Gunesh

From the Steppes to Jazz-Rock: The Origins of Gunesh

In the heart of Central Asia, in a remote and dusty Soviet republic, one of the most surprising jazz-rock groups of the global scene was born. They were called Gunesh – “sun” in Turkmen – and with their blend of mugam, prog, fusion, funk and spirituality, they managed to ignite stages across half the world without ever losing the soul of their homeland.

In December 1969, the celebrated singer Murad Sadykov — who would later become a People’s Artist of the Turkmen Soviet Socialist Republic and a deputy of the Supreme Soviet of the same republic — obtained official approval to establish a Via (a “vocal-instrumental ensemble”) within the Turkmen state television and radio.
Sadykov approached the well-known local jazz musician Oleg Kirillov, inviting him to assemble and lead the new group. At the beginning of 1970, Sadykov chose the name Gunesh for the band. The main soloist was Sadykov himself, joined by a second singer, E. Annaev, and a vocal trio consisting of V. Mamedov (tenor), K. Mamedov (baritone) and I. Agakhanov (bass).

The ensemble’s early line-up reflected the standard model of the Via groups of the time, focusing on performances of Turkmen folk songs and compositions by professional Turkmen and Soviet authors affiliated with the Union of Composers.

Like every Soviet musical formation of the period, Gunesh operated under the strict oversight of censorship: each ensemble had to be supervised by a musical director appointed by the Party, responsible for ensuring the ideological and stylistic conformity of its artistic output. Paradoxically, it was precisely this institutional framework that allowed Gunesh access to resources and equipment — invaluable tools for a band trying to carve out its own sound.

Rishad Shafi and the Sound Revolution

Things began to change when younger, more open-minded musicians joined the ensemble. Among them, one figure immediately stood out: Rishad Shafi, a prodigiously talented and charismatic drummer who entered the group while doing his military service. In the following years, Shafi — together with keyboardist Oleg Kirillov — recruited other musicians with similar musical interests (among them saxophonist Stanislav Morozov), giving shape to a new identity for the band: a jazz-rock language infused with the folk traditions of Central Asia.

Under Shafi’s leadership, the group underwent a decisive shift. Gunesh began to develop a personal style that fused jazz improvisational techniques with mugam, a modal musical tradition from the Azerbaijani sphere built on elaborate scales and flexible structures. The result was a hybrid musical language in which polyrhythms, odd meters and complex arrangements intertwined with traditional melodies and timbres.
At this stage, Gunesh were working along two parallel tracks. On one side, they moved within the realm of jazz-rock, influenced by Mahavishnu Orchestra, Weather Report and Chick Corea, with intricate rhythm sections, extended improvisations and sophisticated arrangements. On the other, they remained deeply tied to their local roots, incorporating traditional instruments such as the dutar and the gyjak, both characteristic of Central Asia. It was an unprecedented combination in the Soviet space: neither fully “national” nor wholly “foreign.”

While the first incarnation of Gunesh, shaped by Sadykov, could still be assimilated into the official logic of the Party, the arrival of the younger musicians — Shafi above all — and the rise of a more revolutionary, Western-leaning sound inevitably aroused discontent within the local cultural establishment. Yet it was precisely in this ambiguous climate that Gunesh began to make a name for themselves beyond the borders of Turkmenistan. Their first professional recordings were made in the studios of the state radio and circulated through inter-republican channels, garnering interest among critics and insiders. Some of these tracks — including the suite “Yokhsenem” and the epic “Kerogly” — were already circulating as Melodiya singles by 1977, revealing a surprising stylistic maturity.

In 1977–1978, the group took part in several compilations and festivals, including Pesnya v zhizn’ (“Song in Life”), a travelling radio program that served as a showcase for emerging musical acts across the Ussr. During one of these events — perhaps a festival in Moscow — the group was noticed by Roman Rtshiladze, keyboardist of Via-75 and producer for Georgian radio. Impressed by their expressive power and style, Rtshiladze put their name forward for the selection of Vesennie ritmy, Tbilisi-80! (“Spring Rhythms, Tbilisi 1980”). Musical authorities, however, opposed their candidacy: Gunesh were insufficiently commercial and too difficult to categorise. Despite this, Rtshiladze persisted and eventually secured approval for their participation.

Meanwhile, on the political front, the band’s position remained uncertain. Far from belonging to an “underground” scene — lacking both resources and protection — Gunesh navigated the fringes of the official apparatus, exploiting the system’s loopholes with notable intelligence. Their jazz influences helped shield them from accusations of “Western decadence,” while the use of traditional instruments and references provided just enough ideological cover to dispel suspicion. Still, tensions were frequent: the band was repeatedly reprimanded for excessive improvisation during concerts, and some performances were cancelled at the last moment.

The tension between centre and periphery — between Moscow and Ashgabat — was constant: Gunesh were too innovative for the Turkmen nomenklatura and too peripheral to gain immediate recognition in the central circuits. Yet it was precisely in this interstitial space, between the strictures of socialist realism and the opportunities provided by ethnic “exoticism,” that the group found its natural habitat. Thanks to Rtshiladze’s insistence, Gunesh were finally admitted to the Tbilisi 1980 festival, an edition that would become legendary. Their performance created enormous excitement and cemented the group’s national status: Rishad Shafi was awarded Best Drummer, Stanislav Morozov Best Saxophonist, and the band took second place ex-aequo with Alexander Sitkovetsky of Autograph. The certificate of merit was handed to Shafi by composer Yuri Saulsky.

Even before this breakthrough, Gunesh had left other traces on vinyl: in 1979 the group collaborated with Firyuza — another major Turkmen ensemble with a penchant for folk-fusion — on a split LP released by Melodiya. The album contained tracks by both bands and represents a crucial step in Gunesh’s transition toward a fully autonomous musical identity.

Around the same time, a curious episode took place: Melodiya issued a split EP featuring Abba — yes, the world-famous Swedish group. The A-side contained “Super Trouper,” while the B-side featured a track by Gunesh. A surreal pairing, yet emblematic of Soviet logic: Western hits were often issued in truncated form and paired with ideologically “acceptable” local productions, an exercise in propaganda meant to offer Soviet listeners an “alternative” to capitalist music.

A Dazzling Debut

In 1980, riding the wave of their triumph at the Tbilisi festival, Melodiya released the band’s first official album, simply titled Gunesh. The timing was not accidental: by then, the group had already been recognized as one of the most innovative names in the Soviet musical landscape.
The opening track, "Жиги-Жиги (Девушка)" ("Zhigi-Zhigi [Devushka]"), is emblematic: a piece that blends folk dance rhythms with moments of pure improvisation, weaving together dutar and synthesizers, flutes and electric guitar. The album unfolds as a continuous dialogue between past and present, between ethnic instruments and modern harmonies, where traditional melodies are reframed through a jazz-inflected lens without losing their cultural identity.

Among the most evocative moments are "Кара Кум" ("Kara Kum"), a sonic evocation of the vast Turkmen desert, and "Марь" ("Mar’"), which combines electric riffs and odd meters with melodic lines of epic, folkloric scope. In "Туркменистан" ("Turkmenistan"), the homage to the homeland becomes explicit, offering a ballad charged with emotional weight. The record closes with "Реквием" ("Rekviem"), a meditative composition inspired by Turkmen folk music and dedicated to the memory of musician Džemal Bjašimov.

Although the Soviet press of the time gave it limited attention, the album circulated widely within Ussr musical networks, contributing significantly to the band’s growing national prestige.

Some Western sources also report the presence of a “Vietnamese singer” among the album’s vocalists — a detail never fully clarified, yet plausible given that, during those exact years, Gunesh toured Vietnam. In Ho Chi Minh City, Murad Sadykov was even awarded honorary citizenship, a commemorative badge and the Order of Friendship — honours that testify to the international resonance the group had begun to achieve.

Overall, Gunesh (1980) stands as a work at the threshold: its sound still bears a strong folk imprint, not yet fully absorbed into the fusion aesthetics that would dominate the group’s later output.

Toward Fusion: Look At The Earth and the 1980s 

After the release of their debut album, the group intensified its live activity. The stage quickly proved to be the ideal setting for expressing the full creative potential of the collective, whose ability to engage audiences kept growing.

In 1981, Gunesh earned another major recognition: they won an award at the pan-Soviet pop music competition held in Yerevan, Armenia. It was a clear sign that, even outside Central Asia, the Turkmen ensemble was winning over a wide and enthusiastic audience.
Despite their growing fame, four more years would pass before the group managed to release a new record. The obstacles were mainly logistical and financial: only in 1984 did they secure the funding needed for their second LP, again released by Melodiya under the title Взгляни на Землю (Vzgliani na Zemlyu, Look At The Earth).

The album marked a decisive turning point: the sound became more sophisticated and layered, and the ensemble expanded to more than twenty musicians. The horn section—driven by Morozov’s charismatic saxophone—took on a central role, while Shafi’s dazzling drumming reaffirmed him as one of the most original percussionists in the Soviet sphere. His style, both precise and visceral, could easily stand alongside that of celebrated Western contemporaries.

The tracklist consists of six extended compositions, each with a distinct identity: the powerful jazz-prog groove of "Байконур" ("Baikonur"), the cosmopolitan lyricism of "Бу Дерды" ("Bu Derdy"), and the explosive jazz-funk of "Восточный Экспресс" ("Vostochnyi Ekspress", Oriental Express).
"Ритмы Кавказа" ("Ritmy Kavkaza", Rhythms of the Caucasus) reworks regional motifs with a chamber-like sensitivity, while "Ветер с берегов Ганга" ("Veter s beregov Ganga", Wind from the Ganges) explores airy, quasi-Oriental atmospheres. The closing piece, "Вьетнамские фрески" ("V’etnamskie Freski", Vietnamese Frescoes), evokes meditative soundscapes and hints at the band’s subtle yet meaningful connection to their earlier musical experiences in Vietnam.

With this album, Gunesh embraced a refined synthesis of jazz-rock and prog: Turkmen influences play a more understated role than on their debut, allowing broader interaction with other Asian traditions. Look At The Earth stands as an ambitious work and a clear statement of the group’s artistic maturity.

Also in 1984, Gunesh took part in the international Asia Dausy competition in Alma-Ata, followed later by appearances at the Donetsk jazz festival (1987) and the Ashkhabad jazz festival (1989). In those same years they were guests of honour at Golden Orpheus in Bulgaria and at Zielona Góra in Poland.
They also embarked on numerous international tours, performing across Eastern Europe, Mongolia, Laos, Vietnam, China, Afghanistan, Turkey, Senegal, Mozambique, Guinea-Bissau and Cape Verde. Their reputation reached such heights that, within the Ussr, they came to be regarded as a Soviet counterpart to Earth, Wind & Fire in the United States or Irakere in Cuba.

With the arrival of perestroika and the subsequent collapse of the Soviet system, Gunesh lost their contract with Turkmen state television—their only stable source of income. They shifted their focus entirely to live performance, unconcerned by the absence of new studio releases: recording expenses had become prohibitive, especially for a band operating far from the main cultural centres.
In this new context, Stanislav Morozov became the group’s official musical director in dealings with the party—a sign of a looser ideological grip and a comparatively less oppressive censorial climate.

A Slow Decline

With the beginning of the 1990s, Gunesh’s activity diminished significantly, and the number of members decreased as well. Their music no longer captured the interest of the younger generation, yet Rishad Shafi remained a respected figure. His participation in the television show Our Old Capital, directed by Andrei Konchalovsky for the 850th anniversary of Moscow, felt natural: not only because Shafi was now living in the capital, but also because Russian audiences continued to admire him and to remember Gunesh.

A particularly meaningful moment came with the band’s reunion at the Zildjian Days event in Moscow in 1997. The lineup included saxophonist Stanislav Morozov (by then living in Germany), guitarist Mikhail Charyev, percussionist Khakberdy Allamuradov (who had collaborated with Peter Gabriel and Billy Cobham), Stepan Stepanyants on keyboards, Sergey Paramonov on bass, and Chariyar Djumayev, Magomet Karsanov and Ashir Suyunov on traditional folk instruments.

In 1999 and 2000, Boheme Music released two anthologies retracing the group’s career: Rishad Shafi Presents Gunesh and 45° In The Shadow.
The former collects pieces from 1980–1984—many (though not all) from the two official albums—along with several previously unreleased tracks. With sound quality much superior to the original Melodiya pressings, it stands as the ideal entry point into the band’s golden era.

45° In The Shadow gathers unreleased material from 1984–1990 and can effectively be considered the band’s third album. Compared to earlier works, the sound leans toward a more conventional, polished form of fusion, with a marked reduction of the ethnic elements that had defined their early phase. The repertoire is solid but rarely surprising, except for the title track—featuring dazzling drum pyrotechnics and an unexpected scat vocal by Shafi—and a new version of “Vietnamese Frescoes,” rendered here in a slower, more hallucinatory style. The overall impression is of an ensemble still technically sharp but less inspired from a compositional standpoint.

During this period, Shafi assumed full artistic control of the project, steering the music toward more elaborate and virtuosic structures. The ensemble shrank, especially the horn section, now essentially reduced to Morozov’s saxophone, while Shafi’s drumming became the central force shaping the band’s sound. The title 45° In The Shadow alludes both to the extreme desert temperatures of Turkmenistan and to the standard alcohol content of Russian vodka.
By the late 1990s and early 2000s, Gunesh had effectively become a duo—Shafi and Morozov—before turning into Shafi’s solo project once Morozov settled permanently in Germany.

The final shows under the Gunesh name took place in 2009, with Shafi as the only remaining standard-bearer. That same year, the drummer died suddenly during a celebrity football match.

Throughout their long career, Gunesh went through dozens of lineup changes: it is estimated that at least sixty-five musicians were part of the ensemble over time. The classic golden-era formation included:
Rishad Shafi (drums and percussion), Oleg Kirillov (often listed as Korolev in Western sources) and Stepan Stepanyants (keyboards), Michail Loguntsov (guitar, sitar), Vladimir Belousov (bass), Gasan Mamedov (violin), Vagif Rizayev (saxophone), Stanislav Morozov (flute and alto sax), Yusif Aliyev (trombone), Alexander Stasyukevitch and Shamil Kurmanov (trumpets), Rakhmed Abdurakhmanov (guitar), Khajiriza Ezizov, Berdy-Murad Berdiyev and Ilyaz Redjepov (vocals), and Shamamed Byashimov (dutar, synthesizer, vocals).

Across nearly forty years of recorded activity, only a handful of albums remain—but above all survives the legend of a visionary ensemble that, from the steppes of Turkmenistan, pushed beyond the boundaries of traditional music to explore the territories of fusion, folk and progressive rock. And more than anything else endures the figure of Rishad Shafi: a musician who turned the drums into a universal language and carried Turkmenistan into the heart of the global jazz-rock scene.

On the occasion of this monograph, we also conducted the following interview with the band’s saxophonist and artistic director, Stanislav Morozov.