dima safronov b2b dima studitsky — 5/8 : radio at at letnik , 31.05.2026 by 5/8 : Radio

коля аветисян — 5/8 : radio at at letnik , 31.05.2026 by 5/8 : Radio

kikok (live) — 5/8 : radio at at letnik , 31.05.2026 by 5/8 : Radio

сосна и липа dj's — 5/8 : radio at at letnik , 31.05.2026 by 5/8 : Radio

bankai — 5/8 : radio at sol kazan, 15.05.2026 by 5/8 : Radio

tag ear — 5/8 : radio at sol kazan, 15.05.2026 by 5/8 : Radio

vokbud — 5/8 : radio at sol kazan, 15.05.2026 by 5/8 : Radio

anton kalinin — 5/8 : radio at sol kazan, 15.05.2026 by 5/8 : Radio

You're riding an old bicycle along a dirt road through a dacha cooperative. Every time you hit a bump, the rusty bell and the slightly wobbly rear rack give a little jingle. In the distance, you can see a wall of towering pine crowns. The sky is clouding over, promising rain soon. You pedal past wooden houses with peeling paint on their walls, overgrown garden plots, lopsided fences tightly woven with ivy, concrete posts plastered with sun-yellowed ads for crushed stone, and apple trees bending low toward the ground. For some reason, you feel like you need to keep going — down to the creek, deep into the forest. But you stop. Somewhere far away, through the singing of unknown birds, the whine of a chainsaw, and the bark of a lonely dog, the melodies of the kikok mix for 5/8: radio reach your ears — and suddenly, you feel a sense of peace you haven't felt in a long, long time.

You're standing in front of a monumental building made of concrete and glass. The wind blows dry leaves across a small square paved with stone tiles arranged in a pattern that looks like your grandmother's living room rug. Under a wide canopy, an old-fashioned sign glows with cold neon light: "Cultural Center." A young man in a turtleneck sweater—with a strikingly familiar face—dashes out of the lobby, only to be called back by a girl in thick glasses: "Borya, what nonsense are you up to now?" But Boris disappears into a shady alley lined with towering firs. The wind picks up, and an unusually large moon peeks out from behind the clouds. Swarms of young people rush past you toward the building. You catch fragments of conversation: "I don't need a lab assistant job—I need to lie on a pebble beach." "Lyubochka, you don't pine over men in hideous shoes like those." Suddenly, a captivating voice over the speakers announces that they're about to play the call weirdo's mix for 5/8: radio — and your feet carry you forward, straight toward the Cultural Center. Because missing something like this is simply not an option.