From the outset, it should be said that this is one of the strangest, most exotic specimens of music Western ears could expect to behold; Ayarkhaan is a group of specialists in the art of the playing the khomus, a metal instrument that fits in the mouth and functions like a Jew’s harp; it is regarded as the national instrument of the Sakha. However, the khomus is different in several respects; while a conventional Jew’s harp is quiet, limited in range, and in the amount of control even a good player can muster over the pitch, the khomus is loud, strikingly expansive in range, and Ayarkhaan can get sounds out of it ranging over about three octaves. The group is also able to harmonize it in a sense that’s chorally conceived yet almost electronic sounding in effect. Ayarkhaan has likewise mastered the glottal ensemble singing style one might associate with Russian or Bulgarian female choruses. The level of musicianship of Ayarkhaan is extremely high.

I wrote this, later that year, to my wife Angela, to describe this first encounter with Albina. Lu Edmonds and I had been invited to the Sayan Ring Festival to join the jury of Music Judges who were awarding performances at the event.

I'm happy, proud and moved to have seen Albina at different times and in different places since then - her performance at WOMEX in Copenhagen, 2011 was a mind-blowing sonic experience for many - and I look forward to working with her when the time is right! But sometimes first impressions are also defining moments - the special mixture of sound, nature, thought, harmonics and earthlife blended so well on that sunny siberian afternoon - so I leave the text below more or less as it was written in 2005.

In Sayan Ring, Siberia, at the festival, Lu Edmonds and I meet Albina Degtyareva, from Yakutsk. A remarkable Sakha lady and player of the khomuz, their jewsharp. She teaches khomuz in the conservatoire; a distinction for her and for the conservatoire. Outright winner of last-year’s contest, she’s back this year as a judge. Her quartet plays a set — a deep, shocking performance, completely fully-formed; they could play at the Olympic Games or WOMAD tomorrow without changing a thing. A cappella voices, then 4 khomuz-es beating together with all harmonics, thumps and zings, like Caliban’s description of the island in Shakespeare’s Tempest:
…The isle is full of sweet noises
sounds and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
will hum about mine ears…

Onstage she’s dressed like a 70s disco sci-fi Mars maiden, off-stage she’s shy. She gives a workshop on khomuz, which includes reading an iconic, defining national poem all about the instrument. She sees a kind of khomuz-literacy — you need to know the vowels, the letters, alphabet, otherwise how can you make the sounds to be understood. The best khomuz is the ‘talking khomuz’.

‘You must unite body & breathing, know how your heart beats — without human being, instrument doesn’t exist’. She plays sounds of nature; whatever she hears, whatever surrounds us. Buzzing, ringing, like buzzing of big insects.

After the workshop, I ask her to autograph her CD for me. She writes: ‘all the beauty of the sunlight, all the beauty of the middle road, the whole happiness of the earthlife, I wish you’.

It was the very best performance at the Internationale Mondharp Festival. I used to think that I knew the sound of Sakha khomus well, but Ayarkhaan’s performance discovered a new vision of the khomus playing opportunities. It showed me that Yakutia is the cradle of khomus. Everything was performed in such a professional, tasteful and high-level way. Until now, I had always thought that European jew’s harpers were the best ones.