Latest / The Story of Uzbekistan: Silk Road Kingdoms and Soviet Legacy — Fexingo History / The Shashmaqom: Uzbekistan's Classical Music Under Soviet Rule
Transcript
- Lucas: So, we've talked a lot about the Silk Road, the empires, the architecture. But there's a whole other layer to Uzbekistan's heritage that we haven't touched yet — its classical music tradition, Shashmaqom. It literally means 'six maqoms' — a set of six musical modes, each with a specific emotional character. Luna: I've heard of maqam in Arabic music, but Shashmaqom is something else? Lucas: Exactly. Shashmaqom is the Central Asian branch of the broader maqam family, which stretches from Morocco to Xinjiang. But in Bukhara and Samarkand, it developed its own distinctive sound — deeply influenced by Persian classical music, but also by Turkic folk traditions, and even Jewish musicians from the Bukharan community. Lucas: The tradition was passed down orally, master to student, for centuries. The instruments are key — the tanbur, a long-necked lute, the doira, a frame drum, and the dutar, a two-stringed lute. And the vocal part is central: the singer is called a 'maqomchi', and they have to memorize hundreds of intricate melodic cycles. Luna: So it's like a whole encyclopedia of sound, passed down by memory. Lucas: Exactly. And each maqom is associated with a specific time of day, or a mood. For example, the first maqom, Buzruk, is said to evoke grandeur and is played at dawn. The second, Rost, is associated with the midday sun. It's incredibly structured — but also allows for improvisation within the framework. Lucas: The great centers were Bukhara, Samarkand, and later Khiva and Kokand. In the 19th century, the most famous master was Usto Olim Komilov — he was a court musician for the last Emir of Bukhara, Alim Khan. He composed and performed Shashmaqom, and his recordings from the 1920s are some of the earliest we have. Luna: Wait — recordings from the 1920s? That early? Lucas: Yes, there were wax cylinder recordings made by Russian and Soviet ethnographers. They're invaluable because they capture the pre-Soviet style, before official standardization. But then came the Soviet period, and Shashmaqom faced a real crisis. Lucas: Soviet cultural policy wanted to 'modernize' traditional music — make it fit into European classical forms, with notation and orchestras. In the 1930s, the state created the 'Uzbek State Philharmonic' and forced maqomchis to notate their music using staff notation. Some resisted, but many adapted. Lucas: The big figure in this transition was Yunus Rajabiy — a composer and scholar who transcribed the entire Shashmaqom cycle into notation in the 1950s and 60s. He's a controversial figure: some say he saved the tradition, others say he fossilized it by fixing what was meant to be fluid. Luna: That's a tough legacy — preservation versus petrification. Lucas: Exactly. Rajabiy also incorporated Soviet-era themes into his compositions — songs about collective farms and Lenin. But he was also a genuine master. His notation books are still the standard reference today, for better or worse. Lucas: Another layer: Shashmaqom poetry is mostly in Persian and Tajik, often using verses from classical poets like Hafez, Jami, and Navoiy. So the music is a vehicle for Sufi mystical poetry. The slow, meditative sections are called 'sarakhbor' — they begin each maqom, setting the spiritual mood. Luna: So the music isn't just entertainment — it's a form of meditation, even worship. Lucas: Yes, and that's why it survived the Soviet crackdown on religion. The form itself was allowed, as long as the overtly Islamic content was downplayed. But the maqomchis knew — they kept the tradition alive in private gatherings, in the mahalla neighborhoods. Luna: It's amazing how something so deeply tied to court life and Sufism could outlast the Soviet Union. Lucas: It didn't just outlast — it revived. After independence in 1991, Shashmaqom became a national symbol. The government supported festivals, new recordings, and even started teaching it in conservatories. But there's a tension between authenticity and institutionalization. Lucas: Today, you can hear Shashmaqom in Tashkent's Navoiy Theater, or in small tea houses in Bukhara. Younger musicians are experimenting with fusing it with jazz or electronic music. But the core tradition — the six maqoms, the tanbur and doira, the old Persian verses — that's still the heart. Luna: I'd love to hear an example. What does it actually sound like? Lucas: Imagine a slow, haunting melody on the tanbur, with a vocalist singing in a clear, almost nasal tone. The rhythm is subtle, often in cycles of 7 or 8 beats. The doira player marks the pattern with sharp taps and rolls. It's hypnotic — not something you tap your foot to, but something that pulls you inward. Lucas: One of the most famous pieces from the Shashmaqom repertoire is 'Ushshaq', the third maqom. It's associated with love and longing. There's a famous recording from the 1960s by the maqomchi Shohista Mullokhonova — her voice is incredible, full of ornamentation. Luna: I have to look that up after this. Lucas: Do it — it's worth it. And you know, speaking of things worth it, if this episode has given you a new appreciation for Uzbek music, or if you've been enjoying our series on Central Asia, there's a small way you can support the show. Luna: Yeah, we keep this podcast ad-free and independent, and listener support is what makes that possible. Lucas: Honestly, if today was worth a coffee to you, that's the link — buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo. Just a small gesture, and it helps us keep researching and producing these deep dives. Luna: And it really does go straight into the show — more time for archives, more resources for finding these stories. Lucas: Exactly. So, back to Shashmaqom — another aspect that's fascinating is the role of Bukharan Jewish musicians. They were some of the most renowned performers and teachers, especially in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Luna: Right, we talked about Bukharan Jews in a previous episode. Did they have their own musical tradition? Lucas: They did, but they also became masters of Shashmaqom. Names like Boruh Leibov and Mulla Tojiddin were legendary. In fact, many of the early Soviet recordings were of Jewish maqomchis. They were often more literate in notation because of their community's emphasis on education, so they became the transcribers. Lucas: But after the Soviet collapse and the emigration of most Bukharan Jews to Israel and the US, that link weakened. Today, there are efforts to document and revive that specific Jewish-Uzbek musical heritage. Luna: It's a reminder that traditions aren't just single strands — they're woven from many threads. Lucas: Absolutely. And Shashmaqom is the perfect example — it's Persian, Turkic, Jewish, Soviet, all at once. It's survived empire, revolution, and cultural engineering. And it still resonates in Uzbekistan today, in concert halls and living rooms alike. Luna: I'm glad we finally got to this topic. It adds a whole new dimension to how I think about Uzbekistan. Lucas: Me too. And there's so much more — we could do a whole episode just on the instruments, or on how Shashmaqom influenced the Soviet film score. But for now, I hope this gives you a sense of what you might hear if you ever walk into a tea house in Bukhara at dusk. Luna: I'll keep an ear out.