The song posted here is the song contained in the story below.
I always remember my Music History prof in college saying "Music is universal, though it is not a universal language." It's true. Indonesian gamalan does not move me the way Berlioz's Symphonie Phantastique does. One thing I have found about living far out in the northwest is that, though I don't understand the deep meaning/value of music I DO enjoy music of the various ethnicities represented in the province where I live. What's more, learning a bit of local music often creates a connection point that might be lacking otherwise. I discovered this truth while traveling last summer.
A friend invited me to travel his hometown, Yili, with him. He was attending several weddings and thought I would enjoy a personal look at Kazakh culture. He was right. I did enjoy it. I became well acquainted with milk tea, horse meat, and fermented horse milk as I enjoyed the warm and lavish hospitality of my hosts. One day we had driven out into a rural area for a short visit to my friend's aunt. She was a rather portly lady with long, braided hair. She was dressed simply with a knee length skirt and a loose head scarf. Her hands were rough and callused. Their home was simple yet welcoming. We sat on the ground around a low table spread with various fried breads, nuts, and dried yogurt and sipped bowl after bowl of kommis (fermented horse milk) as it was in season at that time. Thick, intricately embroidered, brightly colored mats were provided to sit on and heavy pillows provided extra comfort against the hard wall. After the appropriate hospitality had been shown, the spread of snacks was gathered up and we prepared to leave. Not speaking local language you find yourself often in the dark as to what's happening next. It finally became apparent that we were heading back to the village we'd come from for the second day of wedding festivities there. My friend's aunt and cousin joined us. Five of us packed tightly into the little Chinese brand compact. Somehow I found myself crammed in the back seat with my friend and his cousin while my friend's brother and the aunt occupied the front.
Just before the said trip I had been given a Ukelele by another ex-pat heading back to the states. Since it was small, my friend had encouraged me to bring it along. It had proved useful over the week of travel as I asked to sing American songs at various points. Handing me the Ukelele my friend asked if, yet again, I'd sing. Barely able to get my arms around the thing in the cramped back seat I sang a few English songs. My fellow passengers had listened politely and given half-hearted claps after each song. Suddenly I remembered I'd picked out the basic chords of a popular Kazakh folk song I enjoyed listening to. Somewhat shyly, at first, I started playing. Would they think it weird some white guy was trying to play a local folk song? Not knowing the words, I simply hummed the tune. No sooner had I gotten through the first bar than did the whole car erupt in song! EVERYONE was singing this familiar song at the top of their lungs. I wonder if I might equate this song to 'Home on the Range' or 'Yankee Doodle'. I had begun timidly in my humming of the tune at first. Then seeing my friend's aunt I was compelled to add a bit more gusto to my singing. Here sat this portly woman that dominated the front seat singing, windows down, at the top of her lungs with an ear-to-ear smile as she was enraptured in the moment of that song. She even swayed with eyes closed as she belted out the words of that song. For all I know, this was her favorite song of all time, or at least it appeared so. Reaching the end the chorus, she swayed and swung her clenched fist in a fashion I likened to a busty German beer maid in Liederhosen at Oktoberfest. Caught up in the moment I sang even louder at the top of my lungs, 'la la laaaaaa la la laaaa la aaaaaaa la la laaalalalalaaaaa!", pausing only to turn my head toward the window and laugh, wishing there was someone from home to share this incredible moment with. Reluctantly I finished the song and the whole group clapped and laughed. Awkward silence ensued and I wondered what to do next. "Let's sing it again!", someone said. So. We sang it again. With just as much gusto.
I don't speak Kazakh. I can't even sing most of the words that song (yet). But I'd taken one step in the right direction and spoken a language they could understand. What resulted is by far one of my favorite moments of living in China so far. A recorded version of the song is above. Enjoy.
I always remember my Music History prof in college saying "Music is universal, though it is not a universal language." It's true. Indonesian gamalan does not move me the way Berlioz's Symphonie Phantastique does. One thing I have found about living far out in the northwest is that, though I don't understand the deep meaning/value of music I DO enjoy music of the various ethnicities represented in the province where I live. What's more, learning a bit of local music often creates a connection point that might be lacking otherwise. I discovered this truth while traveling last summer.
A friend invited me to travel his hometown, Yili, with him. He was attending several weddings and thought I would enjoy a personal look at Kazakh culture. He was right. I did enjoy it. I became well acquainted with milk tea, horse meat, and fermented horse milk as I enjoyed the warm and lavish hospitality of my hosts. One day we had driven out into a rural area for a short visit to my friend's aunt. She was a rather portly lady with long, braided hair. She was dressed simply with a knee length skirt and a loose head scarf. Her hands were rough and callused. Their home was simple yet welcoming. We sat on the ground around a low table spread with various fried breads, nuts, and dried yogurt and sipped bowl after bowl of kommis (fermented horse milk) as it was in season at that time. Thick, intricately embroidered, brightly colored mats were provided to sit on and heavy pillows provided extra comfort against the hard wall. After the appropriate hospitality had been shown, the spread of snacks was gathered up and we prepared to leave. Not speaking local language you find yourself often in the dark as to what's happening next. It finally became apparent that we were heading back to the village we'd come from for the second day of wedding festivities there. My friend's aunt and cousin joined us. Five of us packed tightly into the little Chinese brand compact. Somehow I found myself crammed in the back seat with my friend and his cousin while my friend's brother and the aunt occupied the front.
Just before the said trip I had been given a Ukelele by another ex-pat heading back to the states. Since it was small, my friend had encouraged me to bring it along. It had proved useful over the week of travel as I asked to sing American songs at various points. Handing me the Ukelele my friend asked if, yet again, I'd sing. Barely able to get my arms around the thing in the cramped back seat I sang a few English songs. My fellow passengers had listened politely and given half-hearted claps after each song. Suddenly I remembered I'd picked out the basic chords of a popular Kazakh folk song I enjoyed listening to. Somewhat shyly, at first, I started playing. Would they think it weird some white guy was trying to play a local folk song? Not knowing the words, I simply hummed the tune. No sooner had I gotten through the first bar than did the whole car erupt in song! EVERYONE was singing this familiar song at the top of their lungs. I wonder if I might equate this song to 'Home on the Range' or 'Yankee Doodle'. I had begun timidly in my humming of the tune at first. Then seeing my friend's aunt I was compelled to add a bit more gusto to my singing. Here sat this portly woman that dominated the front seat singing, windows down, at the top of her lungs with an ear-to-ear smile as she was enraptured in the moment of that song. She even swayed with eyes closed as she belted out the words of that song. For all I know, this was her favorite song of all time, or at least it appeared so. Reaching the end the chorus, she swayed and swung her clenched fist in a fashion I likened to a busty German beer maid in Liederhosen at Oktoberfest. Caught up in the moment I sang even louder at the top of my lungs, 'la la laaaaaa la la laaaa la aaaaaaa la la laaalalalalaaaaa!", pausing only to turn my head toward the window and laugh, wishing there was someone from home to share this incredible moment with. Reluctantly I finished the song and the whole group clapped and laughed. Awkward silence ensued and I wondered what to do next. "Let's sing it again!", someone said. So. We sang it again. With just as much gusto.
I don't speak Kazakh. I can't even sing most of the words that song (yet). But I'd taken one step in the right direction and spoken a language they could understand. What resulted is by far one of my favorite moments of living in China so far. A recorded version of the song is above. Enjoy.