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The rhythm hits first — a driving, almost mechanical forward push that Leningrad uses as their chassis here, building something that feels less like a song and more like a procession. The brass arrangements are thick and joyfully indecorous, not refined jazz horns but the kind of horn playing you would hear from a municipal band playing a slightly inappropriate song at a public event. The central image is domestic and surreal: a broom, which in Russian folk tradition carries layers of meaning about household labor, superstition, and female servitude, all of which Shnurov weaponizes with maximum comic irreverence. The female vocalist returns here, and her performance calibrates perfectly between irony and sincerity — she sounds like she finds the whole situation genuinely funny and genuinely unfair at the same time. Leningrad's great skill is making class commentary feel like a party invitation, and "Метла" is a sharp example of that alchemy. The energy lifts and lifts, never quite breaking into chaos but threatening it at every chorus. Best heard in summer, windows open, in a city that is not particularly gentle with the people who actually live in it.