A Chastushka sung about the Communist Party

 The winter's past

And summer's here

For this we thank

Our Party dear!

A violinist in the Moscow Philharmonic can't complain

 A violinist who's a member of the Moscow Philharmonic goes on tour across Europe. After a concert in Vienna, a journalist asks him "How's the quality of life in the Soviet Union?" and he responds "I can't complain."

After another concert in Rome, another journalist asks him "How's freedom of speech in the Soviet Union?" and he responds "I can't complain."

After another concert in Paris, he's asked "How's political transparency in the Soviet Union?" and he replies "I can't complain."

On the tour's stop in London, he flees to the American Embassy to apply for asylum. The ambassador asks him "Why do you want to defect? You said you didn't have any problems living in the Soviet Union."

"I never said I didn't have problems," the violinist replies, "I just said I couldn't complain."

The Moscow Philharmonic on tour in Vienna

 On a tour in Vienna, the first chair violinist for the Moscow Philharmonic gets to play with a Stradivarius violin.

"I don't see what the big deal about it is," said the 'new violinist' who joined just before the Philharmonic left on tour.

"Let me put it in terms you can relate to," said the first chair, "Imagine you got to shoot a prisoner using Felix Dzershinsky's own pistol..."

An international quartet

 During a town's May Day celebrations, the local party chairman announces that an international string quartet will play.

"The quartet represents people from all corners of the Union living in friendship:

Comrade Filippenko shall represent Ukraine,

Comrade Burkhanov shall represent Uzbekistan,

Comrade Krikorian shall represent Armenia,

and Comrade Rosenbaum shall be playing violin."

Definition of a Soviet string quartet

 What is the definition of a Soviet string quartet?

A Soviet orchestra after their American tour.

An American spy in Moscow

 An American spy in Moscow walks into a bar, but the bartender gives him a suspicious glare. "Are you an American spy?"

"Of course not!" replies the American in perfectly fluent Russian. "Could an American do this?" He grabs a bottle of cheap Russian vodka, pours himself three shots of it, and downs them without flinching.

"Good point," replies the bartender, "but I still think you're a spy."

"Could an American do this?" He picks up an accordion and plays some folk songs on it like he'd heard them his whole life.

"Still think you're a spy."

"Could an American do this?" He stands up and flawlessly dances the kazachok.

"Still not convinced, you're definitely a spy."

The American throws up his hands in frustration. "Why could you possibly think I'm an American?!"

"Well for starters, you're black."