of holiness and insight, but the hero acknowledges his sinfulness ("But I am not a saint, and the microphone does not shine"). He realizes that the microphone is not only a judge but also a tool with which he can convey his truth to the listener.