Enrique/Soriah/Uger-Kahn in Tuva
Enrique Ugalde, aka Soriah, aka Uger-Khan, is a cultural treasure. Through his exploration of khoomei, or “Tuvan throat singing”, he has encountered the reclusive culture as few Westerners have managed to do. Since 2007, he’s spent several months out of each year in Tuva; living, training, and performing with the very finest practitioners of khoomei. All along, he’s maintained a double life (at least) in Portland. He’s the city’s most popular cab driver, our most decorated karaoke champion, and a renowned artist whose khoomei-infused recordings and ritual performances have taken him to stages all over North America, Europe, and Asia. Now, as he prepares to put that life on hold indefinitely and make Tuva his home, Oregon Music News asked me to sit down with my old friend and ask some questions about this chapter in his life.
At the start of our interview, he teaches an impromptu lesson on Tuva that shows the depth both of his study, and his love, of the place.
One of many ancient Turkic stone markers that are scattered all over Tuva.
“Tuva is an independent republic of the Russian federation, situated north of western Mongolia. For the layman it would seem that it’s pretty much the same culture as Mongolians. They live in yurts, they are nomadic, they move with the seasons from one place to another, they raise goats and cattle. They have developed, over the millennia, a particular type of harmonic singing. They call it khoomei. Basically it is a way for them to give offering, honoring the spirits of their land. Their experiences. It’s a way to talk to nature in her own language. Some of these styles were developed by people meditating at rivers or on the steppes, just taking in the enormity and the beauty of that place. It’s still mostly undeveloped.
Most of the country is just wide open natural space. One visit to Tuva, you can see how khoomei developed. It’s a very profound experience with nature.
“Tuva was incorporated into the Soviet Union in 1944. It has enjoyed almost two decades of autonomous rule, and that is something they hold very dear to them. When the Soviets came in, there was a homogenization of culture, so a lot of priests and throat singers were killed, and a lot of sheep and livestock were taken for the state. They revere Genghis Khan very highly, to the point of a deified status. There are a number of prophesies that Genghis Khan will come again and take the reins in the Mongolian world.
“The religion is one of the most interesting that I’ve ever come across. It’s this beautiful harmonious marriage between Tibetan Buddhism and Shamanism. The word “shaman” actually comes from that area, it’s their word. What we know of Shamanism basically comes from a Tuvan shaman. They have a lot of similarities to Native Americans: the drumbeats, the sacred regalia, the feathers on their hats. It’s pretty startling when you’re in the presence of a shaman and their ceremonies, and you see the similarities to Native American culture, you can’t help but think that this may be the origin of all of that.
The Khoomei Ovaa (Throat singing shrine) overlooking The Yurt resort of Aldyn Bylak.
“What else can I say about Tuva? It’s a very horse-centric culture. They say that if you see a Tuvan walking on the ground, you’re only seeing half of the Tuvan. You see a full Tuvan when you see him on his horse. So a lot of their folk music has to do with horses, with women; and with the nature around, the longing to be at a particular mountain range that brings them a lot of beautiful memories. It’s a very poetic culture. They speak their own language, Tuvan, and many Tuvans also speak Russian. National Geographic actually did a little article about dying languages (July 2012 edition), or languages that are in trouble, and Tuvan was in there. So I’m in the process of learning one of these dying languages.”
If you know Enrique, or if you’ve read my previous article about his work as Soriah, his present manner might surprise you. His speech is accented, hesitant in the manner of a highly fluent foreign speaker. Clearly his mind is elsewhere. Tuva has his full attention. Every time he comes back to the States, all he can talk about is getting back to Tuva again. He has fallen in love with Jamilya Oorzhak, a Tuvan woman of aristocratic descent; who will soon bear his child and take his hand in marriage. He is on the path to an integral union with the traditional culture of Tuva, and he is not looking back.
Enrique has been performing in Portland and the Bay Area since before I moved here 18 years ago, and most of that work has been decidedly non-traditional. Elements from butoh to fire dance to hook suspension have figured into his oeuvre. His Soriah project syncretizes Mexican, Indian, Mesoamerican, Japanese, and European language and music as much as the Central Asian lineage which fascinates him now. He plays in a Cure cover band, dresses up as a pirate for occasional Captain Bootybeard shows, and generally lives the life of a hard-working artist in the city. It’s hard for me to imagine him outside of that context, but here it is. I ask him about that journey – how has his unique and complex life brought him to identify so completely with a single culture?
Soriah
“During a lot of the early years of Soriah, I was drawn to the spiritual aspect of throat singing. Creating these harmonics and these frequencies, and putting it in the context of ritualized ceremony. I was doing it as an expression of my world. My world is much different from the Tuvans’ world – it has more technology involved, and I grew up listening to goth and darkwave and Western kind of music. So all of that informed what I was doing then. I had a chance to study with masters in 2005 in California, and they really got me delving into this craft. It’s not just the music. The music is more of a side-effect, more of a result of this type of life that they lead, and I just found that I really resonate with it. I could also say that what I’ve heard about Buddhist philosophy really resonates with me.
“So their ideas and my ideas happen to coincide. I’m not having to give up any of my spiritual morals in order to be fully real with myself there. Their ritual, their immersion into nature, and their place in the cosmos is also where I reside. And they also express it through this amazing harmonic vocal technique, and that’s the highest form to me. So I feel drawn to it. I still have my own path that informs me in everything I do. For the last couple of years, I’ve been devoted to the craft of khoomei. And with that, it means going to Tuva and spending time and being a part of these rituals and performing a lot of them myself. I’m kind of thinking of it as a way to even further my craft. At some point, I’m going to be performing the Soriah stuff with this craft in a specialized way I’ve learned, something that’s very genuine.
With Kongor-Ool
There’s a lot of throat singers around who maybe spent a weekend with the Gyoto monks, and then they go off and do a lot of stage performance and make big names for themselves as experts, intellectually and spiritually removed from the experience. I’m totally delving into it. It’s nice to be devoted to something that gives me something spiritual back. It’s given back to me in spades. It’s also about just being captive. In a large way, I feel like I’m just riding this wave of inertia that’s kind of sweeping me here, and I’m just existing, and everything seems to be folding around me and creating these new realities. I’m going to be moving to Tuva sometime soon, and completely being immersed in the language and the culture, and not having many other westerners there at all.
“The idea of trailblazing is really exciting to me, and could actually help me through a lot of the tough times, like the cuisine and the cold. I’m sure it’s going to be really intense. Just being there and doing something that not many other people have done, and just having it be a perfect fit for my aesthetic sensibilities and my spiritual sensibilities, all of this. It’s opened a new chapter, one that I didn’t expect, but which I was apparently working toward all this time.”
I think it’s fair to say that Soriah has never found much acceptance in what you might call the performance art establishment. He’s never won any NEA grants, he’s never even been invited to the TBA Festival. He’s held in awe and respect by a whole lot of people, but these people are more representative of the arts underground. I think people are using the term “Dark Arts” presently, to describe a scene of nightclub-brewed music and performance scene that’s related to the Goths and the Steampunks and such; and those folks are mad about Soriah. He goes way back with Burning Man, the Modern Primitive sort of thing, 2 Gyrlz and Pan-Zen, The Autonomous Mutant Festival. He collaborates and socializes with some of the most famous and respected characters in the underground. Past collaborators include cEvin Key of Skinny Puppy, Lustmord, The Dandy Warhols and just this last week laid down vocals for the new Modest Mouse album. Call signs of a West Coast freak scene that’s turned out decades of outstanding Work without crossing over too much with that world of art critics and universities that defines Serious Art. Nor, for that matter, do the World Music or New Age communities give him much attention. I don’t believe he’s sought it out with much zeal, driven to refine his craft rather than pursue money or fame.
In Tuva, his work is quite prominent. In a nation that’s just a little smaller than the state of Washington, with only one city (Kyzyl, population roughly 110,000); a nation that takes 2-6 days to reach by plane from the United States; a foreigner with the passion and drive to pursue a thorough understanding of their tradition is a rare and wondrous thing.
“They were so isolated for decades and, well, for centuries, and even millennia. Tuva is kind of a landlocked island, and it has some pretty formidable mountain ranges that protect it. It’s kind of a Shangri-La valley. The Soviet Union fell in the early 90s, and that’s when westerners started coming. But still, it’s a challenging place to try to get to, even now. The first few times I went there, it took me a total of 6 days in each direction to get there. Not to mention the bureaucratic hell that is the Russian Federation. So when they see somebody who makes that much effort to come and to express themselves in their voice and their tradition; it’s really amazing to them, and they’re really touched by that. They definitely give you love when you’re there. They’re really appreciative of people coming in and listening to them, not telling them how it’s done – that’s usually what (outsiders) do. I’m a reflection of them, and they can really appreciate that. So they’ve lavished a lot of appreciation and love on me in different ways.
“Every five years they have an international competition where they invite people from all over the world to come and compete in Tuvan throat singing. The first time I went to compete, in 2008… this sounds a little weird to say, but i made Tuvan history. I won third place in the overall competition, in which no foreigner has ever placed. I tell that to a lot of people, and people who are familiar with the movie ‘Genghis Blues’ say, but Paul Pena, he won. But he actually won for a division, called the Kargyraa division. As far as the general placement it was Radion Munzuk who won that year. So they really appreciate it. They really, really appreciate it. I see people on the street, and they’re very excited and very thankful.”
As you might expect, however, praise for Enrique’s work in Tuva is not universal.
The Shepard Statue on the South entrance to the Capitol Kyzyl.
“Some people are veeeeery wary. There’s a lot of people who are skeptical. I went on a morning TV show with some friends of mine, Nachyn and Shonchalai Choduu. This was a little TV spot we did to promote a concert we were having at the national theater. We did this beautiful song, Belek, and we took calls. At first, there were a lot of people who were really amazed and appreciative. Then somebody called in and said, and rightfully so, ‘This American guy, is this a sign of things to come? Are the Americans going to come in and take our culture away from us?’
Because they have a real history to back that up, that fear. It’s always been the way. But i assured him that I’m here to listen, I’m not here to change anything. In fact, there’s a lot of changes going on in Tuvan throat singing right now where there’s a lot of… how should i say… unsavory blends of different music, like Russian music or jazz. They’re trying to contemporize, but they’re kind of stabbing at different things.
“This great group, Alash, one of the best throat singing groups ever to exist; they were on tour with Bela Fleck and the Flecktones, and I saw them at the Schnitz. It’s great exposure for them, but the way they were applied to this hokey, wanky music was… I found it offensive. It was a Christmas concert at that, and they used (NAME) who is one of the best throat singers to ever live, and they had him sing “And a partridge in a pear tree,” you know? It was awful, disgusting. It was in really poor taste. So these guys, they think America is so amazing, and if you’re popular in America that means you’re the best. But they don’t… I want to get them to really appreciate what they have in the sense of world music, in the greater context. Not just – you’re good in Tuva, but what you do has value and is amazing, and it’s amazing enough to bring me across the planet to listen and to learn, you know? So there needs to be a shift in values of their own culture. I think they’re trying to make it with these other things, and I think it’s a dead end, and there’s going to be a lot of yucky music made between now and then, unfortunately.”
The question is just hanging there, and I don’t want to be disrespectful, but I need to ask. What about your music? What sets your fusion of Tuvan and Western music apart from all that yucky stuff? How are you paying greater respect to khoomei than Bela Fleck?
Soriah
“When I do Soriah, that definitely is a fusion. But I’m bringing in something I think that is tied by this ancient thread. Soriah is much more just as much of a ritual performance as it is a concert. So it has this very reverent offering feel. It’s not like I’m being a rock star. Even though there’s a lot of costumes, a lot of drama, there’s a lot of theatrical aspect about it; it feels by this energy that’s the same as the Tuvan stuff. A lot of the people really, really love Soriah, the stuff that I do. They revere me as a shaman over there. People see a performance and ask me for… shaman advice. Their idea of what a shaman is, is a very specific thing. Like I can tell the future, I can give them a reading; and that’s not my thing at all. I want to tell them about the present. I find that much more helpful, and much more useful.”
“There is a Tuvan guy called Albert Kuvezin of the band Yat-Kha, and his early days are kind of more punky I guess. He has his own sort of fusion with western music, like a rock band. He uses bass, guitar, drums; but he also incorporates somebody playing igil (a traditional Tuvan bowed instrument) and throat singing, and he plays like these Asiatic rock riffs that are really awesome, and he has this crazy low low throat singing tone. I think his fusion works very well. He saw a performance I did at the Ustuu- Khuree Festival.
“He said, ‘You’re very deep, I admire you because you go inside. You’re not flashing stuff outside, this outward thing, you kind of draw people inward into their own thing.’ I really took that as a high compliment. He’s a guy I really respect. And the Tuvan people especially love it when I’m using their techniques in a way that feels good to them.”
Beaver Spring on the outskirts of Kyzyl.
I find this news to be so encouraging. Turn the clock back far enough; before Enrique had visited Tuva, when his formal knowledge of the khoomei form was gleaned from occasional workshops and personal study; and he and I were in a similar boat. I made music with scrap metal and home-made instruments, music that was reminiscent of my influences in Indonesian and Chinese music without being in any way authentic. I played in his band quite a bit, and both our projects were part of a nascent movement known variously as “post-asiatic”, “post-world”, “industribal” and a handful of other names. Even then, Enrique had far more legitimate training than I; but he expressed to me in our first interview that he was holding back his own work from the people in Tuva. He thought they might be scornful, dismissive, or even offended by his Work. As it turns out, the masters of khoomei, and the people whose culture has for untold generations been defined by that practice, are in fact welcoming his innovation along with his devotion to their ancient ways. His courage in sharing his hidden self has paid off.
“It was bound to happen. Soriah, that’s who I am, you know? I feel that the people who really enjoyed it are the people I look up to as well. Even if it’s just a lady in the audience swaying her head to my music, or just normal simple old people, I have a lot of respect for them. They’re not complicated and going through life trying to get ahead. I revere that type of simplicity.
“The Soriah thing, in Tuva, a lot of the organizers and the higher-ups seem very afraid of it. What they’re trying to do is bring western music there, and they see me as a westerner bringing their own stuff in a different way, kind of packaged differently with a lot of intent, and that kind of turns off the people who study western music. They have like a western concert band. Just for example, there’s a festival called the Ustuu-Khuree, and they bring Sun-Ra’s Arkestra. Once in a while, they come to this festival, they’re flown out and taken care of and whatnot. And they really blew the minds of the Tuvans, so now these concert bands are trying to emulate them with like synchronized movements and wacky wacky things.
“So that’s the kind of thing that they’re told is the big thing – Sun-Ra. It’s funny what is filtered through into Russia from America. Like, they wouldn’t recognize 90% of what’s going on here. They would have no idea. But Chuck Norris is huge there. Rob Schneider is massive there, you know what I mean? It’s funny what gets filtered in. So they only have the people organizing these things to tell them who is popular. It would be interesting to actually bring somebody who was popular here to play over there, see what they think of that.”
Horse herders and his German counterpart, Floreano.
That I’m surprised by all of that betrays my Ugly American status. I suppose I had imagined all the people of Tuva sitting around the fire throat singing all day with their horses and their big furry hats; but of course, this is 2013, and the only untouched indigenous cultures are those vanishing few who live on remote islands and fire arrows at any boat that comes close. I think it goes without saying that, as soon as some industrialist figures out there’s something worth stealing, those stone age hunter gatherer tribes will be pressed into slavery at gunpoint just like everybody else. At any rate, I ask Enrique about this. Is traditional music central to the culture in Tuva, or do most of the people there just want to farm their land and be left alone?
“That’s true, yes. I think a lot of that is just bouncing back from hardcore Soviet occupation. The Soviets really did away with a lot of Tuvan culture. And when the Soviets fell, a few of these groups started touring the world and put this spell on everybody. That’s really the hallmark of the Tuvan culture is the throat singing, from the outside, so a lot of people think they all do this. But it’s not true. They’re all really more into horses, at least outside of the city, and maybe even in villages they still hold on to this old way of life. I guess more and more people are moving to the city, Kyzyl, the only city.
There are a number of villages, and maybe even towns, but just one city there. Many people are moving there, but a lot of Tuvans, it’s in their blood. If you get them out of the city, they are able to do everything. They’re able to survive. So it’s interesting – you hang out with someone in the city, and then you decide “Hey, let’s go to the lake,” and then you realize everyone’s an expert at making fire, everyone’s training horses, and riding horses especially. It’s like this DNA memory. One of the things I would like to do when I stay there for a while is go out to villages and talk about my experiences, maybe with some kids. I am involved in a music school for kids in Kyzyl, and that’s always been one of my dreams. To get to a point where I can go around and teach kids, in these rural parts all over Tuva. It would be great if every Tuvan – like, every kid here knows “The Itsy-BitsySpider” – it would be great if they had a little khoomei in their lives. It’s not as pervasive as people like me would like.
The town if Ak- Dovurak in Western Tuva. Notice the Soviet style buildings contrasting to the Tuvan background.
“It’s a culture on the edge… I wouldn’t say it’s on the edge of extinction, that would be misleading a little bit, but it’s certainly waning. The more the infrastructure gets built in Tuva – trains coming, roads and whatnot – there’s going to be a whole lot of Russian tourism coming, and there’s a lot of destruction that happens with that. But say, (Russian Premiere Vladimir) Putin, it’s a regular stop for him on his bad-ass adventures. He’s a media outdoorsman. He definitely has his crew behind him, like “Look what he’s done! Wrestling a bear! Flying on a goose!”
Enrique himself, he’s a bit of an outdoorsman. He goes camping, he hits the festival scene, and he’s never been one to shy away from hardship. Again, it strikes me that I’m following him through a period of transformation – from the sophisticated urban scenester, to the ascetic rural mystic. He tells me a story that perfectly illustrates the combination of new discovery, honored status, and unintentional comedy that will doubtless characterize the next few years of his life:
“At the little western town of Ak-Dovurak, which translates to ‘White Sands’, I was at a gathering of a friend of mine’s family (in fact, this friend is the woman to whom he has since become betrothed, Jamilya – ed.), and it was her cousin’s youngest son’s third birthday. Now, in Tuva, when you make it to your third birthday, it’s time for celebration, because it means you’re pretty much going to make it. You’re out of the woods. And there were a lot of people there at the celebration. Some are like municipal – this family is pretty well-known in the rest of Tuva. Anyway, so, the birthday party, and this haircutting ceremony. They don’t cut the hair on the boys until they’re three years old. I can kind of see that – kind of a power accumulation thing. And the kid is there at the front door, greeting people. Not greeting like, “Hello, hello, hello”; just kind of like eyeing them as they walk by in this intense stoic stare. His name is Genghis Khan. And his two older brothers are named Subudai and Sanbudai, which were the two names of Genghis’ two main generals. So the parents had the foresight to have three boys, and the first two would be the generals who would help the third through life, so, very powerful kid. He had been treated as a king, and he wears it well. So special guests come up, thy give an offering to him, and they clip a little bit of his hair. So I came up and I sang him a Mexican happy birthday song.”
His friend and teacher, Igor Koshkendey.
I feel the need to interject here. This is what Enrique always does at his friends’ birthday parties – he picks up a guitar and sings Las Mananitas. He’s sung it to me a few times too, and I’ve seen him sing it to many other people. It’s one of many signature moves that he always pulls out at just the right moment. I get all misty when he sings that song to me. I hope young Genghis at least felt a little pull at the hard strings of his Mongol heart. Anyway…
“I shared my tradition with their tradition, and I shared with them the piece I did for the symposium too. So I do that, and I don’t know if it was just they were so appreciative that a westerner would come in to do this, or if it was because by that time they were really drunk, but a municipal person got up on the mic and said, ‘I declare that Enrique Ugalde is the best throat singer in Ak-Dovurak, and we will make him a diploma saying such!’ Then this other woman gets up, who is part of this family as well, and says, ‘And we appreciate him being here so much that we will give him a horse!’
“And the funny thing about this is that I have no idea what these people are saying. This happens to me quite often, that the most amazing moments of my life are basically told to me in a language that I don’t understand. So I’m just smiling, bowing you know, saying ‘Chettirdim Ulugh Bile’ – ‘Thank you very much!’
“And my friend Jamilya, she says, ‘Oh wow, you won a horse!’
His mare “Belek Kara” (Black Gift)
So, a few days later, I went out and picked her. I named here Belek Kara, which means ‘The Black Gift.’ I wanted to call her Belek because it’s ‘gift’; but also because with this family, these two people (with whom) I sing this song ‘Belek,’ i have a strong association with their family and this song, so
I called it the same thing. But apparently you also name a horse the color, so ‘The Black Gift.’ It’s almost like Anne Rice – “The Dark Gift” – to realize later.
“This horse is amazing, amazing. So I went out and I chose her, and I got to ride her around a bit. She was a very responsive, very good horse. About five years old. So that’s how I won the horse. She lives in this beautiful, beautiful valley. Her corral is in this beautiful river kind of canyon, then it opens up and it goes up to the top and is like a grassy mountainy little bit of forest spotting here and there and there’s a spring, always plenty to drink, and she runs wild. I mean, she runs with a herd, but it’s not like it’s an enclosed space. They just go. It’s amazing. They actually just come in at night to the corral, so they’re not stolen. There’s a lot of horse rustling. An uncle of Jamilya’s lost like five horses. These horses actually have significant monetary value. I mean, a horse could sell for several thousand dollars there… rubles. So if I wanted, I could sell it. I could even eat it if I want to – it’s my horse. I’m not going to eat it. No way. No way.
“But I do plan to go back there, ride her into the closest town where i can put her on a flatbed truck, then drive her to a place that’s closer to the city where I live, so i don’t have to talk somebody into driving for six hours just so I can visit my horse.”
So that’s it. Into this land of shamans and horse rustlers, of deadly winters and pristine mountainscapes, my dear old friend will vanish; with his noble bride and his newborn son, his ebon horse and his earth-shaking voice; there to discover the next chapter of his own story, into which he will be blown by the winds of fate or chance. The great Enrique Ugalde, nee Soriah, lately christened by his teachers “Uger Khan” – Milky Way King. Among the finest human beings of whom I know, traveling further still into the unmarked terrain of his destiny. I wish him well.
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