Entrepreneur and once-known informant among the circle of so-called infogypsies, Andrey Kovalev, spoke on the air of the YouTube program “Alena, dammit!” about a tale involving Alla Pugacheva and the mind behind the hit song “Harlekino.” The conversation centers on how Pugacheva became aware of the plight of Boris Barkas, a poet whose name appeared in connection with the creation of her song, and the depth of his downfall. Kovalev frames the moment as a turning point that reveals both the vulnerability of a brilliant songwriter and the expansive reach of a star who chose to intervene when someone in her orbit faced a cruel turn of fate. He recalls a scene that tested assumptions: a man once celebrated in the music world, later found on the margins, struggling with a bottle, and effectively erased from a life that had once placed him at the center of attention. The story, told with the sardonic humor and candid honesty characteristic of Kovalev, is not simply a tragedy of drink and loss; it is also a case study in how celebrity generosity can collide with the stubborn realities of addiction, unemployment, and homelessness. The account invites readers to see beyond headlines and to consider the human beings who inhabit the margins of fame, where a celebrated poet can vanish into the street and still carry a legacy that deserves attention.
Kovalev explains that Pugacheva learned Barkas had fallen on hard times and that the author responsible for her song had become a shadow of the person he once was. The details describe a man whose career overlapped with the singer’s ascent, yet whose personal life spiraled into a crisis that included heavy drinking, losing work, and ultimately losing official documents and a home base. The narrative emphasizes how the fall disrupts more than a schedule or a paycheck; it unsettles identity, social ties, and the sense of belonging that creative work often provides. The recounting stresses the emotional weight of watching someone who once contributed so much to a cultural moment face degradation and isolation. Kovalev’s portrayal of Barkas is not a portrait of guilt or failure, but a reminder of the fragility at the heart of artistic life and the consequences that follow when support networks falter. The episode is framed as a tragedy that calls for compassion, practical assistance, and, occasionally, the hard truth that good intentions need to meet concrete resources to make a lasting difference.
Kovalev recounts a pivotal moment when Pugacheva urged him to take concrete action to help Barkas, asking, “Andryukha, let’s get him a two-person apartment?” The decision was to purchase a modest two-room dwelling that would provide Barkas with a sanctuary from the street and a place where his artistry might still find space to breathe. The narrative makes clear that the intention behind the gesture was sincere and practical: a home that could support a return to some form of stability and possibly a revival of his creative life. Unfortunately, the illness that had plagued Barkas did not retreat; the period of housing proved insufficient to counteract the compulsions and dependencies that had taken hold. The text describes how Barkas consumed the new space in a short time, and the cycle of relapse and loss culminated in his death, marking the end of a life that had once connected with a broad audience. The account balances the generosity of a public figure with the sobering limits of charitable intervention in the face of addiction, inviting reflection on how best to structure support for artists in crisis.
In the aftermath of Barkas’s passing, the ownership of the apartment became a point of moral and practical contention. When the artist’s death left the property in question, it was inherited by Pugacheva’s daughter, a development that sparked discussion about the responsibilities of benefactors and the fate of charitable decisions after the benefactor’s influence wanes. Those close to the singer suggested that Kovalev revise the arrangement and claim the property for himself, a suggestion he chose to reject. Instead, he resolved that the apartment should remain with the Barkas family, honoring the original aim of providing a stable homeland for a man who had given much to the cultural landscape and deserved a modest chance at restoration. The decision reflects a broader theme about the ethics of charity in the arts: the best interventions are those that empower the recipient to reclaim agency and create room for future work, rather than simply alleviating a single moment of distress. The tale thus leaves readers with a resonant question about responsibility, legacy, and the ways in which famous figures can influence not only public perception but the private lives of the people who cross their paths.