Mongolia

Every July, Mongolians gather in Ulan Bator, the capital of the Republic of Mongolia, for naadam, a festival featuring wrestling, horse racing, dancing and more. Shops close and people turn out in droves to drink fermented mare's milk and eat mutton during three days of games and tests of manhood that are part of a festival that is nearly as old as the Olympics. Playing a prominent part in this tradition are singers and musicians, both professional and amateur, praising athletes and the horses they ride. In fact, while the official site is the capital and the starting date is July 11, people celebrate naadam all over the country, all month long. And no doubt, there is music.

Mongolia, a vast region of desert, steppes, mountains, lakes and rolling hills, lies between Russia and China. Even today, after having been politically connected to the Soviet Union for much of the 20th century, perhaps 40% of its people still live nomadically. In fact, the decline of its post-Soviet economy assured many people would look to self-sufficiency in the face of economic uncertainty. The land itself, which includes 4,000 lakes, the Gobi Desert and low-lying pastures full of antelope, guarantees that music is used as a means of spiritual sustenance.

Songs in praise of Genghis Khan, ancient, winged horses or the milk from she-camels continue to be heard in and around herders in the central region of the country who live in gers (portable dwelling places also known as yurts). These songs, which have influenced people in Tuva (Mongolia's northwestern neighbor) and Turkish-speaking Yakuts for centuries, are often accompanied by the country's primary folk instrument, the morin xuur, a two-stringed "horse-head" fiddle. As in Tuva, music in Mongolia has been used as a central component of shamanic and Buddhist ritual, which flourished alongside shamanism for 200 years before being nearly silenced by the Soviets. But the chants of monks are now being heard again.

Aside from the predominantly Mongol people who live not only in Mongolia but also China, there is still a small population of Sunni Muslim Kazakhs dwelling in the far west, though their numbers have probably decreased over the last 10 years. Traditional two-stringed instruments such as the dombra and qobuz, typically associated with the folk music of Kazakhstan, can still be heard in the region. Along with the various shaped and stringed lutes, frame drums and wind instruments, of course, is overtone singing. This powerfully meditative, multitoned vocal skill is typically connected with Tuva but, like so many things Tuvan, also has a place in the vast, sparsely populated Mongolian countryside.

Unfortunately, by the 1930s, the occupation of Mongolia by communist forces from Russia ended 200 years of Chinese control and brought about more radical changes than the country had seen in the past 500 years. Foreigners were increasingly forbidden and nomads, who once lived in an easily romanticized tranquility, were now in hiding, as shamanism and Buddhism were purged. Henning Haslund-Christensen, a Swedish ethnomusicologist who did priceless research on Mongolian music and its history in the first half of the 20th century, claimed that in 1936 he was "now obligated to seek out representatives of the older time in isolated hiding places." No doubt, instruments now factory made in Russia, China and elsewhere began replacing the older ones, and state-sponsored ensembles became the norm in a country where former nomads were increasingly forced into factory work in the fast-growing cities of Ulan Bator and elsewhere.

But since the early '90s, the region's folk music, which never truly died, returned at festivals such as Naadam as well as on radio broadcasts and new recordings. Rock 'n' roll bands such as Harang and Hurd blasted from urban stereos as part of the announcement that Mongolia was now part of the world. On the heels of these bands came MTV, CDs and the wider world of popular Western influence. The metallic overtones of Harang and Hurd swayed to the popularity of boy and girl bands such as Nomiin Talst and Spike. The "Mongolian Madonna," T. Ariunna, packed the capital's discos singing lyrics filled with sexual innuendo. Mongolia's youth have embraced all-night club excursions into techno and other styles of Western pop as well. Even people perhaps old enough to criticize this music find something of value here, if for no other reason than they are just old enough to remember when this didn't exist, or at best, was so state controlled as to be almost impossible to get away with.

However, as long as the nomadic people remain, so will the traditions they've practiced for centuries. Satellite dishes may now sometimes accompany yurt living, but the old songs, praising the Altai mountains and strummed on the two-stringed tobsuur or twanged from a Jew's harp, will remain, simply because life in Mongolia often still demands it. —Bruce Miller