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Mongolia Sings its Own Song
Peter Marsh
The author is a senior expert on Mongolia and its culture
with a special focus on music. He currently holds the position
of resident director of the American
Center of Mongolian Studies
MTV is available on cable television, bootleg CDs
blare from kiosks and the latest news on the Spice Girls is
available in one of dozens of entertainment newspapers. Despite
the flood of foreign music it is local musicians who the youth
turn to to voice their new-found freedoms, dreams and angst.
Pop music researcher Peter Marsh swings to the new beat of
the steppe…
 It
is something that would have horrified the old socialist leaders.
Pop singer T. Ariunaa – Mongolia’s answer to Madonna - is
doing what she does best: pushing the barriers of what a performer
can and can’t do. Notorious in the local press as "Mongolia's
Queen of the Erotic," she struts onto the stage of the
Non-Stop - one of the newest and trendiest disco clubs in
the Mongolian capital, Ulaanbaatar - wearing a black silk
robe over black lingerie bikini underwear. Jumping into her
hit song, "Telephone Number", she sings the lines,
When you begin to take off your shirt, I am happy you're
staying;
When your hot breath is near me, the lights go out,
Cheekily writhing her torso, seductively opening and closing
her robe, she teases her audience. And her audience, mostly
Mongolian youth from the late teens to early thirties, take
it all in with good humour, smiling and giggling. Whether
they like her music or not, they appreciate what she's doing
and are having fun. The message of free expression is reflective
of the enormous changes in attitudes over this decade.
"I like Ariunaa very much," says 30-year-old Sukhbaatar,
a graphic designer. Wearing a dress shirt, slacks and noticebly
shiny shoes, he's sitting with his two friends, glasses of
beer in hand, watching the show. "She has a powerful
voice," he says gesticulating towards the stage. "She
has a peculiar style, and this kind of style should be developed
in Mongolia.
"But we don't admire her as a singer," he says
with a wry laugh.
Not long ago, when this landlocked Northeast Asian nation
was still subject to Soviet-backed socialist rule, pop-rock
musicians like Ariunaa would never have been allowed to bring
such explicit expressions of 'the erotic' anywhere near the
public stage. Ariunaa's boldness and charisma, which have
made her one of Mongolia's most well-known and controversial
young pop stars, show something of the new openness and growing
diversity that characterizes the emerging popular music industry
in capitalist Mongolia. There are girl bands like Spike, boy
bands like Nomiin Talst and Camerton and pop divas like Saraa.
A typical concert in Ulaanbaatar, like this one at the Non-Stop
- a converted public gymnasium which opened earlier this year
- consists of a succession of live Mongolian bands interspersed
with breaks for dancing to Western pop, disco and techno music.
The styles of music in these concerts fall into what the Mongolians
call pop-rock, which ranges from rock 'n' roll, soft rock,
and heavy metal rock to techno, hip-hop and rap. Mongolian
music fans today now have a wide choice of styles to choose
from.
Someone who would know about this well is the 'elder statesman'
of rock, D. Jargalsaikhan. Wearing leather cowboy boots, sequined
leather pants and a leather jacket, and with his black hair
streaming down over his shoulders, Jargalsaikhan sees the
new diversity of groups as a positive sign of the times, as
he said in a recent newspaper interview.
"In the stores today there are maybe 10 different varieties
of sausage: salted, unsalted, spiced and so on. You can then
look at them all and then choose the one you want, like spiced
sausage. It's the same thing with the music business in Mongolia
today. In the era of the market economy many different bands
and singers have come out, and the listeners can choose the
recordings of those bands and music styles that they like.
... The most important thing is that the other bands or styles
of singers should not be ignored. All of them have a wish
to do something. Usually, those who criticize different styles
or forms of music are people with too much time on their hands."
Although turning 40 this year, Jargalsaikhan is not a man
with too much time on his hands. As head of the Mongolian
Singer’s Association, his many responsibilities keep him on
the run. In between numerous breaks to answer calls on his
cell phone, Jargalsaikhan tells me about being a rocker in
the 1970s and '80s, which he terms the "Golden Era"
of rock in Mongolia, and the difficulties they faced. "Because
Mongolia was ruled by one party, the Revolutionary [Socialist]
Party [from 1921 to 1990], there was little foreign influence
allowed into the country. Rock and pop were not to be found
on the [state-controlled] radio or TV, and aside from records
and cassettes brought into the country by individuals coming
from Europe and Russia, people here had very little experience
with the music. ... It was easier for the early rock-pop musicians
to take examples from folk music, which was close to them,
which they had been listening to since their childhood."
Much of the early music included settings of popular folk
songs and melodies in the rock genre. And the youth, eager
for alternatives to the state-sponsored cultural offerings,
found the music to their liking.
The popularity of this early rock-pop, or so-called folk-pop
groups soon drew the attention of the socialist party, which
saw opportunities to use the music for the purpose of advancing
its mission in Mongolia. In exchange for the state government's
granting of musical instruments, rehearsal and performance
spaces, and concert and touring opportunities, the early bands
were closely watched, their actions restricted by suspicious
government officials. "Everything was planned by the
government, and we had to do what it had planned," says
Jargalsaikhan. "For example, when we were abroad, we
couldn't go to the discos nor arrive at the hotel late. We
couldn't go where we wanted. There were conflicts between
the singers and musicians and the government representatives
[sent to oversee the tour]. If I spoke to foreigners, I would
be considered a spy. Who I spoke with was also controlled.
At that time, the social condition in Mongolia was like that
of North Korea today."
Considered by the government to be a "capitalist art,"
the direct imitation of Western rock was not allowed. Mongolian
bands instead had to create a unique Mongolian style of the
music that drew from traditional folk or classical musical
and literary traditions. Band members were often compelled
to compose songs to lyrics written by members of the powerful
Mongolian Union of Writers. "It was difficult for musicians
to play their own compositions, and they were often forbidden
to do so," recalls Jargalsaikhan. "For the concert
programmes, our songs had to include the topics of Mongolia
and the Soviet Union, as well as the Mongolian love for Nature
or for Father and Mother. ... The topic of love between a
man and woman was considered to be too personal for the public
stage, and was almost forbidden."
But rock and pop musicians gained more and more freedoms
of expression as political and social reforms were introduced
in Mongolia throughout the 1980s. "The rock-pop musicians
of the 1970s became more skilled and their abilities improved,"
says Jargalsaikahn. "They began to compose at the level
of professional composers. Also, the older generations wanted
to give more artistic freedoms to the youth at the same time
as the Party controls were being lifted." And the youth,
in turn, were more intent on creating traditions of music
of their own generation. "The young rock-pop musicians
wanted to hand-down their own music to the next generation-their
own pop-rock art.
Jargalsaikhan gained fame throughout Mongolia for his 1988
song "Chinggis Khan," when he was lead singer of
the band by the same name. Making use of traditional folk
music instruments alongside of the group's electric guitars,
synthesizers and drums, the song praises the 13th century
Mongolian leader as a great, if historically misunderstood,
man who always had in mind the good of the Mongolian nation--and
this at a time when expressing such sentiments could have
landed him in prison. "I had to show my civil courage
to sing this song. But many of my friends and fellow composers
encouraged me to write and perform it."
His was the voice of a new generation, one seeking more freedoms
to express Mongolian identity in new ways. The efforts of
many musicians of his generation contributed to the popular
political movements and protests that eventually led, in 1990,
to the downfall of the socialist government and the introduction
of democratic and market economic reforms throughout the nation.
In the new social and cultural climate of the late-1980s
and early '90s, musicians saw it as their responsibility to
introduce Western rock music and popular culture to Mongolia.
Besides Jargalsaikhan's Chinggis Khan ("soft rock"),
other groups came onto the popular music scene, including
bands like Haranga ("heavy-metal/grunge") and Hurd
("metal rock").
The leader and percussionist of the group Hurd ("Speed"),
D. Ganbayar, saw it as a national service to his people to
introduce his group's unique form of Western-style rock. "The
Mongolian people, and especially the youth, don't want [their
bands] to imitate Western rock art. They want a pop-rock with
its own specific character, music that's different from other
types of Western rock-pop, music with its own national character."
Wearing a leather jacket and black hair down to his chest,
Ganbayar, moves to the edge of his chair. "No one but
us will introduce this kind of music to the Mongolian people.
We serve our people. It's our duty to introduce Western music
to the Mongolian people through the Mongolian language and
Mongolian melodies. We want to show that Mongolian rock-pop
has its own unique character."
Nearing a decade of life, Hurd continues to experiment with
new sounds and performance styles. They recently softened
their driving, heavy metal style in two "Unplugged"
concerts given at another new disco club in Ulaanbaatar, Top
Ten, a cavernous warehouse located in a former cultural centre.
This was the first time any rock group had tried such a concert
idea in Mongolia. Even on acoustic guitars, however, the group,
consisting of a bass, two guitars, drums, percussion and keyboards,
managed to fill the club with their sound and fury. Their
fans packed the house, and the lead singer, Tumurtsog, needed
little effort to get them to sing along with him on many songs.
Hurd and Haranga are still very popular groups in Mongolia,
but in the past years few new heavy metal or hard rock groups
have come onto the pop-rock scene here. Instead, a new generation
of popular singers and music groups have been working their
way up and into the limelight of the concert stages. These
are youths that mostly eschew the long hair and leather jackets
of the older groups in favor of short, styled hair and suits
and ties. The music would be recognized in the West as techno,
hip-hop, and pop along the lines of the Backstreet Boys, Celene
Dion and the Spice Girls, and is almost always electronically
produced in recording studios and then backgrounded to the
singers and dancers themselves on stage with the use of a
tape player.
Mostly in their late teens and early 20s, these performers
appeal to Mongolian audiences with their singing, dancing
and stage presence. One of the most popular of the current
crop of bands is Har Sarnai ("Black Rose"), a "hip-hop
techno" male duo, famous for their dancing, nationalistic
song lyrics and sometimes outrageous clothes and hair styles.
In their concerts they often come out on stage wearing specially
designed silken dels (traditional Mongolian robes worn by
both men and women), with sunglasses and big bushy black and
gray colored wigs on their heads. As the heavy techno beat
of one of their most famous songs, "Alarm," begins,
they launch into their synchronized dance routines and lyrics,
which exhort Mongolians to wake up from their dreaming and
set to work producing a new society. Their audiences watch
from their tables-as Mongolians hardly ever dance while the
bands are performing-clearly enjoying the show.
"Har Sarnai is my favorite band," says 19-year-old
Buyanbaatar, a student at the Mongolian State University.
"I like how different they are. Their clothes, their
behavior on stage is different. And the songs that they sing,
their dances and their clothes and style are all well suited
together."
Even older youth, like Sukhbaatar, age 30, mirror these sentiments.
"I like Har Sarnai because I like their style and their
dancing very much. I also like their unique styles of hair."
His friend Tsooj, age 31, adds, "In America you have
rap bands, like New Kids [on the Block], and they dance really
well. We like dancing very much. We are not too old for this!"
To both of them, the infectiousness of the new music pop
scene transcends traditional age definitions. "I started
to listen to music from the Beatles and other foreign bands.
But now it's become very nice in Mongolia. It's just impossible
not to be a fan because we are young people. We don't think
we are old. We are young enough, and we are here to support
our favorite bands, and we will scream and whistle with everyone
else!"
How audience members of different age groups can mix together
at concerts and share such similar tastes in musical genres
is perhaps unique to Mongolia. "One of the reasons why
even the older generations like the new bands of the younger
generations," says Norov-Aragcha, a professional artist,
aged 38, "is that in their youth, when they were 18 or
20, such bands didn't exist here. We like new things like
the younger people, and this music is new to Mongolia."
But while he appreciates the new opportunities that the new
bands have to perform their music in Mongolia, Norov-Aragcha
adds that something is certainly missing from their music.
"I like Ariunaa, and appreciate what she does. But all
these bands and singers [of the young generation], although
they have their own styles, they are generally on one level.
None of them stands out from the rest. Maybe because of my
profession, I prefer something new, something very different
from the others. Haranga and Jargalsaikhan, they are our generation.
They have feelings, they are making efforts with their music,
and they are honest to their music. In their time [late-1980s
and early 1990s] it was very difficult, but they did it. They
have real talent, real feeling in their music."
"Now I'm looking at all these new bands and singers,
but still the one that I want hasn't appeared. ... That is,
something which suits today's conditions and atmosphere. ...
Something very powerful, very hard. Something like a Kurt
Cobain."
While not new to Mongolia, pop-rock's growing diversity certainly
is. The general feeling these days seems to be one of celebration
of its freedoms and appreciation of its diversity, without
the isolation of audiences into genres that is typical in
the West. Given the difficulties Mongolia’s youth now face
as they struggle to adapt to a society undergoing enormous
change, a Mongolian "Kurt Cobain" may be just around
the corner.
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