Just like anywhere else in the world, the Soviet youngsters wanted to socialize, to listen to the music and to dance. The nightclubs were unheard of – anything of that kind would have been announced as promoting debauchery or morally wrong lifestyle habits. So the best one would hope for were the discotheques – the special dance occasions, organized by the officials on a weekly basis. They always had a designated supervisor – a school principal or a city council representative in charge.

A Soviet discotheque, most likely late 1960s.

Often enough, especially in the small cities, these dance events were the only source of entertainment. Movies were scarce and arrived in towns infrequently; the circus would visit once a year; and libraries just didn’t do it.

In summer months, the discotheques were usually taken outdoors. Typical dancing grounds.

Knowing the popularity of discotheques, the authorities also liked using it as the sweet part of the “carrot and stick” tandem: for instance, dancing would follow some boring meeting, or a motivational lecture, or some propaganda pep talk. Linking the attendance of the lecture to the permission to come out and dance was an easy way to twist arms of the rebellious youth.

She is feisty! An old movie “Gals”, 1961, an episode on the dance floor.

A set of rules – how to behave on a discotheque – was usually displayed and enforced by the person in charge. For instance, it was suggested that work clothes were not welcome, and the outfit should be light and comfortable. The dance moves were suggested to be well-rehearsed as dancing “freestyle” was not considered appropriate. Women were allowed to express discontent towards males who would make inappropriate advances or dance in a wicked manner. Smoking was prohibited, but at least there was never a cover charge.

An old cartoon, circa 1960

As for the dancing “appropriately”, it was generally accepted that classic dances (waltz and other slower modest moves) were better than tango, foxtrot or swing – these were more of a “dirty Western dancing”. That was what the crowd would long for, though – so the dj was allowed to play such a tune once a night, perhaps. And, just like anything forbidden, it really drove the crowd wild.

A New Year’s Eve Night, a painting by A. Snegirev, 1982.

The propaganda, which was everywhere, stated that in the West people are so overworked, they need their weekly portion of dances to rewind (this was a subtle reference to “Saturday Night Fever”, also banned in the country). The logic was that in the USSR things were different: people went out to dance in order to socialize, not because their capitalist bosses tired them out.

This is an old cartoon portraying foreigners on the dance floor in their unnecessary flamboyant outfits. Note the bottle and their greenish faces — propaganda full throttle!

Quite the contrary, in the USSR dancing was also a part of a harmonious development of a person. This notion was very popular with the movie directors: the working class – electricians, nurses, teachers etc – go dancing because they have too much energy, not to lose themselves in music. The latter one was considered to be wrong and asocial. It is a nice finish for the week, but it is not a desperate, Travolta-like TGIF, it is an active type of rest and a great deal of cultural activity.

Dancing in the Ural Mountains, by G. Sorokin.

Another common feature of the discotheque phenomenon is the same-sex pairs. Oh no, they were not queer – it was simply due to the shortage of men. Fortunately for all, there came the baby boom and this tendency almost disappeared by the end of 1960s.

Girls girls girls

Also, there was the age bar. Firstly, the teenagers were not allowed – you would have to be at least 17 to attend. Secondly, and this is interesting, the oldies were not meant to come and dance – and by oldies we mean the married lot. It was unheard for a married person to turn up to shake their booties – it was frowned upon, and therefore there were themed discotheques “For those over 30”, type of thing.

As for the music, apart from the domestic Soviet bands, the imported stuff from Italy and France was very popular. Adriano Celentano, Toto Cutugno, Romina Power and Albano; Charles Aznavour, Joe Dassin, Serge Gainsborough. Not only were they melodious, oh no. Mind you, both the countries had communism orientation back then, so it was a mere political calculation to approve of their culture. But nobody in the USSR minded — these artists are still a big (even though mildly nostalgic) hit.

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1. Catwalk Models With No Underwear On. Haute Couture Soviet Style.
2. Sexy Soviet Underwear. Not!
3. Best of Fall 2009

After the Second World War in Italy the carmakers realised that it would be a long time before everyone who needed a car would be able to afford one. So the smart Italians switched to designing and producing motor scooters: these light, affordable, ergonomic Vespas, a low cost product available to everybody.

Needless to say, Vespa was the brand of the time (and arguably still is) and it grew more and more popular across Europe, until, in early 1950s, it reached the USSR. All of a sudden this youthful and cheery means of transportation coincided with the Khrushchev Thaw and it was decided to launch the Soviet line of motor scooters. Machinery wise, it was viable: since the war times, a few factories had been idle, so it was only a matter of design.

Modern girl with a vintage scooter. She is probably gloomy over the petrol price.

The design couldn’t have been an easier problem to fix: Europe was going through a real scooter boom and, since the copyright laws were not as aggressive as they are nowadays, it was decided to simply copy some. The choice was there but, after much consideration, Vespa was chosen as the prototype.

Everybody loved a Vespa.

The decision was made at the level as high as the Cabinet of Ministers. The designers and engineers were given six months to produce the first models. Which was timely achieved, and in early 1957 the first scooters – called Vyatkas – by the name of the factory situated in the Vyatka region – were introduced to the market.

One of the first Vyatka models, 1957

Both externally and on the inside, Vyatka was a very close copy of its Italian counterpart. However, at a closer look, the Soviet scooter would lose a few points to the Vespa. Vespa was 16 kgs lighter (104, not 120); 30kmh faster (100, not 70); and it had more power (8 hps vs 4.5).

Vyatka Logo: looking familiar? Imagine the lawsuits in our days! Back then, the Italians opted to pronounce the supremacy of their scooters that even the Communists were copying.

Unsurprisingly, people liked Vyatkas – they became very popular very fast. Younger drivers would take it on long intercity trips, and every now and then a female driver would be spotted. It was meant to provide the comfort of a car for the price of a bike — well, almost, as the slogan stated.

As the time went by, the scooter was being perfected: the glove box became key-lockable; the brake pedal was shifted under the floor; and the power went up to 5.5 hps. The price was about 350 rubles, which was good value for money.

The dashboard. It certainly never went up to 140.

The later model of 1974, Vyatka-Electron, was equipped with a new type of ignition, an electronic one, copied off the Japanese car makers. This allowed the scooter to become more powerful (up tp 7.5hps), faster (up to 80 kph) and more economical, too (less than 3litres per 100kms). The price also dropped to 280 rubles, which made it affordable even for students.

Vyatka-Electron. Quite fancy, isn’t it?

Nevertheless, the popularity of Vyatkas was steadily declining. Nowadays we would call it bad marketing policies, but then really it was a matter of supply and demand in the planned Soviet economy. Even the numerous promotional advertorials in the automobile magazines did not help: by 1979, the production was stopped. It took a good decade to sell out the excess stock of Vyatkas, and another one to market off the parts. Altogether there was made about 1.7mln Vyatka scooters in these 23 years.

Of course the Soviet scooters never stopped with Vyatka. There was the Tuirst scooter, named after the factory in the town of Tula, later on there were Java and Ural, each with a wide range of models.

Tula scooter, 1961.

Yet the Vyatka story is another finest example of how fantastically inefficient the USSR and its policies were. The Italian Vespa is still a funky brand and a great vehicle. The Russian Vyatka ceased to exist, and it is more of a collectable item now.

A restored Vyatka.

Related posts:

1. Cold Clone War
2. Best of Winter 2009–2010
3. Soviet Cars: History of the Copy-and-Paste Industry — Part 3 of 3