Introduction
Since the onset of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, music has become even more of a critical site of cultural resistance, emotional resilience, and national revival—for Ukrainians displaced internally, those displaced across the globe, and those surviving under occupation. This article explores how Ukrainian music-making, listening practices, and sonic activism function as strategies of psychological survival, cultural continuity, and resistance in contexts of forced migration and military occupation. Drawing on examples of music interactions with Ukrainian communities both within Ukraine and abroad, as well as testimonies and creative practices from occupied territories such as Berdyansk, Mariupol, Kherson region, and Crimea, this study investigates the role of music in wartime life. It highlights how war-induced displacement has sparked a resurgence of Ukrainian cultural identity, where pop, folk, and hybrid genres emerge as forms of collective memory, grassroots diplomacy, and tools of political mobilization. This research combines media analysis, digital research, and cultural theory to illuminate how sound becomes both a battleground and a lifeline.
The full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2022 gave rise to one of the most severe displacement crises in Europe since the mid-20th century (Schrooten Reference Schrooten2025:1). Millions of Ukrainians have been displaced internally, fled to neighbouring countries, or moved further abroad, while over a million remain in territories temporarily occupied by Russia (ibid.). In both contexts, music has emerged not merely as entertainment or morale-booster, but as a vital site of cultural resilience, protest, and emotional survival (Filonenko Reference Filonenko2025). Whether through improvised concerts in occupied villages, nostalgic folk revivals in refugee centres, or digital fundraisers embedded in popular songs, Ukrainian music continues to sound out a narrative of belonging and resistance. This article examines how music functions for displaced and occupied Ukrainians as a lifeline to cultural continuity, a medium of protest, and a vessel for communal memory. It asks: How is music mobilized in times of war to reinforce identity, foster psychological resilience, and resist cultural erasure? How does it connect those in exile with those under occupation? And how do sonic practices mediate between trauma and hope, displacement and belonging?
To answer these questions, the study analyses musical phenomena across three intertwined domains: (1) the cultural revival and intensified music-making among displaced Ukrainians in diaspora communities; (2) the use of music in everyday resistance in occupied regions such as Berdyansk, Mariupol, Kherson region, Crimea and Donbas; and (3) the strategic role of Ukrainian songs in fostering unity and countering Russian disinformation narratives and raising funds for Ukraine. Special attention is paid to the grassroots character of Ukrainian music initiatives—from protest lyrics whispered in secrecy, to newly composed songs written under the occupation, to dance flash mobs in metro stations.
Personal positionality
As a scholar born and raised in Ukraine, I cannot and do not wish to claim neutrality. I vividly remember the beginning of the occupation, when my childhood friends from Berdyansk—a city where I spent summers at my grandfather’s house—posted videos of how they were confronting Russian tanks, shouting and demanding that the army go home. Despite these protests, the Russian military advanced with violence, the demonstrations were brutally suppressed, and the city remains under occupation. Soon after, a close member of my family was severely injured by a Russian missile.
Returning to Ukraine during the war was among the most impactful experiences of my life. In Lviv, I witnessed how music filled public spaces, theatres, and streets, carrying messages of resilience and resistance. Through my involvement with the Ukrainian diaspora in Germany, Austria, Canada, and the USA, I have likewise seen how music consistently stands at the forefront of initiatives to mobilize support for Ukraine. These experiences inevitably shape my perspective, yet I seek to mitigate bias by triangulating observations with diverse sources—media, interviews, and scholarship—and remain in active dialogue with multiple colleagues to ensure that my analysis remains critically grounded and attentive to multiple perspectives.
Methodology and framework
This research employs a hybrid qualitative methodology that draws from comparative media analysis, digital research, and field-based observation in Ukraine. This study analyses popular songs and their dissemination as “primary frameworks” that organize seemingly chaotic events, rendering them meaningful through embedding in recognizable cultural patterns (Goffman Reference Goffman1986:21). Central to this approach is the use of digital platforms—including YouTube, TikTok, Telegram, Instagram, and online streaming services—as both sources of musical content and spaces of interaction. These platforms are not merely passive archives; they constitute active arenas where wartime music circulates, is reframed by users, and becomes embedded in broader cultural and political discourses. Ukrainian artists often use these platforms to distribute songs, launch fundraising campaigns, or comment on the war, while listeners interact through comments, remixes, and shares, contributing to the collective meaning-making of sound in wartime.
With reference to framing theory by Goffman (Reference Goffman1986) and the propaganda model by Herman and Chomsky (Reference Herman and Chomsky1988), this study reveals how music functions as both a strategic and ideological tool in the Russo-Ukrainian War. According to Goffman, frames are the fundamental building blocks for understanding events and guiding action within our society (Goffman Reference Goffman1986:10–11). In the case of wartime music, these frames shape not only how songs are interpreted but also how they mobilize listeners within contexts of violence and resistance. The study draws on Herman and Chomsky’s propaganda model, which identifies five filters—ownership/profit orientation, advertising dependence, reliance on official governmental and elite sources, flak, and a control ideology—that shape what reaches media (Herman and homsky Reference Herman and Chomsky1988:2).
This study examines how music is mobilized to frame narratives of resistance and resilience. Such frameworks provide a critical lens to evaluate how cultural production—particularly music—functions in both top-down (propaganda) and bottom-up (grassroots mobilization) processes (Goffman Reference Goffman1986; Herman and Chomsky Reference Herman and Chomsky1988). While Russia’s current mainstream music scene is often state-funded and used to reinforce official ideologies, Ukraine’s current wartime music emerges from a more decentralized, participatory landscape shaped by displacement and exile. It predominantly stems from an instinctive and authentic urgent need for defence. For this reason, this study draws from recorded testimonies, underground music archives, and media sources produced by individuals and collectives within these regions.
This research also recognizes the ethical and emotional complexities of working with materials produced under duress or involving communities facing acute vulnerability. It aims to document musical practices without romanticizing suffering or overstating the capacity of cultural forms to “heal” trauma. Instead, it acknowledges music as a deeply ambivalent yet powerful tool—capable of soothing and mobilizing, but also damaging, of affirming identity, and confronting erasure.
The analysis is further informed by existing theories of music and conflict, particularly Suzanne G. Cusick’s exploration of music as both a tool of oppression and a means of resistance, demonstrating how music can reinforce ideological power structures or challenge them in times of war (Cusick Reference Cusick, Michael and Les2020). Similarly, it is informed by the publication Music and Conflict (ed. by O’Connell and Castelo-Branco Reference O’Connell and Castelo-Branco2010) that highlights the role of music in shaping collective memory and national identity during conflicts, which is particularly relevant to the Ukrainian case, where historical songs have been revived as symbols of resistance. Furthermore, it builds on a collection of essays edited by Fast and Pegley (Reference Fast and Pegley2012) that examined how music is weaponized in political violence and propaganda, providing a framework for understanding how both Ukrainian and Russian wartime music function within broader ideological battles.
The study furthermore acknowledges theories of national identity formation in times of crisis, drawing on Maria Sonevytsky’s analysis (2019) of how Ukrainian music has historically been a site of negotiating sovereignty and self-determination, a process intensified by the war. Additionally, this research considers broader perspectives from propaganda studies, particularly related to Riabchuk’s work (2018), where he demonstrated how Russia has historically employed strategic narratives to shape public perception of stereotypes, which is crucial for understanding the Kremlin’s use of music as a propaganda tool. The work by Pomerantsev (Reference Pomerantsev2014) expanded on the concept of information warfare, illustrating how cultural production, including music, is manipulated to manufacture ideological consent, a tactic visible in Russia’s state-sponsored musical messaging.Footnote 1
Music as resistance
Civic mobilization and fundraising
Following the onset of the full-scale Russian invasion, Ukrainian music found new life in exile. As millions fled to neighbouring European countries and North America, music became an essential medium through which displaced Ukrainians reconnected with their cultural identity, articulated grief, and built new diasporic communities. Diaspora concerts, online performances, and flash-mob dances in metro stations became not just acts of nostalgia, but sonic affirmations of belonging.
In refugee settings across Germany, Poland, and Canada, Ukrainian artists often repurposed their performances into platforms for solidarity and survival. The concept of using songs as catalysts for fundraisers emerged as a direct response to the critical need to equip the Ukrainian army and support humanitarian efforts. Many war-related songs uploaded to YouTube included bank credentials in their descriptions, explicitly linking musical content to fundraising campaigns. In some cases, artists composed and released songs specifically to generate funds for military aid. By integrating digital fundraising with musical production, Ukrainian celebrities have positioned themselves as agents of wartime mobilization, bridging the spheres of artistic expression, civic engagement, and financial support for the war effort.
For example, TV host Lesya Nikitiuk and her colleague Bohdan Bohdanovych reinterpreted a 1990s song by the Ukrainian band Phantom 2, releasing a new humorous version and music video titled “Na Dron” [For the DroneFootnote 2] (Stryzhak Reference Stryzhak2024), announcing their fundraising campaign for two ground drones for a special military unit, posted on Lesya Nikitiuk’s Instagram account on 4 March 2024 (Nikitiuk Reference Nikitiuk2024). The announced goal of 1.5 million hryvnias was successfully raised. Other examples are songs by Alyona Alyona and Jerry Heil.Footnote 3 Following widespread criticism from Ukrainian communities over their 2024 Eurovision Song Contest performance—which reportedly cost around 2 million hryvnias [approximately 50,000 USD]—amid ongoing shortages of armour and drones at the front, the artists responded by releasing several fundraising songs and launching donation campaigns (Heil Reference Heil2024). Such songs are part of a larger repertoire and can be understood as “strips” or “cut from the stream of ongoing activity” that offer tangible proof of shared experience and the creation of purpose (Goffman Reference Goffman1986:10).
Pop singer Iryna Fedyshyn’sFootnote 4 tour in North America and the European Union raised funds for a hundred military vehicles for Ukraine, transforming diasporic stages into lifelines for those at the front (Patskan Reference Patskan2024; Fedyshyn 2025). Singer Jamala,Footnote 5 who gained international fame after winning the 2016 Eurovision Song Contest with her song “1944,” which was performed in English and in the Crimean Tatar language, recounts the deportation of Crimean Tatars, and parallels the events of 2014 in her family’s history, used her international profile to raise 67 million euros for the Ukrainian army (Schlutt Reference Schlutt2025).
Beyond the influence of celebrity musicians, digital platforms such as TikTok, Instagram, and YouTube have fostered participatory forms of music-making that actively involve displaced Ukrainian communities and their supporters. Community choirs formed in exile, streaming playlists curated for refugees, and spontaneous public performances have emerged as sonic bridges, connecting individuals across borders through shared cultural expression (Farge and Achi Reference Farge and Achi2024). Framing theory (Goffman Reference Goffman1986) provides a useful lens through which to understand how these initiatives articulate narratives of defence, resistance, and national unity that align with broader state objectives. The conscious collaboration between artists and audiences—exemplified by successful fundraising campaigns and viral performances—demonstrates how music functions as a participatory instrument for achieving tangible wartime aims, extending far beyond the realm of entertainment.
For many Ukrainians—both displaced and occupied—the dream of homecoming is kept alive through music (Filonenko Reference Filonenko2025). This is especially evident in songs that imagine the liberation of territories, the rebuilding of cities, and reunification with loved ones. Many of these expressions are frequently encountered in conversations among ethnic minorities, often through their cultural expressions that include various forms of art and different types of expression. The Ukrainian artist from Dnipro, Serhii Burbelo, created a series of paintings depicting the landscapes of Crimea as a visual response to Jamala’s music album Quirim consisting of reimagined Crimean Tatar songs (Burbelo Reference Burbelo2025). Through these works, Burbelo visually interprets the album’s themes of memory, loss, and belonging, transforming the Crimean terrain into a poetic statement of homecoming. His paintings serve as both a tribute to ancestral roots and a powerful cultural gesture reclaiming Crimea as a part of Ukraine’s living heritage. Romani communities in Ukraine have also expressed musical resistance during the war, using performance to assert cultural presence, solidarity, and defiance in the face of both Russian aggression and longstanding marginalization (Helbig Reference Helbig2024). The Jewish Cultural Centre and Synagogue in Dnipro has been consistently hosting Ukrainian music during its cultural events,Footnote 6 featuring classical arrangements of folk songs and prominent pieces that promote messages of Ukrainian independence.Footnote 7 The band Antytila that has been performing across Europe in support of Ukraine in 2023 even announced their concert in Russian-occupied Yalta, Crimea, scheduled for August 2024, a year in advance, demonstrating their belief that Crimea will be liberated by the Ukrainian army by then. The tickets were sold with the following announcement:
…Antytila are confident that in the summer of 2024, we will all be able to gather in Ukrainian Yalta, liberated from the Russian occupiers, and decorate the entire southern coast of Crimea with yellow and blue, modern Ukrainian music. We will play our best songs that Ukrainians love and know and celebrate the Ukrainian Victory together!… (Antytila 2023).
Although this concert did not take place because Crimea had not been liberated by then, this message—announced when Ukraine was mobilizing resources for the counterattack to push back the Russian army—was a powerful statement of trust that Ukrainian territories are only temporarily occupied by Russia and that there is a future homecoming. The band offered refunds for the tickets sold, and the money from those who chose not to claim a refund automatically went to support the Ukrainian army.
Songs and occupation
In Russian-occupied regions of Ukraine, music has become a quiet form of protest and a coded language of solidarity. Despite surveillance, censorship, and threats, many Ukrainians in places like the Kherson region and Mariupol continue to secretly make, share, and listen to Ukrainian music as acts of everyday resistance (Bryant Reference Bryant2022). According to a report from a Kherson region resident, a pro-Ukrainian song found on a mobile phone could already be grounds for execution (Gurzhyi Reference Gurzhyi2022). The tragic case of conductor Yurii Kerpatenko—who was killed by Russian forces after refusing to take part in a concert staged by the occupation authorities—powerfully illustrates the dangers faced by those who resist through acts of cultural defiance (Vincent Reference Vincent2022). After the deoccupation of Kherson, the underground rock group Kryholam shared how they recorded the album Blues under Occupation while living under Russian occupation. The process had to be conducted in secrecy: they recorded quietly to avoid detection by the occupiers, even singing softly so that neighbours would not overhear. After the liberation of the city, the band presented their album on stage in Mykolaiv, performing seventeen songs that reflect life under occupation and give voice to the experiences of Kherson’s residents (Bilous Reference Bilous2023).
During the Russian occupation of villages in Kherson Oblast, residents endured severe hardships, including the loss of electricity, water, and complete isolation. In these dire circumstances, Ukrainian songs became a vital source of solace and resilience. Iryna Zhomyr, a local inhabitant, recounted how singing traditional Ukrainian songs with friends provided emotional relief and a semblance of normalcy; she noted that even when Russian soldiers patrolled nearby, their communal singing continued, underscoring the profound role of music in sustaining morale and cultural identity during times of oppression (Ivanova Reference Ivanova2024). Street musicians sometimes still performed Ukrainian songs in public spaces, using music as a subtle yet powerful form of cultural resistance. Despite the risks posed by the presence of occupying forces (Dickinson Reference Dickinson2025), these acts of public performance served as expressions of national identity and communal resilience. “Plakala” [Cried] by Kazka and “Liudy” [People] by Boombox were among those performed, reaffirming a connection to Ukrainian cultural heritage. These musical interventions symbolized defiance in the face of political and military oppression (Havryliak Reference Havryliak2022). In Russian-occupied Berdiansk, a local young musician found a subtle way to videotape proof that the Ukrainian military forces’ missile had successfully hit and destroyed the Russian military ship “Saratov” in the port. He and his friend took a guitar, went to the port, and positioned themselves so they could see a fire in the background. They began staging the music performance, making it look like they were recording just that (see Figure 1).
Occupied Berdyansk, 24 March 2022. Source: https://t.me/pochuta_media/1732.
Their comments on the video show that they actually did this twice: after four Russian soldiers approached him and his friend and told them not to record videos at that spot, he politely agreed and moved a few meters along the shoreline, where they continued recording the fire from another spot but with the same view. They posted this video publiclyFootnote 8 only after they were able to leave occupied Berdyansk safely. In this case, making music served as a way to show their pro-Ukrainian stance to non-occupied Ukraine, as they were happy about the large fire of burning “Saratov” in the background. They expressed this through the cheerful mood of the music. In addition, music-making served as the method that enabled them to record the sensitive material with details of the attack, which would represent crucial military information for the Ukrainian forces if it were to reach them.
The Ukrainian singer ZelenookaFootnote 9 released a song dedicated to loved ones living under occupation, offering a poignant reflection on the emotional toll of war and forced separation. The song articulates themes of longing, resilience, and solidarity, capturing the lived experiences of those who remain in occupied territories. Through its intimate tone and lyrical narrative, the composition functions not only as a personal expression but also as a broader cultural response to occupation, reinforcing collective memory and national identity during wartime (Savenko Reference Savenko2022).
In Russian-occupied Crimea and Donbas, women-led partisan networks reportedly circulate resistance songs as part of their cultural arsenal. Among the different forms of civilian resistance in occupied Ukraine, the underground women’s network Zla Mavka illustrates how cultural expression, including music, functions as a subtle but potent mode of defiance. While their actions primarily involve symbolic resistance—such as spreading anti-occupation leaflets, burning propaganda posters, and circulating altered currency—music is also noted as part of their strategies used to assert Ukrainian identity. As reported by The Guardian in 2024, members of Zla Mavka have turned to songs and cultural references that resonate with Ukraine’s folkloric and national heritage, reinforcing solidarity under conditions of fear and surveillance (Higgins Reference Higgins2024). These actions stand in sharp contrast to the Russian state’s attempts to overwrite occupied soundscapes through media censorship, the replacement of Ukrainian radio with Russian programming, curated concerts in schools and cultural centres, and frequent internet disruptions or blackouts. Ukrainian channels and independent information are largely banned in these territories and can only be reached, if at all, via VPN services.
The citations on the heart-shaped cards in Figure 2 refer to a song by the Ukrainian band Angy Kreyda (Reference Angy2025), which is based on a poem by Ukrainian poet Liudmyla Horova and released in 2022 (Gergeliuk Reference Gergeliuk2023). The poem is created in the style of a modern reinterpretation of a traditional Ukrainian folk-style curse.Footnote 10
Zla Mavka. 14 February 2025. Telegram. 2025. https://t.me/zlaya_mavka/3486.
Blue heart (dated 14 February):
Богові — боже,
ворогу — вороже,
буде тобі враже
так, як відьма скаже.
Translation:
To God — what is God’s,
to the enemy — what is the enemy’s,
you will get what you deserve, foe,
just as the witch foretells.
Yellow heart:
Скільки, враже, півень вночі кукуріка —
стільки днів у тебе доживати віка.
Крим.
Translation:
As many times, enemy, as the rooster crows at night —
that’s how many days you have left to live.
Crimea.
These lines reflect a threat or curse directed at the enemy—the Russian occupiers—referencing an old vernacular superstition in the oral tradition that a rooster crowing at night is an omen of death. Both heart-shaped cards reference the Ukrainian popular song “Bude tobi, vrazhe” [This is what you’ll get, enemy] by Angy Kreyda. By invoking elements present in Ukrainian folklore—such as imagery of witches and prophetic speech—this statement aims to link traditional cultural motifs with the current wartime context. This song has been very popular on Ukrainian social media since the beginning of the full-scale invasion.Footnote 11 It was especially common on Instagram stories, often used in the context of promised revenge through mystical powers directed at Russian soldiers for their crimes. I frequently saw it shared by women who called for vengeance for the looting carried out by Russian soldiers in their villages and towns. They would record videos of the destruction and accompany them with this song. Given the high imbalance in physical power, they often could not defend themselves enough, seek revenge, or defeat the aggressor. Instead, the song became a way to express and confirm their conviction that the perpetrators would ultimately be held accountable for their criminal actions.Footnote 12 When members of Zla Mavka secretly crafted, photographed, and anonymously posted these heart-shaped cards in the colours of the Ukrainian flag on their Telegram channel on Valentine’s Day (14 February 2025), they sent a symbolic message of connection from Russian-occupied Crimea to the rest of Ukraine and the world. These lines express a longing for freedom and may also be understood as a hope for external support, even if it is superstitious (Zla Mavka 2025). Song, in this context, becomes not only a private refuge but also a quiet, coded language of dissent, strengthening collective morale and preserving cultural presence within an occupied space.
These practices stand in stark contrast to the Russian state’s attempts to overwrite local soundscapes. “In a world of concentrated wealth and major conflicts of class interest, to fulfill this role requires systematic propaganda” (Herman and Chomsky Reference Herman and Chomsky1988:1). Much like during the Soviet era, Kremlin-sponsored music—featuring acts like Oleg Gazmanov and Shaman (Fontanka.ru 2023)—is pushed into occupied territories through local media, radio shows like “Pesnia na voine” [Song at War] (Crimea Radio 2025), and pro-war public events (Current Time 2024). However, in these contexts, Ukrainian music endures through community, memory, and cultural intuition. Resistance resonates in folk melodies, newly composed songs, and even silence, where forbidden songs are hummed rather than sung aloud. Multiple Ukrainian pop singers such as Khrystyna Solovii,Footnote 13 Maryna Krut´,Footnote 14 Sviatoslav VakarchukFootnote 15 have demonstrated their support for the defence efforts by performing for soldiers at the front and recently liberated Ukrainian territories. Reflecting on his performances there, the bandleader of Okean Elzy Vakarchuk said:
I remember how we sang “Chervona RutaFootnote 16” [Red Rue] together in Izyum. I recall it and get goosebumps. It was less than a week after Izyum was liberated, and we all sang “Chervona Ruta,” “Oi Chy To Kin´ Stoit´” [Oh is that a Horse Standing There], and other folk songs together
The musician commented highlighting the symbolic meaning of this repertoire (Kravchuk Reference Kravchuk2023). Multiple Ukrainian musical celebrities, men and women, have taken up arms to defend their country. Among them are Taras Topolia (Antytila), Andriy Khlyvnyuk (Boombox), Yarmak, Oleksandr Polozhynskyi (Tartak), Artem Pyvovarov, Anastasiia Shevchenko (known as Stasik), and Mariczka Ignatowycz (Daughters of Donbas).
Songs as weapons
Russian songs in occupied Ukrainian territories
The Russian popular music scene has produced numerous authored songs that explicitly encourage support for the war in Ukraine and the occupation of Ukrainian territories, performed by established celebrities such as Oleg Gazmanov, Shaman, Grigory Leps, and Iuliia Chicherina.Footnote 17 They are intensively employed as tools of Russian state propaganda in occupied Ukrainian territories. For example, the radio programme “Pesnia na voine” [Song at War] in occupied Crimea (Crimea Radio 2025) is entirely dedicated to patriotic war-related songs and plays them five times a week (Crimea.MK 2023). The project began in December 2022 with the aim of “uniting people both on the front lines and beyond,” according to the description on the radio homepage. By 26 February 2026, this show had already aired 671 episodes, with each episode featuring 15 Russian songs about the war in Ukraine supporting the narratives of the Russian state. The homepage of the radio show describes their repertoire in the following words:
Eto pesni i stikhi, napisannye na peredovoy. Muzyka nashey bor’by s natsizmom. Noty budushchey pobedy. Kompozitsii, kotorye slushayut i poyut v shtabakh i okopakh. Muzikanty rasskazhut istoriyu sozdaniya voennykh khitov i frontovykh novinok. A uchastniki i dobrovol’tsy Spetsial’noi Voiennoi OperatsiiFootnote 18 podelyatsya svoimi emotsiyami i zakazhut muzyku, sozvuchnuyu ikh nastroeniyu.
[These are songs and poems written on the front line. The music of our struggle against Nazism. The notes of future victory. Compositions that are listened to and sung in headquarters and trenches. The musicians will tell the story of how wartime hits and frontline novelties were created. And participants and volunteers of the “Special Military Operation” will share their emotions and order music that matches their mood] (Crimea Radio 2025).
Many Russian pop singers openly act as political figures in the context of the current war (Current Time 2024). Yaroslav Dronov, known as Shaman, gained widespread recognition only in 2022, largely due to his pro-war stance and strong Russian state support. Before this, his music remained mainly apolitical, and he was relatively unknown to broader audiences. His rise to fame coincided with the release of patriotic songs like “Ia Russkiy” [I am Russian] and “Moia Rossiia” [My Russia] (Moscow Times Reporter 2023), which were heavily promoted through state-sponsored events and media platforms. His frequent participation in Kremlin-organized concerts and endorsement of pro-government narratives further solidified his public image as a cultural symbol of wartime patriotism (Sinkevich Reference Sinkevich2024). Dronov is also reputed to be Putin’s favourite singer, known for his political statements and participation in Kremlin’s events (Hopkins and Birger Reference Hopkins and Birger2023). Most concerts at the Kremlin Palace and state-funded events in occupied Ukrainian territories, including Crimea, in the years since the beginning of the full-scale war featured him performing songs that reflected and amplified state contents of the propaganda (The Insider 2023). In one notorious performance, he simulated pressing a nuclear launch button while singing “I am Russian!”, sending an overt pro-war message to the West, reinforcing the image of Russia as a nuclear superpower (NEXTA 2023). Another very famous Kremlin-aligned Russian popular singer, Oleg GazmanovFootnote 19 in 2023 received a 17 million ruble financial grant from Putin’s presidential fund to establish a patriotic song repertoireFootnote 20 centre and its promotion (Mishin Reference Mishin2023). This phenomenon exemplifies Goffman’s “rekeying”: these framed song collections transform familiar melodies into the context and format of the current political context, shifting the interpretive frame while retaining recognizable sonic patterns (Goffman Reference Goffman1986: 43–45). This collection already included songs such as “Gospod′ Segodnia Dumaet po-Russki!” [The Lord Thinks in Russian Today!], “Frontovaia Garmoshka” [Frontline Accordion], “Krym s Rossiei v Serdtse Navsegda” [Crimea is with Russia in the Heart Forever], “NATO, ne Nado” [NATO, Do not!] (Fontanka.ru 2023). Many of these and other anti-West, pro-occupation, and pro-war songs have been heavily promoted and performed on social media, during concerts at schools and universities on Ukrainian territories occupied by Russia, particularly in Crimea (for established practices, see Pomerantsev Reference Pomerantsev2014). Although the internet enables counterpublics, its democratic potential is limited by commercialization and concentration—exemplified by the AOL–Time Warner merger (Herman and Chomsky Reference Herman and Chomsky1988: xvi).
Songs and artificial intelligence
In parallel with these authored mainstream productions, another layer of musical propaganda has emerged: songs created with artificial intelligence (AI) tools and distributed primarily in Ukrainian. Many of these AI-generated tracks, often with overlapping titles and nearly identical content, focus on the theme of draft dodging. In most cases, they are usually posted online under pseudonyms, making it nearly impossible to identify their creators, and circulated through social media platforms with the clear intent of undermining Ukraine’s mobilization efforts.
According to Ukrainian officials and media, songs like “Mamo, ia Ukhyliant” [Mother, I am a Draft Dodger], “Ia Ukhyliant” [I am a Draft Dodger], and others with similar messages are spread in the Ukrainian language through Russia’s campaign among Ukrainian users as part of a broader information warfare strategy (Reference Barnett5 Kanal 2024).Footnote 21 This tactic aims to disrupt mobilization, glorify draft evasion, and undermine national cohesion. The strategy has proven successful, as evidenced by a viral flash mob on social media and mainly TikTok (Radio Prischepkin 2024), where Ukrainian men have been posting videos of themselves avoiding mobilization by staying abroad and celebrating this action (Kuz’menko Reference Kuz’menko2024). Unlike celebrity productions intended for Russian audiences, the fact that the song “Mother, I am a Draft Dodger” was produced in Ukrainian makes it target Ukrainian men only, disrupts mobilization among Ukrainian speakers, and prevents its lyrical content from reaching Russian men. A strikingly similar track with the same title appeared on SoundCloud under the name of a fictitious band, “Kharkivs’kyi Klei” [Kharkiv Glue], whose profile featured five young men of conscription age and described them as a “famous Ukrainian band.” The band picture is also clearly artificially created, as some of the men appear on it twice (see Figure 3). No other information about this band is available elsewhere, and no other songs recorded by them seem to exist.Footnote 22
“Kharkivskyi klei,” 8 July 2024. Source: https://soundcloud.com/iskremas/mamo-ya-ukhilyant.
This fabrication illustrates how AI-generated content is often framed to appear authentically Ukrainian while masking its real authors. These are just two of many similar songs generated by AI that are uploaded across social networks under various nicknames.Footnote 23 The Main Intelligence Directorate of the Ministry of Defense of Ukraine even issued a special message and made a statement regarding these songs. According to this statement, under the guise of anonymity, Kremlin propagandists have produced a series of videos featuring men supposedly vacationing abroad who label themselves as “draft dodgers.”Footnote 24 These videos are rapidly gaining popularity, provoking a wave of comments and debate, which in turn fuels their circulation and shapes public opinion in Ukrainian society. “For this type of content, “folk”Footnote 25 songs were created simultaneously, in whose lyrics the central message is always traceable—the glorification of ‘draft dodgers’”(Main Intelligence Directorate of the Ministry of Defense of Ukraine 2024). Therefore, the “Draft Dodger” information-psychological operation is not just an information campaign but a classic tool of societal division that pits “defenders” against “dodgers,” fostering internal conflict with the goal of undermining Ukraine’s mobilization efforts. Simultaneously, it creates an impression of widespread societal glorification of the military draft, especially through the perception that these songs are created by Ukrainians in Ukraine, by many different people who all support and glorify this position.
As part of a broader information warfare campaign, these songs demonstrate how sonic propaganda operates across linguistic and ideological borders. In addition to the draft dodger tracks, multiple further songs created by AI tools have been appearing on the internet, claiming to reveal different political conspiracy theories and spread disbelief in the context of the Russo-Ukrainian war. Since these tools enable the artificial generation of human voices, it has become even easier to create and spread messages while remaining anonymous, without the need to sing or speak, without revealing one’s own voice.
At the same time, Ukrainian tracks emerged in response to these songs, positioning themselves in direct opposition to the draft dodger repertoire. Alongside songs by humans,Footnote 26 AI-generated tracks also appeared. One such example is “Ukhyliant – Svintus Pryide (Antiukhyliant)” [Draft Dodger, Svintus Will Come (Anti-Draft Dodger)] (ListenPlay&Enjoy 2024), created with the music generation tool Suno, as referenced in its video. Produced by pro-Ukrainian actors likely in Ukraine, the song engages with the same draft-dodging narrative found in Russian AI-generated Ukhyliant songs, but reverses its function. Rather than normalizing or encouraging draft dodging, the song seeks to deter it by invoking an underwater monster named Svintus, said to inhabit the river Tysa and attack any draft dodger attempting to cross it. Crossing the Tysa has become one of the most common and dangerous escape routes used by Ukrainian men trying to leave the country, as it offers direct access to Romania.
Digital frontlines
The Russo-Ukrainian war is not only fought on land but also in algorithms. Digital platforms like YouTube, TikTok, Instagram, and Telegram have become both battlegroundsFootnote 27 and lifelines (Tan et al. Reference Tan, Lai, Foo, Shibuya, Tsihrintzis, Wang and Wang2025). During the early stages of the full-scale invasion, many Ukrainian pop singers took on the role of mass informers, hoping to be heard abroad. One notable example is the song “Van’ka Vstan’ka”Footnote 28 by Kondratenko (Reference Kondratenko2022), which describes the behaviour of Russian soldiers during the first months of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine. The song addresses the tactics where captured Russian soldiers pretended ignorance about their location, claiming they were merely lost while walking in the Ukrainian woods. Furthermore, Kondratenko’s lyrics highlight the high demand for body bags, a dire issue faced by Ukrainians, especially in the first months of the invasion when a high amount of dead Russian soldiers’ bodies remained lying across Ukrainian towns and villages where intensive battles took place. The Russian government’s denial of the invasion aimed to downplay it in the media to prevent the relatives of Russian soldiers from discovering the truth and learning about the high number of deaths among the Russian army (Mackintosh Reference Mackintosh2022) and to avoid potential protests in Russia. As a result, with the help of organized bot activity from so-called bot farms, the Russian government has been able to censor messages on Instagram posted by Ukrainians about the start of the full-scale invasion and the ongoing occupation of their cities and villages, as well as ignoring Ukrainian appeals to retrieve the bodies. This, however, increased media attention on the issue even more (Barnett Reference Barnett2022). Ukrainians, including those in diasporas, were compelled to collect body bags and send them to Ukraine (Kyiv Post 2023). Singer Masha Kondratenko aimed to shed light on these realities in Ukraine, and indeed, the format of a pop song allowed her to reach a Russian audience in an unusual way (Zaitseva-Herz Reference Zaitseva-Herz, Holtsträter and von Appen2026). The song resulted in a TikTok flash mob in Russia and was even played in kindergarten performances there. Due to its almost childish and playful sound, it was perceived as funny, playful, and suitable for a children’s concert, especially since the song was in Ukrainian, and Russians did not understand the text. When the Russian audience became aware of its content, it elicited a significant outrage, prompting a tsunami of reposts accompanied by translations of lyrics to disseminate information. This way, Kondratenko’s strategy proved successful, as it reached the audience in Russia from within, since the message quickly spread through social media after the song was already deeply embedded in multiple Russian contexts (Pasailiuk Reference Pasailiuk2025). In response, Russian pro-war activists recorded mocking covers of her song, including AI-generated versions, which in turn only contributed further to the algorithmic boost and supported her popularity. By April 2026, this song had over 39 million views on YouTube.
Similar to Kondratenko’s work, the song “Palianytsia” [Loaf of Bread] by Banar (Banar 2022) captures the early weeks of the war, when captured Russian soldiers pretended that they did not know where they were. The lyrics emphasize how Ukrainian soldiers used language as a tool for identification and resistance. They devised a method to identify Russian soldiers who were posing as Ukrainians by asking them to say the Ukrainian word “palianytsia” [pɐlʲɐˈnɪt͡sʲɑ], a word absent in Russian and difficult for a non-Ukrainian speaker to pronounce without an accent due to the specifics of the phonetics of the Ukrainian language, which usually sounds like [pɐlʲɐˈnʲit͡sɐ] when a non-Ukrainian-speaking Russian speaker pronounces it. This method proved highly effective, and the song incorporates a fieldwork recording of a captured Russian soldier saying this word. An amusing linguistic twist occurred when a moderator of Russian propaganda TV Olga Skabeeva misunderstood and mispronounced this Ukrainian word in a new way, naming it “Polunytsia” [poɫʊˈnɪt͡sʲɑ] [strawberry] instead of “Palianytsia” [a loaf of bread] (Malynovs’kyi Reference Malynovs’kyi2023). This new spin of misunderstanding highlighted the strategy’s effectiveness and caused much amusement among Ukrainian speakers. Banar further incorporated this story into his lyrics, explaining the difference between a loaf of bread and a strawberry.
Reviving the homeland: Cultural memory and sharovarshchyna
Amid displacement and occupation, Ukrainians have turned to their musical past as a source of strength and vision for the future. Folk songs have gained renewed urgency and resonance. To resist Russia’s full-scale invasion, Ukraine aims not only to defend itself physically but also to resist Russian narratives aimed at distorting facts and undermining international support. The contemporary Ukrainian pop scene reflects these goals through its music, emphasizing themes of resistance, defence, national unity, and the separation from Russia (Cane Reference Cane2022). These songs prove themselves as a cultural front and the role of Ukrainian musicians as cultural diplomats reinforcing Ukraine’s identity and resilience in the face of aggression and the orientation towards the West (Biasioli and Drew Reference Biasioli and Drew2024).
Ukraine’s music scene is reviving historical repertoires tied to its independence struggle. Amid the war, early-20th-century strilets’ki pisni [riflemen songs], linked to the Sichovi Stril’tsi [Ukrainian Sich Riflemen Legion] and the Battle of Kruty (1918), have resurfaced (Kuzmenko Reference Kuzmenko2024). This cultural revival aims not only to emphasize resistance but also to reinforce the ongoing topic of Ukraine’s national identity, distinct from Russia. “Oi u Luzi Chervona Kalyna”—a song rooted in early-20th-century resistance—has become an unofficial anthem of Ukraine’s defiance, after being performed by frontline musician Andriy Khlyvnyuk in an Instagram video where he announced his departure to the front and chose to sing a verse of this song in his message (Viatrovych Reference Viatrovych2022).
The incorporation of folkloric and ethnic elements representing the diverse ethnocultural communities of Ukraine increased significantly in pop songs produced after the full-scale invasion, manifesting in musical arrangements, as well as in visual and lyrical contexts (Zaitseva-Herz Reference Zaitseva-Herz2024). However, their excessive use sometimes goes too far, as it is often viewed negatively by the Ukrainian audience and labelled as sharovarshyna (Sonevytsky Reference Sonevytsky, Beasley-Murray, Bracewell and Murawski2025). The term sharovarshyna derives from sharovary, the wide-legged trousers traditionally worn in Ukrainian stage dance. It is used to describe the excessive and often superficial use of national symbols in cultural contexts, making them appear clichéd or inauthentic. According to Maria Sonevytsky, “In contemporary usage, sharovarshchyna is deployed to call out the banal and indiscriminate mixing of regional folkloric symbols (often the very same overused symbols codified in state-sanctioned cultural expressions of the Soviet era)” (Sonevytsky Reference Sonevytsky, Beasley-Murray, Bracewell and Murawski2025:163). During the full-scale war in Ukraine, a related term, bayraktarshyna, emerged. It refers to the oversimplified and excessive incorporation of military themes in cultural production, often reducing them to a crude or commercialized form. The term bayraktarshyna originated from the song “Bairaktar” (Kronika24 2022), named after the Turkish TB2 drone that became a symbol of Ukrainian resistance in the first weeks of the full-scale invasion (Helou Reference Helou2023), symbolizing the effectiveness of Bayraktar TB2 drones in Ukraine’s defence. As Andrianova denotes, the song functioned as an ode to military technology, integrating wartime realities into popular music (Andrianova Reference Andrianova2024).
The outbreak of full-scale war made many in the Ukrainian audience especially sensitive to and critical of the content of songs that might link to ethnic stereotypes, since this is exactly how Russian imperialist interpretations have been portraying Ukraine and Ukrainians for the last couple of centuries. For example, Ruslan Hanumak, the author of the controversial song “Dyka Dychka” [The Wild Wildy], faced intense criticism from Ukrainian audiences for its oversimplified portrayal of national and military themes, similar to the stereotype of “Khokhol.” The Russian stereotype of the “Khokhol”—a grotesque, uneducated Ukrainian—was constructed in the 18th and 19th centuries to justify imperial domination and later reinforced by Soviet propaganda, shaping Russian perceptions of Ukraine to this day (Riabchuk Reference Riabchuk2018: 179–192). The critique of sharovarshchyna thus extends beyond music and dance to the broader essentialization and misrepresentation of Ukrainian culture under Soviet rule, where staged “folk” performances functioned as fakelore that reduced Ukrainians to the stereotype of naïve, uneducated peasants—an image carefully produced by the Soviet cultural policy machine and reinforced through state dance ensembles (see Shay Reference Shay2002: 80–91; 123–130). The song by Hanumak heavily incorporated elements that were labelled by the listeners as sharovarshyna, showcasing Ukrainian culture in an exaggerated and overly simplistic manner, in addition to primitively depicting a Ukrainian female soldier as a sexual object. On social media, many users also referred to it as a prime example of bayraktarshyna, accusing it of crudely depicting military themes, misrepresenting female soldiers, and relying on primitive sexualized imagery. As a result of the backlash, Hanumak announced the end of his music career (Naidenko Reference Naidenko2023).
Yet, even amid critique, these cultural forms persist as important tools for emotional processing, solidarity, and storytelling. The perception and understanding of sharovarshyna, as well as the accuracy of its depiction of Ukrainian culture, are inherently subjective and can differ significantly based on various factors. These factors include and are not limited to regional perceptions, generational differences within Ukraine, as well as among its diaspora communities and the waves of immigration that have formed them.
Conclusion: Resilience as defiance
The Russo-Ukrainian war has given rise to a musical movement that transcends genre and geography. Whether forged in exile, whispered in occupation, or amplified through global networks, Ukrainian wartime music stands as a testament to the multifunctional power of culture in the face of erasure. It aims to resist not only physical occupation but sonic colonization, reclaiming the right to sound, to sing, and to belong. As this article has shown, music in this war functions not merely as morale-boosting entertainment but as infrastructure: a cultural scaffolding on which resistance, remembrance, and hope are built. Through digital innovation, historical revivals, and spontaneous performances, Ukrainian musicians and listeners together forge a shared soundscape of survival. This article provided important insights into the complex role of music as a dynamic tool for cultural resilience, identity formation, and political resistance amid conflict and displacement. Consolidation and blurred lines between editorial and advertising have only increased the model’s applicability today (Herman and Chomsky Reference Herman and Chomsky1988:xvii).
In examining Ukrainian musical expressions across diasporic and occupied contexts, I apply and extend the paradigms of framing theory and propaganda analysis. Methodologically, the use of digital research and comparative media analysis offers a replicable framework for studying music’s cultural impact in digital and transnational spaces.
These findings resonate with recent scholarship on music and resilience in contexts of displacement and conflict, which shows that musical practices can support emotional coping, strengthen a sense of shared agency, and foster social cohesion (Howell Reference Howell2023; Heck et al. Reference Heck, Reinhardt, Bischoff and Koelsch2025). In the Ukrainian case, they also align with recent work demonstrating that popular music can serve as an important medium for articulating national identity and sustaining transnational connections in times of war and migration (Biasioli and Drew Reference Biasioli and Drew2024; Clark Reference Clark2024). The cases analysed in this article further suggest that such functions may extend to newly produced songs, including AI-generated songs, which can also operate as a medium through which political messaging is contested and forms of belonging are negotiated under conditions of war and displacement. From this perspective, the musical practices examined here are not merely forms of cultural expression, but meaningful tools through which displaced and disrupted individuals and communities maintain continuity and build resilience in the face of ongoing upheaval. The research illuminates how Ukrainian communities leverage music not only to counteract propaganda but also to sustain cultural memory, foster social cohesion, and reassert agency during wartime. As Goffman has asserted, frames act as “schemata of interpretation” that allow individuals “to locate, perceive, identify, and label” events and experiences (1986:21). These findings have broad implications for scholars studying the intersection of media, migration, cultural heritage, and conflict, highlighting music’s profound capacity to negotiate and reshape narratives of identity, displacement, and resistance.
Ultimately, this research underscores music’s enduring power as both an emotional refuge and a strategic resource, contributing significantly to interdisciplinary dialogues about cultural expression in contexts of extreme adversity. Future studies might further explore how these musical practices evolve post-conflict and influence longer-term identity politics within diaspora and homeland communities.
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