In the bleak mid-winter of the Willamette Valley—which really isn’t very bleak at all—a dark Saturday night was filled with fiery, unrelenting luminance, from a truly dark origin. The source: Ukrainian band Yagódy.
On January 24, 2026 Yagódy came to Corvallis, OR— more than 5,000 miles from their home—to perform at Oregon State University’s Patricia Valian Reser Center for the Creative Arts. The group formed in 2016, with a modern twist on Ukrainian folk and Balkan music through intense rhythm, harmony, and performance. Their founding member, Zoryana Dybovska, infused theatrics into the band from her background as an actor. In 2024, they proudly represented their country in the Eurovision song contest, and placed as finalists. The band is self-described as “a musical trance based on the pulse of humanity.”
On this winter night, the few blocks I walked from my apartment to the performing arts center on campus were all it took for the bitter air to nab the feeling from my hands and face, and leave me wondering if I should have stepped out my door at all. However, humanity is what I felt when I walked into the theater and sat down. Kids nagged their parents about when the show would start, couples bickered over who should sit in which seat, and an elderly man to my left offered me his cardigan saying he didn’t need it—I guess my lingering chill was apparent.
Impulsivity. Ritual. Uncertainty. Kindness.
These small, luminous moments provided a glimpse of humanity through the looming darkness of an ever-growing number: 1,430 days.
On February 24 2022, Russia invaded Ukraine. 1,430 days later, the war continues.
Although our country as a whole, at this moment, is free from external violence, our country made up of individuals is anything but free from internal attack. Every day innocent people—our neighbors, co-workers, and families—are arrested, deported, and murdered by order of our very own government.
Betrayal.
One word which sums up boundless feelings penetrating the present moment in this place. Cruelty seems to extend beyond borders. Though perhaps other things do too, like light.
Yagódy’s light was brilliant. Their performance exuded energy, warmth, and persistence. The show started with a traditional Ukrainian welcome of sharing a loaf of bread during the curtain speech, then in the middle they invited anyone with courage up on stage to dance and sing with them, and the evening ended with the four musicians wrapped in a performer’s embrace, holding up the flag of their homeland, pleading for peace.
The original song they performed for Eurovision is titled “Tsunamia”, the feminine version of tsunami. They explained “it is more powerful because it is soft.” Although I would not describe Yagódy’s music as soft, it was not what I expected. Perhaps projecting my own feelings, I expected sad or angry songs, twinged with tragedy. I was completely wrong, and their deviance proves they have defied defeat.
Another song they performed had a phrase for the audience to sing along with: я нара (pronounced: ya-nara)—which literally translates to “I am here.” The translation they intended for this song, they explained, is “a bright light,” and yet another common meaning is a cry for help from far away. The audience sang this word over and over, underneath the pulse of drums and three voices working together to tell the stories of their Ukraine.
The band exuded unbelievable strength, passion, and joy. Various moments throughout the concert left me inspired. They continuously urged the audience to stand up and dance. Their overlapping melodies and harmonies were accented with whoops of encouragement and appreciation from each other. The drummer, Teimuraz Gogitidze, tried to hold in laughter as he translated Zoryana’s jokes to the audience.
Dancing. Singing. Exuberance.
It felt odd to be encouraged and entertained in this way, but once they broke through the audience’s uncertainty, it was obvious that this is the answer. Joy and hope are powerful. In order to find relief from the cold, you must spark a fire.
So, I’m left wondering: what will we do when it’s our turn?
If we were the ones whose country was being bombed everyday, our families on the frontlines, our hometowns demolished—what would we do? When cruelty comes for our fellow humans—as it currently is—what will we do? It is our turn. Will we use the strength of empathy, the power of joy and hope, and the soft “tsunamias” of love to flood the darkness with light? Will we take the courage to be stronger because we care?
After a standing ovation, the band stood on the edge of the stage, holding up their bright blue and yellow. Teimuraz said “We don’t want to go”—and we didn’t want them to either. Or at least neither did I. I thought about the fear and pain and instability that awaited them. I thought about what I was going home to: a warm apartment inhabited with my friends.
As an audience, we tried to convey this with applause. Teimuraz thanked us, saying “I see an ocean. An ocean of love.” Most importantly, he reminded us to “stay in its depths, because there lies tranquility and peace.” The surface may be ravaged with storms and sharks (both of which can be “kinder than humans,” he chuckled), but there is always stillness and love in the depths. The depths of our souls. We have to continue to dig deep to find the strength to persevere.
This night reminded me what music is for. It was one of those moments I wished I could share with every single person around me, so instead, I wrote a blog post.
I hope, dear reader, that you use the power at your fingertips to its full potential and if you can’t find it… go listen to Yagódy.
