• KGS/USD = 0.01144 0%
  • KZT/USD = 0.00204 0%
  • TJS/USD = 0.10571 -0.28%
  • UZS/USD = 0.00008 0%
  • TMT/USD = 0.28571 0%
  • KGS/USD = 0.01144 0%
  • KZT/USD = 0.00204 0%
  • TJS/USD = 0.10571 -0.28%
  • UZS/USD = 0.00008 0%
  • TMT/USD = 0.28571 0%
  • KGS/USD = 0.01144 0%
  • KZT/USD = 0.00204 0%
  • TJS/USD = 0.10571 -0.28%
  • UZS/USD = 0.00008 0%
  • TMT/USD = 0.28571 0%
  • KGS/USD = 0.01144 0%
  • KZT/USD = 0.00204 0%
  • TJS/USD = 0.10571 -0.28%
  • UZS/USD = 0.00008 0%
  • TMT/USD = 0.28571 0%
  • KGS/USD = 0.01144 0%
  • KZT/USD = 0.00204 0%
  • TJS/USD = 0.10571 -0.28%
  • UZS/USD = 0.00008 0%
  • TMT/USD = 0.28571 0%
  • KGS/USD = 0.01144 0%
  • KZT/USD = 0.00204 0%
  • TJS/USD = 0.10571 -0.28%
  • UZS/USD = 0.00008 0%
  • TMT/USD = 0.28571 0%
  • KGS/USD = 0.01144 0%
  • KZT/USD = 0.00204 0%
  • TJS/USD = 0.10571 -0.28%
  • UZS/USD = 0.00008 0%
  • TMT/USD = 0.28571 0%
  • KGS/USD = 0.01144 0%
  • KZT/USD = 0.00204 0%
  • TJS/USD = 0.10571 -0.28%
  • UZS/USD = 0.00008 0%
  • TMT/USD = 0.28571 0%
17 February 2026

Viewing results 1 - 6 of 41

TCA Interview: Musician Merey Otan on the Reinvention of Kazakh Musical Instruments

Until recently, Kazakh national instruments were largely associated with school concerts, folk ensembles, and official ceremonies. The dombra (a long-necked, two-stringed plucked instrument), kobyz (a bowed string instrument with two horsehair strings), and sybyzgy (a wooden end-blown flute traditionally made from apricot wood) seemed to occupy a separate cultural space: symbolically important, yet detached from everyday life. “Before, the dombra was for me only part of school concerts,” recalls Sanzhar Uvashev, 24, a sales specialist from Almaty. “It was brought out on holidays, people dressed in national costumes, played a couple of obligatory songs, and that was it. I never thought this instrument could sound different, or be part of contemporary music.” Today, that distance is steadily narrowing. The sound of the dombra is increasingly featured in contemporary original music, electronic compositions, film scores, and social media. Young musicians are not abandoning tradition, but they are no longer treating it as something frozen in time. To understand how this rethinking is taking place, and why tradition need not remain 'untouched', The Times of Central Asia spoke with Merey Otan, a researcher and musician who works with Kazakh instruments in a modern cultural context. ТCA: Merey, how did your study of national instruments begin? Was it a deliberate decision? MO: It started during my master’s studies, when I was writing a thesis on contemporary music in Kazakhstan. As part of that research, I interviewed the ethno-rock band Aldaspan and kobyz player Almat Saizhan. I was especially interested in how the dombra and kobyz were being transformed and modernized and eventually devoted a whole chapter of my work to this topic. So yes, it was a conscious choice. TCA: People often argue that tradition should be preserved in its original form. What’s your take on that? MO: I’ve heard that view often, especially from traditional musicians. Some believe, for example, that an electronic dombra desecrates the instrument. Given the sacred meaning of the dombra and kobyz, I understand that stance. In sociology, these people are sometimes called purists. But I disagree. The world is changing, and some traditions from the nomadic era have lost their relevance or even become barriers. I believe traditions can, and sometimes should, evolve. If modifying an instrument helps engage younger generations, why not? TCA: Where do you personally draw the line between respect for heritage and experimentation? MO: I see nothing wrong with experimentation. On the contrary, bands like Steppe Sons show deep respect for heritage. Their members have formal musical education and a strong grounding in tradition. However, it's important to consider the concept of cultural appropriation from postcolonial theory. This occurs when privileged groups use the culture of marginalized communities for personal gain. In music, this might look like a Western artist profiting from Kazakh instruments without acknowledging Kazakh musicians. That, in my view, is disrespectful. TCA: Is there still criticism about the “incorrect” use of traditional instruments? MO: Yes, certainly. When Aldaspan introduced the electronic dombra, public figures like Bekbolat Tleukhan were highly critical....

Kazakhstan’s Yenlik Brings Her Sound to COLORS

Kazakhstani singer and songwriter Yenlik has made history by becoming the first artist from Kazakhstan to be featured on the international music platform COLORSxSTUDIOS. Founded in Berlin in 2016, COLORSxSTUDIOS, commonly known as COLORS, has grown from a small creative experiment into one of YouTube’s most influential music platforms. Recognized for its minimalist visual style, each performance is filmed against a single-color backdrop without set design or special effects, placing the focus squarely on the music, the voice, and the artist. The channel now counts more than 8.2 million subscribers and over 3.5 billion views, cementing its status as a global tastemaker in contemporary music. Over the years, COLORS has showcased a wide range of talent, from emerging artists to international stars such as Billie Eilish, Drake, Doja Cat, and Joji. The platform describes its mission as an effort to “connect people, countries, and cultures on a creative and emotional level,” framing its global, genre-spanning approach as a form of cultural exchange as much as a musical one. Yenlik’s Voice: Rooted in Culture, Reaching Beyond Borders Yenlik, born Enlik Kurarbek, is one of the most prominent figures in Kazakhstan’s emerging musical wave. Her sound blends alternative pop with modern R&B influences, creating a style that feels both personal and closely tied to her cultural identity. The Kazakh language plays a central role in her work, not as a folkloric reference but as a contemporary form of expression. Her music reflects a broader shift in which Kazakh is increasingly present in global pop contexts without being confined to traditional or ethnic frameworks. Yenlik’s authorial sound, shaped by contemporary production and subtle national influences, is paired with an emotionally restrained vocal delivery that has become her signature. Observers suggest it was this originality that drew the attention of the COLORS curators. Known for prioritizing authenticity over commercial success, the platform seeks artists with strong individuality and a distinctive voice, qualities that align closely with Yenlik’s creative vision. From Rejection to Recognition For Yenlik, the invitation from COLORS marked a long-awaited milestone. She had previously applied to the project without receiving a response, making the eventual outreach from the platform all the more meaningful. “When the invitation came, I was overjoyed and burst into tears,” she recalled. “This project always felt so distant. Two years ago, we submitted an application with no response. And now, COLORS reached out to us first.” The performance was filmed outside Kazakhstan and completed within a few hours. Yenlik was struck by the production’s simplicity, defined by an absence of elaborate sets and large crews, and by the quiet intimacy that has become a hallmark of COLORS. The team fostered a welcoming atmosphere, and she was even able to choose the episode’s background color, which she described as symbolizing “true gentle strength,” a visual reflection of the emotional tone of her performance. Rising Digital Momentum Yenlik’s digital presence has continued to grow steadily, with her music gaining traction among younger audiences on social media. Her songs often circulate...

“Music Is Born in Pain”: Kazakh Composer Robert Ziganshin on Inspiration, Integrity, and Creative Freedom

Robert Ziganshin is one of Kazakhstan’s most in-demand film composers. A graduate of the Lyon Conservatory in France, where he studied classical guitar and earned master’s degrees in both music for the visual arts and musicology, he returned home to rapidly establish himself in the country's film and television industry. Ziganshin’s credits include music for popular TV series and films such as Alisher Utev’s crime drama 5:32 (IMDB), the box office hit Kazakh Business in Brazil, and Malika, a feature film by Russian director Natalya Uvarova about a family of Ingush migrants. In an interview with The Times of Central Asia, Ziganshin spoke about the influence of the French school, the ethics of film composition, and why writing music “that simply comments on the action” can mean sacrificing artistic integrity. TCA: Robert, you graduated from KIMEP in Kazakhstan. How did you end up in France? Ziganshin: I’ve been passionate about music since early childhood. Even when I was playing with building blocks, I was always humming something, as if adding a soundtrack to my own stories. I didn’t get into music school, and it wasn’t until I was fifteen that I started taking private guitar lessons. There were times I practiced six hours a day. There was no higher education in classical guitar in Kazakhstan at the time, so I enrolled at KIMEP. After graduating, I applied to two conservatories in France and was accepted to the one in Lyon. TCA: Why France? Ziganshin: I spoke fluent French. My father had sent me to language school, and I took part in competitions. Later, a professor from Lyon gave a master class in Almaty, and I helped translate for him. He assessed my level and encouraged me to apply to his course. TCA: Was tuition really that affordable? Ziganshin: For foreign students, it was about €900 per year, including health insurance. Compared to the UK, it was a bargain. I spent four years there and earned a bachelor’s degree. TCA: How did you shift into composing for film? Ziganshin: I met students from the program Musique appliquée aux arts visuels, music created for film, theater, performance, and media art. I wanted to try it. The entrance exam was creative: we had to score scenes and compose music for a three-minute video in a week. I got in on my second try, only twelve of us were accepted. It was a two-year program, starting with orchestration and sound engineering, then moving into practical work on student film projects. TCA: What was the subject of your master’s thesis? Ziganshin: When should a composer start work on a film? Personally, I prefer being involved from the script stage. After finishing that degree, I also enrolled in a master’s in musicology. In 2021, I returned to Kazakhstan. I struggled to find paid work in music and almost joined my father’s printing business. I even started hand-making notebooks, neat and beautiful ones. But soon, small offers started coming in, and I returned to composing full-time, initially...

From the Highlands to the Steppes: The Long Journey of the Bagpipe

On 28 July 2025, as the skirl of bagpipes echoed across the windswept greens of President Trump’s Turnberry golf resort, two world leaders met under the Scottish flag. U.K. Prime Minister Keir Starmer and U.S. President Donald Trump gathered for “wide-ranging talks” on trade and global conflicts — yet it was the sound of a Scottish pipe band that first captured attention. For President Trump, whose mother was born in the Outer Hebrides, the music carried a personal resonance. The bagpipe, long a symbol of Scotland’s spirit, continues to speak across generations and continents — from clan gatherings and state ceremonies to moments of diplomacy. Its sound is unmistakably Scottish: bold, mournful, and proud. Yet across the ancient world, far beyond the Highlands, other peoples once drew the same haunting tones from leather and reed — among them the nomads of what is now Kazakhstan. Echoes from the East Centuries before the first Highland marches, nomadic Turkic peoples were playing an instrument remarkably similar in design — the zhelbuaz. Crafted from goat or sheepskin and fitted with two or more reed pipes, it produced the same soulful harmony that defines the modern bagpipe. When filled with air and played from horseback or during ceremonies, it created a sound that was at once haunting and powerful, much like the music that still moves crowds today. As the people of the Central Asian steppes were largely nomadic for most of their history, there is scant hard evidence. However, early scholars described the zhelbuaz (or mes-syrnai) as an ancient wind instrument made from a single piece of animal skin or stomach. Al-Farabi wrote of a “wineskin flute” among the Turkic tribes, and the Chinese traveler Wen Sun, visiting the Orkhon region in the 7th century, reportedly recorded a Turk playing a "leather instrument with two pipes, whose sound deepens the sadness of the mourners.” The Journey Westward Over centuries, the idea of the air-filled reed instrument migrated westward — first through trade and migration, and then through cultural contact. Variants appeared in Eastern Europe: the duda in Poland, the tulum in Azerbaijan, and the musette in France. Linguists note that modern terms such as duu (meaning “song” in Mongolian) and düdük (meaning “whistle” in Turkish) suggest a shared onomatopoetic pattern for wind instruments and vocal sound across Eurasia, hinting at, though not proving, a linguistic thread connecting these distant traditions. But it was in Scotland that the instrument found its fullest voice. There, in the hands of Highland clans, it became more than music — it became identity. The Great Highland Bagpipe emerged as a call to arms, a hymn of remembrance, and a symbol of a people’s endurance. Its power lies not just in its sound, but in what it represents: honor, courage, and belonging. [caption id="attachment_38114" align="aligncenter" width="960"] Image: Ykhlas Museum of Folk Musical Instruments[/caption] The Zhelbuaz Remembered In Kazakhstan, the zhelbuaz gradually disappeared from everyday life, its haunting voice surviving only in oral memory and museum collections. Today, musician Abzal...

Canadian Musician Releases Protest Song About Uzbek Student’s Experience with Wizz Air

Canadian singer-songwriter Dave Carroll, best known for his 2009 viral hit “United Breaks Guitars,” has released a new protest song titled “Don’t Fly Wizness Class,” inspired by the travel ordeal of Uzbek student Suhrob Ubaydullayev. The track and accompanying video, featuring Ubaydullayev himself, highlight his experience with Wizz Air in 2023 and raise broader concerns about discrimination and passenger rights. Carroll first gained international attention after United Airlines damaged his $3,500 Taylor guitar during a 2008 flight and refused to compensate him. In response, he released “United Breaks Guitars,” which amassed over 20 million views on YouTube and reportedly caused a $180 million drop in United’s stock value. The episode sparked industry-wide changes in customer service protocols. More than a decade later, Carroll has turned his attention to another case of alleged mistreatment, this time involving a 24-year-old Uzbek national. His latest song recounts how Ubaydullayev was denied boarding on a Wizz Air flight on August 31, 2023. “I had all my documents in order,” Ubaydullayev previously told The Times of Central Asia. “The staff checked them and returned them to me, but when I reached the gate, they suddenly said I couldn’t fly. No reason. No explanation.” According to Ubaydullayev, one airline employee asked, “Are you from Uzbekistan?” Upon confirming he was, he says he was denied boarding without further justification. What followed, he claims, was a humiliating ordeal: threats to call the police, warnings that the Uzbek embassy could not assist him, and refusal to provide any written explanation. Ubaydullayev had just completed a Work and Travel program in Europe and was returning home. After spending his savings on the now-cancelled flight, he borrowed money to reach Istanbul, where he was robbed and left stranded. “I met some Uzbek guys near the Sultan Ahmed Mosque who offered to help,” he said. “But they ended up taking my money and disappearing.” His journey home eventually took him through Kazan in Russia and Osh in Kyrgyzstan, before he reached the Uzbek city of Namangan, exhausted, indebted, and disillusioned. In May, during a visit to Canada, Ubaydullayev met Carroll in person. “He was kind and respectful,” Ubaydullayev told The Times of Central Asia. “Carroll listened to my story and was deeply moved.” Carroll then turned the young man’s experience into a song, aiming to bring attention to the broader issue of traveler discrimination. “My goal,” Ubaydullayev said, “is to ensure Wizz Air and other airlines stop discriminating against Uzbek citizens and start treating them with respect.”

Q-Pop Is Back. Is Kazakhstan Ready This Time?

Around 2015, Kazakhstan saw the rise of Q-pop, led by the boy band Ninety One. A decade on, the cultural tension remains: while youth artists enjoy greater visibility, many observers argue that freedom of expression is still shaped by a silent boundary — ‘you can make music, but not stir too much controversy. A little over a decade ago, five young men in earrings and pastel clothes released “Aıyptama!” (“Don’t blame me”) - a slick, catchy track in Kazakh, with a video that looked like it came straight out of Seoul. The group, Ninety One, was born out of a reality TV show modeled on the K-pop system. At the time, Kazakh-language pop had little presence on mainstream radio or TV, where Russian-language and Western hits dominated. Much of the Kazakh-language music most people heard came from weddings and folk performances rather than commercial pop charts. Occidental pop, rock and Russian-language hip hop ruled the charts. So, when Azamat Zenkaev (AZ), Dulat Mukhamedkaliev (Zaq), Daniyar Kulumshin (Bala), Batyrkhan Malikov (Alem), and Azamat Ashmakyn (Ace) debuted as a group, they looked and sounded like nothing the local music scene had ever seen. Their appearance sparked outrage. In Karaganda, a 2016 concert was canceled after protests. “We are against them because they dye their hair and wear earrings!” a demonstrator shouted, captured in the 2021 documentary Men Sen Emes (Sing Your Own Songs) by Katerina Suvorova. “No parent would want their son to look like a woman,” a conservative activist added. Even their producer, Yerbolat Bedelkhan, noted, “They shook up Kazakh show business with their unusual looks.” And yet, their rise was unstoppable. Despite boycotts and online abuse, Ninety One topped national charts. Each video release became an event. Over time, their success helped make gender-fluid aesthetics more visible in Kazakhstan’s pop scene — and made singing in Kazakh fashionable again among young audiences. But their aesthetics stood in sharp contrast to the state-promoted model of Kazakh masculinity. [caption id="attachment_37776" align="aligncenter" width="770"] Ninety One; image: JUZ Entertainment[/caption] Revival and Restriction: The State’s Masculine Ideal In 2017, then-President Nursultan Nazarbayev launched Rukhani Zhangyru – a sweeping state program for “spiritual renewal.” Its goal was to forge a unified Kazakh national identity after decades of Soviet domination, largely by reigniting traditional values. Streets were renamed after historical khans, a National Dombra Day was established, and the country began shifting from Cyrillic to the Latin alphabet. But the cultural revival came with a gender script. School textbooks were rewritten, according to a 2021 Rutgers University study, to cast masculinity as a blend of strength, rationality, and emotional restraint. The ideal Kazakh man - the Batyr - was reimagined as a stoic warrior of the steppes. In this context, Ninety One’s aesthetics didn’t fit in. “Many thought Q-pop artists didn’t act like ‘real Kazakhs’,” Merey Otan, a musician and PhD candidate at Nazarbayev University told The Times of Central Asia. “Wearing makeup, earrings, or bright clothes, expressing emotions or sexuality – these all clashed with a...