Un-Braided Essay

Why I know no song.

I do not know a single song from beginning to end. I’ve played music since I could read: piano, clarinet then sax then guitar and back to piano… yet I couldn’t play a single song from memory on any of them. Even on guitar, once I was finally playing music I loved, I would learn pieces here and there, or play the whole song from written music. Sure, I remember a few riffs, but most didn’t occupy my attention quite long enough to stick.

Ninja Turtles

I don’t remember much from my first years in the world as a ‘real person’ (to quote the grandpa from Little Miss Sunshine). But there was a kid in my kindergarten class who knew the whole theme to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Which was super awesome. He was known for it, and was expected to do his part by singing it on demand, regularly, so the rest could sing along to the parts we knew.
Heroes in a half shell
Turtle power!

Be Prepared…

Everyone who goes to Mongolia, and plans to venture outside the bubble that is the capital, Ulaanbaatar, must be prepared to sing. Mongolians love to sing, and love to ask their awkward foreign guests to sing, “Amerik duu duulakh uu? Duu! Duu!” (“Sing us an American song! C’mon…”)

We sat in the ger of a family who I assume is somehow related to my host family, since everyone is related to everyone somehow in Mongolia. Or will be soon. Their 5 year-old son lay sleeping, comatose on a cushion in the back of the ger, directly behind a row of three seated adults, none of whom I’d seen before. They handed me a bowl of airag (fermented mare’s milk. imagine a drink with the consistency, carbonation and alcohol content of beer, and the taste of… well, fermented milk. The taste is strong, but not necessarily unpleasant.) Then a small silver bowl carefully filled with Xaraa, the most popular mid-range Mongolian vodka. I thought for a few minutes, then settled on an easy choice. I began to sing Old MacDonald, as the 7 Mongolians sat and watched, delighted. My self-conscious voice came out weak, and restrained with self-consciousness. Mongolians are also very good singers. As in, you hear a song on the radio, and if you in a group of five or ten people, chances are at least one of them can pretty much sing it like the artist. Soaring vibrato and all. And then the rest can all come pretty close. Maybe one or two happen to be tone deaf, but I’m sure even they could out-sing someone from a (comparatively) songless culture. I made it through about two verses before hitting a blank, but by then I had satisfied the crowd. “Cain baina!” (“How good!”) they offered, and I replied with the colloquial Mongolian, “Za…!” which sort-of means what it sounds like (So… And then… Okay… etc…) but is used for many of the more formal Westernisms like the casual “thanks”, “nice to meat you”, and whatever else. This got them laughing again, and I relaxed against the cupboard behind me.