“Without sleep,” Melnikov argued, “fresh air will do little for our health.” He devised a building in which hundreds of workers could partake of its benefits at the same time. Named “Sonata of Sleep”—a pun on son, the Russian word for sleep or dream—the building consisted of two large dormitories either side of a central block containing washrooms. The dormitories had sloping floors, to obviate the need for pillows, and the beds were to be built-in “like laboratory tables,” in the words of Frederick Starr, author of the standard monograph on Melnikov. Starr goes on to describe the further pains Melnikov took over the ambiance:
At either end of the long buildings were to be situated control booths, where technicians would command instruments to regulate the temperature, humidity, and air pressure, as well as to waft salubrious scents and “rarefied condensed air” through the halls. Nor would sound be left unorganized. Specialists working “according to scientific facts” would transmit from the control centre a range of sounds gauged to intensify the process of slumber. The rustle of leaves, the cooing of nightingales, or the soft murmur of waves would instantly relax the most overwrought veteran of the metropolis. Should these fail, the mechanized beds would then begin gently to rock until consciousness was lost.1

Mit seinen Bauten wollte der Moskauer Architekt Konstantin Melnikov in den Zwanzigerjahren sowjetische Werte widerspiegeln und gleichzeitig dem Bedürfnis nach persönlichem Ausdruck entsprechen.
1929 hatte er das Planspiel für eine ‘Grüne Stadt’ entwickelt. In ihr sollte es außer Parkanlagen und einem Zoo auch spezielle 'Schlafanlagen' für Arbeiter geben.
Weil Schlaf als Heilfaktor galt, wurden die Schlafräume von Architekten, Musikern und Ärzten gemeinsam konzipiert. Außer rotierenden Betten, Hydromassage und künstlich erzeugten Düften war auch eine Klangberieselung geplant. Sie sollte vorrangig aus den beruhigenden Geräuschen von Wind und Wasser, sowie aus Blätterrascheln bestehen.