Monday, September 3, 2012

20 Years of US-Uzbek Relations

The countdown continues: only one more Marine house happy hour, 9 more work days for Douglas, one more book club meeting for me and two more hikes. Here's another old post that I never published. I hope you enjoy it.

Ambassador Krol hosted a reception at his home on Monday the 20th of February in honor of 20 years of relations between the United States and Uzbekistan.

Briefly, Uzbekistan was part of the former Soviet Republic which broke up in 1991 (when Doug was in Moscow!). We recognized it as an independent country and are working to keep good relations with it.

Ambassador Krol came to Douglas and I a few weeks earlier and asked us if we would perform some of the Uzbek folk music we've been learning at this reception. Doug, sadly, had to decline as he would be in India on a yoga retreat. Ambassador Krol still wanted me to sing. I started working intensely with my teacher, Mahmurjon, to perfect a few songs I've learned. My goal was to memorize them, but, as they are in Uzbek and learning Russian is hard enough, that didn't happen. I did, however, learn them well enough to not have to stare at the music and lyrics.

We were asked to perform four songs - two with vocals and two strictly instrumental. There were to be four instrumentalists at the performance. My teacher plays a violin held like in his lap like a cello called a gidjak (sounds like "geed-jock"). A gentleman from the Embassy, Fatakh, plays the dutar - a two-stringed long-necked instrument. Ilyoz, a long-time friend of my teacher who often attends our lessons, also plays the dutar. And a gentleman named Bakhodir plays the Uzbek folk drum that Doug is learning, the doira.

Other than practicing in lesson, we arranged for one full rehearsal the afternoon of the day of the performance. Fate stepped in and I came down with my first bout of what the Americans call, not affectionately, Tashkent Tummy. I was stricken Saturday morning and was up all Saturday night. I've never been so glad that Doug was out of town. I got lucky Sunday and our Medical Officer was at the Embassy and told me to come see him. He put me on antibiotics and I think they sped my recovery. But I still didn't know if I could perform. My voice was fine. It was my body I was worried about. It would all come down to timing . . . if you know what I mean.

We rehearsed at our house Sunday afternoon and all went well except that I sweat profusely.  The men were in suit coats and not at all hot. Not a good sign. We agreed on song order and even chose two alternates in case we brought the house down; we would be ready with encores.

When I arrived at the Ambassador's residence I felt fine. There were some amazing people in attendance. I was introduced to the widow of the first Uzbek Ambassador. She was a true lady. She was nicely dressed, pretty, intelligent and charming. She studied Indian Literature and got her PhD while living in India.



This picture was taken at our house, not at the party at the Ambassador's house. These are the same men who played with me that evening, however. I'll try to get a picture from that party. There are security issues . . . Our teacher, Mahmurjon, is seated at the far right.


The performance went well. We played our encores, not because people were screaming for them (most were obliviously chatting), but because we wanted to. This was one of those opportunities where I felt priviledged to be in the company performing with such talented musicians.





I got very good compliments from a few people. There is a man who works in the Ambassador's house whom I've met before. He heard the music begin and thought, 'Oh, they've hired an Uzbek singer.' Then he realized it was me. Apparently my voice lends well to this style of singing. In attendance that evening was Minister Kamilov who, in rank, is equal to Hillary Clinton's position in the States. He approached me with our Ambassador to tell me that he not only enjoyed the singing, but that my diction was excellent. That made me feel good. My biggest fear of singing in Uzbek is mispronouncing something so that it comes out rude.

A few weekends later, Douglas and I had lunch with our music teacher, Mahmurjon, and some other Uzbek musicians. Ilyoz was there as was Bakhodir who brought his doira. Douglas got to jam with Bakhodir and held his own well. Bakhodir gave Doug a base rhythm to keep while he played various rhythms and sounds. Two young women were there one of who sings with a local opera company and the other in a local choir. They sang in trio with a young man whom we've met before. They sang in English, "Love Me Tender" in barbershop quartet style harmonies and "The Way You Look Tonight" in jazzier harmonies. Doug and I sang the Scottish songs we sang at the Robert Burns' night and I sang one of my newer Uzbek folksongs plus an old favorite. It was fun sharing music in an almost "Battle of the Bands" style afternoon. A very loud thunderstorm moved through as we ate and sang, but it was cozy in the restaurant with our new friends.