Evgeny Khonyakov does not believe in the heroism of everyday suffering - except as material for observation. In a fresh concert in an hour without a telephone, he manages to flip through the absurdity of work, sentimentality and emigrant anxieties with the indifference of an old cat.
Irony and slight weariness permeate everything from pets to the choice between two equally meaningless options. Living, according to Khonyakov, is like solving a big joke in which the rules have long since been lost somewhere in the darkness of a closet.
