Posts Tagged instrument maker
Day 32 – Where there is spirit there is usually music
Posted by Musical Nomad in Daily Blog on August 29, 1997
What oppression causes such sad faces in Almaty? In the hotel reception everyone glowers when you request directions to an urgently needed toilet. When I turn up for breakfast (the other half of bed and breakfast?) I’m marched off to reception where 8 dollars is demanded, cash, now! I smile at a floor manager (each floor of the hotel still has a KGB style ‘watchdog’). She glowers back uncomprehendingly. I point out my bathroom has no water to a hotel supervisor, she glowers at me for interrupting her chat with her friend. I assume this is all the legacy of the Soviet years – it will take a long time to heal these wounds.
Music is the food of the spirit. Outside of the modern cities that spirit seems more alive – perhaps further from beaurocracy and dogma?
In our absence no progress has been made on our proposed Yurt stay, we’ve been out of touch as Kyrgyzstan has no external phone service worth mentioning. We only have a few hours to organise this expedition.
Raushan Obrazbaeva – part two
What of music? One of my favourite musicians so far is Raushan, the hypnotic exponent of the kobuz. Her inspirational performance (Day 4) has remained a high point of the trip. I remembered she had spoken of musicians in the mountains. Perhaps she could help solve our predicament. I was also keen to ask her some more questions in the light of our experiences elsewhere in Central Asia.
In a small and rather noisy cafe in downtown Almaty we showed her how our Internet project had progressed. She was keen to hear Barkut (Day 29) the Kyrgyz kyl-kyiak player. Unfortunately, we did not include this track in our report but I showed her the instrument I had bought from him. Raushan was curious to play what she described as a Kyrgyz variant of the Kazak kobuz. She pointed out some significant differences in design, and sound. Unlike Western instruments, which are very standardised, Central Asian instruments vary widely. Kathy had also bought a Kazak kobuz, which was very different from either Raushan’s instrument or the Kyrgyz kyl-kyiak. The basic design of two string horse hair fiddle is constant – after that it seems to be up to the creativity of the maker. One of the main things Raushan pointed out about the kyl-kyiak was the different playing technique. She plays by pressing her cuticles on the strings like an Indian sarangi player (also a vertical fiddle but with sympathetic strings). The Kyrgyz players press on the strings with the fingertips. These differences are generalisations and there are pieces in the Kazak repertoire that demand different techniques.
“She plays with her cuticles”
Our conversation continued as we moved to the park to record Raushan in the open air – where she likes to play. [Also see Kurmangazi day 28]. She demonstrated some pieces that are inspired by animals – the wolf and the camel. I found myself astonished once again at the variety of expression that Raushan has, literally at her fingertips. Her instrument is close to nature in its simplicity. It produces a complex ‘unpurified’ sound with strong overtones. Raushan’s impressionistic renderings of animal sounds are very abstract in character, simultaneously ancient and modern.
Raushan also likes to play pieces from the European Classical repertoire, and she showed us how she changes the way she holds her bow to emulate a ‘cello. We could have chatted for ever about instrument design and playing techniques. We were conscious though that we had an expedition to organise and so time was short.
A kobuz masterclass and interview
Raushan told me of a village in the foothills of the Alatau Mountains only one hour away from Almaty – ‘The village of craftsmen’. Everyone there is a crafts person – the men making musical instruments and the women making clothing and jewellery. An instrument maker in this village had made her kobuz and she seemed delighted by my interest. It sounds like a beautiful area and apparently we can camp there overnight. Another region she recommends is a 6 hour drive away. This valley surrounding the Shinishke river has ‘real’ Kazak villages with people who still live in traditional ways. There are Yurt encampments – Nomadic herders settling in the rich pastures for the summer months. There is natural beauty. Thirteen thousand foot mountains, white water rivers and rare wildlife such as Ibex and Bobcat. Most importantly, Raushan told us that where there are people there is always music. She reiterated that Kazakstan is a very musical country. Suddenly our trip tomorrow is looking like an exciting adventure.
Raushan had given us some useful leads but we had a very short time to put the wheels into motion. This final week was meant to be a voyage of discovery and we seemed to be steering in the right direction. Nomadmobile 4 has to be organised – this time though we will be self-sufficient, living remotely, eating from carried supplies often miles from anywhere ‘civilised’. The electricity generator will now become our most important piece of eqipment as we send you daily episodes from deep in the mountains.
Jan ‘older and wiser’
Our Kazak interpreter Mary knew of an agency who were allegedly experts in the expedition field. Visiting their premises inspired some confidence. A large ‘ordnance survey’ style map of South East Kazakstan proudly enveloped one wall. In another room professional climbing and camping equipment. They seemed sympathetic to our requirements and listed everything we would require as we told them of our needs. We talked vehicles. Their first suggestion of a decrepit bus was soon jettisoned – the seats were lose, the bodywork crumbling and the wheels buckled. We stipulated two ‘modern’ Gazelle vans which would accommodate the Nomad team, cook, interpreter and drivers. There was also a lengthy conversation about safety. If we were in danger or someone was ill do we have a 24 helicopter rescue number? – they told us no general Kazak ‘mountain rescue’ service existed but the agency had a helicopter for emergencies. As the hours went on we realised we would have to furnish many ‘expedition’ items ourselves. A desperate rush around Almaty’s bazars and prestige shops then ensued. Gary, Paul and myself haggling with old women over the price of cheese and pears. On our way back through the commuter streets of Almaty, white shopping bags in hand we at last felt at one with the city – the locals around seemed to accept us. A pity that tomorrow we finally say good-bye to this, our most familiar city.
Tomorrow we head for the village of the masters, then on into unknown territory, little visited villages of Nomads and Yurts. Music? Who knows. Usually where there is spirit there is music
Day 18 – Market Shares in Aladdin’s Cave
Posted by Musical Nomad in Daily Blog on August 15, 1997
This morning I awoke at 5.30 am, it was still cool. I stepped out of the guest house to greet the morning light. The Samarkand back street that had been so quiet the night before had been transformed into a lively market. Traders were laying out their wares on rags. Acres of clothes, automobile parts, kitchen utensils, everything you could ever need, strewn along the road. I picked my way through the narrow streets towards the Registan, it’s grandeur tinged by the early morning light. [Registan Panorama] I had a rendezvous with some of the musicians we met last night. They were assembled in cheerful mood and demonstrated a melody in maqam style. The piece ended abruptly, the flute player adorned with Soviet medals, suddenly stopped and fumbled with something near his mouth, his false teeth had fallen out. They were then called to a rehearsal so we had to arrange another meeting with them later in the day.
Further down from the relative peace of the Registan is the ‘produce market’.
Hundreds of people converge here at sunrise. Rays of sunlight dance across the colourful fruit and spices piled up on long stone slabs. The market is dwarfed below the large dome of the Bibi Kharnym and the scene is full of memorable images. I sat for a while and drank chai on a table in the melon ‘area’ of the market. I chatted to an old mullah called Abdullobobo who told me he comes here everyday at the same time to talk with his friends. He had a deeply soulful face which was both peaceful and wise. He sat contented and seemed to understand what life should be. After the tea break I chatted to a lady called Yura and her son Pahon who were sat by the melons with a fabulous backdrop of the market and mosque.
Next port of call was Musaffar’s workshop. It was small, dark and cave like, as an instrument maker’s shop should be. This was a refreshing change from the tourist-trap shops that now inhabit the old madrassahs in the Registan. Here was a maker and repairer who serves local musicians. Musaffar, age 57 is a small man with subtle oriental features. His family have run the ‘masters’ workshop for five generations and he has been in ‘residence’ for 35 years. He plays tar but says he can ‘have a go’ at any Central Asian instrument. Studying at Samarkand Music Institute he specialised in shash maqam vocal music and classical instrumental styles. I told him about the famous musicians we had met in Tashkent and Bukhara, as we spoke about Ari, Munadjat and Pattahon, he repeated their names and his face began to light up – we had seen some real classical ‘stars’. His son, who proudly sits next to his father, studied doira technique for 5 years at the same institute – he will take over the shop when his father ‘rests’ in a few years time.
Musaffar was repairing some high quality instruments and his own instruments seemed better than others in Samarkand. Trying out instruments turned into duets, Musaffar on tar, me on frame drum. He told me that Samarkand’s most popular instrument is the tar, followed closely by the Kashgar rubab and then an instrument he called a Saz (here a long necked lute, with six strings in pairs – used mainly as a solo instrument). In the shop there was also some interesting variants on the basic design of tar and rubab. Still no flutes however – Musaffar promises me faithfully that he will bring some tomorrow. Needless to say I left with a gidjak and another doira. I think I will need an extra flightcase to carry all this stuff.
Musaffar was surprised to find that we were not staying for the Samarkand festival. He is very excited about it – seven days of traditional music from forty Asian & Eastern European countries including many Shash Maqam artists.
Earlier we had arranged to meet the two doira players from the Shir Dor madrassah ensemble at 5pm. The heat of the day, allegedly peaking at 45 degrees was easing off and the streets were now beginning to fill with people ready for early evening revelries. The rehearsals for the Music Festival were still in progress in the Registan and it was only after some argument with an officious policeman that we were allowed into the square. The sun cast long shadows through the West facing lattice gate creating a wonderful abstract on the cobbles of the madrassah square. We met the group of musicians relaxing before their next ‘package’ concert. They seemed delighted to see us again, perhaps because we showed more than a passing interest in their music? The leader of the ensemble, the gidchak and flute player was slightly unhappy when we requested to see only the doira players.
After a long period they appeared out of their room in the wall, apparently they had been warming their drums by the fire – after a long day of 40 plus heat they were actually toasting their drums! (This drives the moisture from the skins and makes the drum ‘ring’). I sat with them on a chaikhana table, under a mulberry tree in the corner of the maddrassah. I asked them to demonstrate the range of sounds a doira can make. With the right hand they can produce five different sounds – deep rounded tones or bright slaps. The left hand which supports most of the weight of the instrument can produce three tones – finger flicks onto the edge of the frame drum. I asked them if they would play a simple two drum rhythm gradually adding more and more decoration – the resulting piece ended in a climax of poly-rhythmic virtuosity. A crowd of tourists had gathered and it was time for them to do their ‘show’. I could tell they had enjoyed showing us their skills, a welcome change from the repetitive ‘package’ they do every night.
Samarkand is a surprisingly accessible and diverse city. It has already exceeded many expectations. Tomorrow I will discover more. Here anything seems possible.
Day 15 – Bukhara to Baysun, into the mountains at last
Posted by Musical Nomad in Daily Blog on August 12, 1997
Before setting off from Bukhara this morning, we called in at the workshop of an instrument maker, Karomat Mukimov. It was not long before we were surrounded by the master’s young apprentices and were being shown the intricacies of tuning tars. Karomat and Sasha had been at the Tashkent Conservatory together 23 years ago, so there was a mini reunion going on. Amongst the instruments in his shop was a tanbur from the nineteenth century, it had been lovingly restored by this master. It transpired that the tanbur had once belonged to Leviche Babakhanor, grandfather of Ari (a musician we met three days ago). This news came as something of a shock. Why would the family sell such a beautiful instrument? It was heavily inlaid and was quite obviously made for an important player. Sasha told us that Ari had referred to an instrument of Leviche’s which had been sold to a maker. This tanbur was an antique with historical value, having belonged to one of the last Bukharan court musicians. Here it was for sale. Admittedly not cheap, but we would have been free to take it abroad. It crossed our minds to buy it and give it back to Ari – where it belonged. The story went that one of Ari’s brothers had gone to live in Israel and had exchanged this instrument for an new one. It seemed sad to see it here but at least it was now restored and perhaps would end up in the hands of a player.
My thoughts now turned to a doira, a frame drum, that I had seen several days before, but had then seemed absurdly overpriced. Whether it was the effect of half an hour of conversation, or Sasha’s connection with the instrument maker, I’ll never know, but the price suddenly dropped by a third. We struck a deal and I walked away the proud owner of a high quality doira. Now all I have to do is persuade someone to show me a few tricks.
This project involves plenty of travelling around Central Asia. After all I am the ‘Musical Nomad’. Of course the truth of the matter is I am accompanied by a small, specialist team. Our ‘nomad horse’ for the last two weeks is a Volkswagen Caravelle, with enough seats for six people and five large flightcases.In Central Asia a driver is more than simply a driver, he constantly nurses and cleans the car, never leaves it and finds petrol in the most unlikely places. Our Uzbek driver Bahadir is a real character and devout individual. He is a stout man with a face half resembling Mel Brooks and a sleepy manner. We were amused watching Bahadir buying petrol. He would chase lorry drivers, hug and kiss them and spend hours in the back yard of strangers.
Our delicate computer, communications and audio/video equipment are at the mercy of his driving skills and we all too often have to tell him, through Sasha, to ‘slow down!’ This gets lost in the translation as within minutes we are once again careering through potholed hairpin bends. Bahadir also has an uncanny ability to forget things – only basic things such as which town we asked to stop in!. With all his faults though he has some key redeeming features – his devotion to his religion and his mild manner which conceals a strength alien to many in the West.
Yurts and oil wells line the improbable road to Baysun. A semi desert of stunted shrubs strectches to a hazy horizon. The mode of transport switches from dodgy trucks to lively donkeys, laden with unknown produce bound for market.
In many Islamic countries you wield a camera at your peril. In Tunisia for example, even pointing a camera at a person is considered deeply offensive. I entered the lively market at Karsi full of trepidation. Everywhere the rich fruit colours of high summer beg for Kodachrome. Reds in apples and tomatoes, golden yellow pears, grapes, as black as night. In direct competition for photogenic appeal were the gorgeous Tajic clothes of the Uzbek women. I gestured to my camera with a thumbs up and a smile – smiles were returned. Suddenly I was the most popular guy in town – everybody wanted to be photographed and video’d. It gets better. The fruit sellers started to compete for my attention by paying me in fruit. I left the market laden with bags, totally bemused but thrilled. The generosity of these people had been such a surprising contrast.
In the cities of the former Soviet Union the legacy of too many conquering Tzars and an autonomous state is a frozen fear still reflected in faces. Here in the country people further from the hub of beaurocracy seem to retain an earlier innocence. As we arrive in Baysun unannounced in the early evening, word spreads fast. Soon a whole greeting committee turn out to welcome us to this small town in the mountains famous for its music.
Tomorrow the ‘Bakshy of Baysun’.