Aquarium's leader rises to the surface Boris Grebenschikov's communal apartment on Leningrad's Sofia Perovskaya Street is an eight-floor walk-up in a run-down building. The walls of the stairway are crumbling and covered with graffiti messages to Boris and his rock band, Aquarium: "Boris, I love you - I can't live without you." Grebenschikov may be the superstar of Soviet rock music at the moment, but because he is an "unofficial" artist he lives like any young Soviet supporting his family on an income roughly equivalent to that of a poorly paid laborer. Boris, 33, his wife, Luda, 29, and their 2-year-old son, Gleb, share the six-room apartment with three other people. It has a long central hallway, a large communal kitchen and a shared bath and tollet. A rolled-up sleeping bag lies against one wall; a ragged couch and chair sit opposite. The dark walls and stained ceiling, decorated with post- ers and keepsakes, are testament to the undying Soviet fascination with anything Western. A can of Campbell's Chicken Gumbo soup, carefully cleaned and preserved, sits on a shelf, as does a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream liqueur. A huge map of the United States covers the wall. A collection of hundreds of cassette tapes is arranged in one corner, a display of Russian icons in another. Until recently Boris and Aquarium had never played in official concerts. He had refused to take part in the state-controlled music industry because doing so meant sacrificing artistic control, softening his onstage image and playing only versions of his songs that had been tamed by the conservative Ministry of Culture. So he preferred to play in small, surreptitious concerts and to record cassettes in primitive apartment and ga- rage studios. Through the hand-to- hand music black market, Boris and Aquarium became famous, even if they remained poor. But Gorbachev's cultural thaw has warmed Boris too. He and Aquarium began last fall to give a few official concerts around the country. And now the band has signed a contract to produce an album on the official Melodiya label. Boris says that Melodiya representatives at first tried to pressure him into changing his sometimes depressive, fatalistic lyrics ("Friends, come on, let us all die/ Why should we live this dreary life?"), but when he refused they relented and the band was able to record its songs uncensored. Now there is talk that he may be allowed to visit the U.S. in the fall to record with American musicians. As always, though, Boris will do it on his terms or not at all. "When I see the feedback I get as a spiritual leader, I prefer being in my position. I like to think what I'm doing can change something among people who are listening." N.T.