In 2002, the band that taught Soviet teenagers the words "heavy metal" and sold a million copies of a single album split into two warring versions. The reason — a court decision that awarded the rights to the name "Aria" not to those who founded the collective and played in it for 17 years, but to a former drummer and the vocalist's manager.
On October 31, 1985, guitarist Vladimir Kholstinin and bassist Vitaly Dubinin assembled a band in Moscow that was destined to become the first Russian-language heavy metal project of industrial scale. The USSR of the late eighties didn't know what to do with electric guitars tuned a half-step down: rock clubs looked askance, "Melodiya" released mainly VIA ensembles, and the word "metal" was associated with Western ideological subversion.
But "Aria" broke through that wall. The album "Hero of the Asphalt" (1987) sold over a million copies — a figure impossible for underground aesthetics. The band played stadiums, recorded on a state label, and maintained a sound that in the West was called NWOBHM — New Wave of British Heavy Metal. Kholstinin and Dubinin built a machine that transformed basement energy into cassettes sold in "Soyuzpechat" kiosks.
By the early nineties, "Aria" wasn't just a band — it was a brand, a system for producing albums and concert tours. In 1994, the musicians created "ARIA Records" studio and signed a contract with "Moroz Records", effectively becoming an independent label. Kholstinin and Dubinin controlled the creative process, sound engineering, distribution. Vocalist Valery Kipelov, who joined the band in 1985, was the voice of the project — but not its architect.
However, legally no one documented who owned the trademark. In the USSR and early Russia, rock musicians didn't register rights to names — it seemed like bureaucratic nonsense. This void in documentation became a time bomb.
In 2002, conflict erupted within "Aria". Kipelov, who had worked with the band for 17 years by then, declared his desire to control the repertoire and financial flows. Kholstinin and Dubinin refused to share management — they considered themselves founders, and Kipelov a hired vocalist, albeit a legendary one.
The rupture was inevitable. But instead of the usual rock scenario (vocalist leaves, band finds replacement), something incredible happened: Moscow Arbitration Court ruled that the rights to the trademark "Aria" belonged not to Kholstinin and Dubinin, but to Maxim Udalov — a drummer who played in the band in 1987–1993 — and Valery Kipelov. The legal basis was that Udalov was first to register the name to himself, exploiting the legal vacuum.
The band's founders, who wrote dozens of songs and built the entire infrastructure, legally no longer had the right to call themselves "Aria". Kholstinin and Dubinin were forced to perform under the name "Aria. Mavrin Version" (after the surname of guitarist Sergey Mavrin, who joined their lineup). Kipelov continued touring under the original name.
The judicial logic was impeccable from the standpoint of formal jurisprudence — and absurd from the standpoint of rock ethics. Essentially, a person who hit drums seven years earlier received control over a brand created without his participation. It's as if a session musician for Led Zeppelin sued Jimmy Page for rights to their catalog.
From 2002 to 2011, two "Arias" existed in Russia, performing in parallel. Both recorded albums, both toured, both claimed the title of heirs to the classic lineup. Fans split: some considered Kholstinin and Dubinin's group the legitimate version (argument: they're the founders), others — Kipelov's collective (argument: he's the voice of "Aria", without him it's not the same band).
The conflict wasn't limited to the stage. The musicians sued each other in Moscow Arbitration Court and Moscow City Court — over claims of defamation, illegal use of repertoire, compensation for reputational damage. Each side accused the other of counterfeiting the legacy. The number of hearings numbered in the dozens.
Kholstinin and Dubinin achieved partial rehabilitation: courts recognized their right to perform songs they wrote. But the name stayed with Kipelov. The marketing absurdity of the situation peaked when a festival would announce "Aria's" performance and audiences didn't know which lineup would take the stage.
Economically, the split proved profitable for both sides: two bands filled two venues, released two albums, received two fees. But culturally it was a collapse. "Aria" transformed from a monolithic brand into a judicial case study where legitimacy was determined not by music but by arbitration court decisions. Metalheads who glorified freedom and rebellion against the system spent nine years proving in court which of them was the real rebel.
The paradox resolved itself not legally but organizationally. In 2011, Valery Kipelov left his version of "Aria" to focus entirely on his solo career. Without him, the collective bearing the official name lost its trump card — the voice that fans associated with the classic albums.
The trademark rights returned to Kholstinin and Dubinin. They reunited with some of the musicians who had played in both versions, and the band became unified again. The lawsuits ceased. "Aria" returned to recording albums and touring — but no longer as a cultural monopoly, but as one rock project in an overcrowded market.
The story didn't end with a triumphant return to eighties glory. The nine-year split fragmented the audience: some fans followed Kipelov, some became disillusioned with both versions, some simply got tired of following the legal chronicle. The band that sold a million copies in an era when metal in the USSR was a marginal genre spent nine years proving the right to bear its own name.
The legal absurdity exposed the fragility of cultural capital: a brand created by music can be expropriated through trademark registration. Kholstinin and Dubinin won the legal war but lost time — those very years when "Aria" could have recorded three more albums and cemented its legendary status. Instead, they performed under the name "Mavrin Version", explaining to every new listener why the band's founders were forced to add a qualifier to a name they invented themselves.