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Strings of Identity: The Horse-Head Fiddle and Mongolian Identity in China (with Ying Song)
00:37:05
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- [00:01]
A
Welcome to the New Books Network. This is the Nordic Asia Podcast.
- [00:14]
B
Welcome to the Nordic Asia Podcast, a collaboration sharing expertise on Asia across the Nordic region. My name is Auning and I'm a PhD student at the center for east and Southeast Asian Studies at Lund University in Sweden. Today, it's my pleasure to welcome Songyin from Zhejiang University, China. She's currently a PhD candidate in Sociology with a particular focus on the horsehead fiddle and its role in shaping Mongolian identity. Born and raised in Inner Mongolia, she has conducted extensive fieldwork in both urban and rural areas of the region. In addition to her academic research, she has organized cultural exhibitions and multiple Mongolian music sharing events. Thank you very much, Songyun, for joining me today to share your insights on horsehead Fido and Mongolian culture.
- [01:04]
A
Thank you for having me.
- [01:05]
B
So, to begin, could you tell us a little bit about your PhD project? What's motivated you to research the horsehead fiddle and what continues to fascinate you about this instrument and its cultural role?
- [01:17]
A
So my background is in sociology. I mainly study the sociology of ethnicity and arts, and the Horsehead Fiddle, or Magden Holt brings these two areas together perfectly. My research looks at how this instrument has changed over time. I'm not so much focused on how it's made or played, but what its story tells us about how Mongolian identity in China has been imagined and practiced. At the beginning, I was just personally interested in subcultures and identity. Then I realized that the traditional arts from my hometown region, Inner Mongolia, actually connect deeply with those questions. And the hosehead fiddle is everywhere in Inner Mongolia. So it naturally became my starting point. Since I don't have background in art, I had to spend a lot of time reading, watching videos and doing field work to really understand it. While going through old archives, I came across some fascinating photos of the horsehead fiddle from the late Qing Dynasty and the early Republic of China. In three of them, the instrument looks completely different from the one we see today. These photos were taken by a Swedish missionary named Jael Eriksson, who lived in Mongolia from 1913 to 1938. Later, in 1985, when he was already 95 years old, he donated around 800 of his photographers of early 2018 century Mongolia to Uppsala University Library. However, the more I learned, the more I want to connect all these small pieces to draw a bigger picture of how the househead Fido has changed so much in just a hundred years. What influenced those changes and how it came to represent both Mongolian music and the Mongolian spirit. But honestly, there's also a deep emotional side to all this. The first time I heard the househead fiddle life sitting right next to the musician, I could feel the vibration through my whole body. Deep, powerful and strangely comforting. It's hard to describe in words, but from that moment, I felt like the sound caught me or maybe even captivated me. And as my research went deeper, that emotion connection only grew stronger. I think that's what keeps me going, that sense of being moved. Both as a researcher and as a person. This feeling makes the project so meaningful to me.
- [04:13]
B
It's really interesting to see how you've developed your interest in the horsehead Fido over time. I guess because you've mentioned Uppsala University Library actually hold a lot of photographs. I guess I will also have to go to Uppsala to actually see those photos you've mentioned. But before we dive deeper, could you give us a brief history of the horsehair beetle so our listeners can get an overview picture of its evolution?
- [04:37]
A
Yes. So the horset fido is a two stringed bolt instrument that's really at the heart of Mongolian culture. The word mek means horse in Mongolian, and the instrument gets its name from the carved horse head on top of its neck. It's not just a decoration. It really shows how deeply Mongolians admire and connect with horses. The name horsehead fiddle actually came from a Japanese anthropologist couple who traveled through Mongolia in the early 20th century. Their translation caught on, especially in the Chinese speaking world. And that's what most people call it now, but in Mongolian. But in Inner Mongolia, there also have a bunch of local names for similar instruments like chod. A lot of people think of the horsehead fiddle as this ancient instrument that's always been around. But what we know as the modern horsehead fiddle actually took shape after 1949. The older version looked quite different and were made in different ways. For example, in the past, Fido bodies were crafted by stretching local animal heads or wooden frames. If we look back historically, there's not much evidence of it. Before the Qing dynasty, even during the Yuan period when the Mongols ruled China, it doesn't appear in the court records. But by the Qing era, we start seeing real proof in old photographers writings and even surviving instruments. Back then, it was usually played by nobles and monks, often to accompany long songs, epic tales or rituals. In the 20th century, the border was drawn between Mongolia and Inner Mongolia. The instrument started developing along two different paths. Around the 1950s, both sides began to modernize it, replacing the skin sandbot with wood. And for a while, musicians exchanged ideas. But after the Cold War, that cooperation slowly turned into competition. Each side wanted to climb the horsehead field middle as part of their own national culture. In Mongolia, the instrument got a lot of state support. Even made it onto UNESCO's list of intangible cultural heritage. In Inner Mongolia, tradition stayed much more diverse. The region covers many different tribes and cultural areas, so there are lots of local playing styles and ways of making the instrument. Because of that diversity, it's been hard to create one standardized version in size, training or technique. Some musicians see that as a challenge to modernization, While others worry that standardizing too much might erase local traditions. And that tension between keeping diversity and promoting a national image is something my research rarely looks into.
- [08:05]
B
It's really interesting to see how the instrument evolves in history. I know that actually many studies have already focused on the horsehead fiddle. So I'm really curious about what makes your project different from those previous ones.
- [08:20]
A
Yeah, so in China, most of the research on the horsehead fiddle has been done within musicology or isomusicology. And overseas, researchers tend to focus more on these symbolic meanings, like what it represents, but often without paying much attention to the instruments artistic on material side. So I think what's really needed is now is a more integrated perspective. For me, the househead fiddle isn't just an instrument made of wood, strings and horsehair. It's also a cultural symbol, a sonic medium, and something deeply tied to people's emotions and identities. That's why my research starts from is material reality how it's made, used, and changed over time. Because I think that side has been largely overlooked. A lot of existing stories about the househead fiddle come from aura accounts, and they are fascinating, but they are not always cross validated. So I want to go deeper to understand the social and technical details behind those transformations. That leads me to look beyond the instrument itself and into the world around it. Factory workers, professional musicians, pop performances, students, lovers, scholars, even government officials and dealers, they all shape the instrument in different ways. So the househelpido becomes kind of a meeting point where all these different actors interact. Actually quite different from something like the violin, which is much more standardized. There's one story I'd love to share is the big reform of the househead fiddle in the 1950s actually started with a comment from Chairman Mao after hearing a performance. He said, it sounds beautiful, but people in the back can't hear it. And that one sentence triggered a nationwide project to make the the instruments louder. Another example is from an instrument maker I interviewed who came up with a collapsible sound post. Because these days when people buy instruments online and ship them long distance, the sound post often falls down during transport. So that little design trick came directly from new social realities like E commerce and logistics. To make sense of these stories, I used what Wildmuth called the sociological imagination, connecting personal experiences to a large social and historical context. I also drawn from actor network theory, which treats the househelp fido itself as an active participant in social network, not just a passive object. At the same time, my research is grounded in the sociology of ethnicity in China. Ethnicity relations play a huge role in how minority arts are represented and institutionalized. The horsehead fiddle is a perfect example. It carries both the vice of the Mongolian and in some way the vice of the Chinese state. So I also look at key moments in China's modern history and how cultural, economic and ethnic policies have influenced the instrument evolution. But what really fascinates me are the macro level strategies, how individual musicians, craftsmen or cultural workers use those policies and resources to build their own artwork, sustain industries, and express identity. In the end, what I hope to show is that the househead fiddle isn't just a beautiful artifact or a symbol. It's a living, dynamic process that reflects both creativity and constraint in Mongolian life in China today.
- [12:57]
B
Great. It's a very fascinating project, so let's dive a bit deeper. As for your PhD project, you've observed how the instrument is made and taught, and you've also interviewed a number of people with different connections to the instrument. Could you share more about your experiences and findings there?
- [13:17]
A
Okay. My emotional journey through fieldwork was quite unexpected. It actually became the key to understand Mongolian ways of thinking and acting. In many ways, my own learning process with Jose Rido mirrored what the scholar of material culture called the social life of sins. At first, I approached the house with pure curiosity and very little knowledge. It felt mysterious and almost sacred to me. I remember being extremely careful when I first held one, afraid I might damage it later. I began visiting workshops, university classrooms, and the woodworking lab and music apartments. I watched how instruments were made and how students were trained, and eventually started collaborating with musicians, even helping organize small concerts and joining a few performances. Tried to make the instrument myself. The more I learned about the house I fiddle, the more I saw it as part of a large system of production. In many modern workshops, it's no longer the romantic image. We often see a hundred handcrafted steps. Instead, the materials come from global supply chains and the instruments are assembled in modest, dimly lit spaces. They are wrapped in a blue khak, a prayer scarf. In Mongolian culture, and displayed at home as a symbol of taste or identity. Ironically, many owners never imagined that their beloved instruments began life in such humble surroundings. Among students majoring in Horsehead Fido, I noticed a common struggle. Many of them come from rural or grassland areas to study in cities like Hua Hut. They dream of becoming professional musicians, but soon realize it's not just about learning music. It's about learning how to live in the city, how to speak mandolin every day, how to fit in. Sometimes music has no borders, but in real life, the outside fiddle sometimes becomes a label that makes them feel even more different. The training system itself is also still developing. There's no clear standard for how to teach or evaluate students and very little guidance on career path. Many young players dream of becoming soloists performing in big concert halls, but few people can tell them what it actually takes. Even famous musicians often just say, practice hard. Don't think too much. Seeing this gave me a strong sense of what Max Weber once called disenchantment, the fading of magic. Magic in a rationalized world. The househead fiddle's aura, at least for me, had dimmed. And yet the horsehead fiddle is not just an object. It produced sounds. It breathes. Its horsehead carrying seems alive. When I started learning to play, I felt drawn back into its magic. The deep, resonant sounds brought me into a calm, almost meditative state. To me, me, that raises a deeper question. Why are humans always drawn to artistic and creative acts? Why does music hold such emotional and spiritual power, even when we try to explain it scientifically or socially? Through my research, I want to bring that emotional and irreducible side of art, its power, to move us back into how we understand culture and identity today. Day.
- [17:30]
B
Yeah, it's really fascinating because I don't know that there's actually no sort of standardized way to teach or evaluate students learning this instrument. So it's really interesting to hear you say your observation. And also I remember the first time I actually listened to the Horsehead Fido and got to know its unique sound. I can definitely share the feeling you just described. You've mentioned your current research that the Horsehead Fido has evolved under the influence of political institutions, economic development, and Mongols effort to shape their own ethnic symbols. Can you perhaps unpack a little bit how these different factors have shaped the instrument's evolution?
- [18:14]
A
Yeah, that's a great question. In China, the early efforts to reform the househelp fiddle actually came from the states. Since the 1950s, music development and innovation have been part of the bigger national goal of modernization. So the government took on this organizing role, setting up experimental instrument groups, holding evaluation meetings to test improvements, and more recently, investing a lot in large scale house and fido factories, cultural industry, parks, exhibitions and even experience centers in Inner Mongolia. The government doesn't control how the instruments are made, things like the materials, technology or design details. Officials are more concerned about whether the instrument shows ethnic characters, whether it's loud enough on stage, and whether the overall performance looks impressive. So for them, art is really about meeting certain political or cultural goals, rather than just creating aesthetic enjoyment. And ironically, that kind of top down structure also gives artists a lot of freedom and access to funding to experiment and innovate. Then there's the economic side, which is a bit separated from politics, but still deeply connected. Since the 1990s, ethnic culture has become a form of social capital, especially tied to tourism. But the economic impact on horse fido production itself has been limited. There's still no big instrument company focus solely on making house fido, and no research institute has developed string of wood specifically for it. The industry is mostly small scale and self organized, with makers competing pretty fiercely. That leads to issues like unclear pricing and inconsistent product quality. But on the flip side, the pressure to cut costs has pushed for subcontracting and more machinized production, which has expanded manufacturing overall. Now, if we look at cross border influence from Mongolia, there are still some clear differences. In Inner Mongolia, the hausei fiddle is usually turned G to C, though for a while it followed the A to D, turning to match other Chinese instruments. But in Mongolia, this turned the F2B flat set to fit with Western symphony orchestras. The instruments also differ in size, especially the sandbox sickness, which really affects the tone. Of course there's no absolute better or worse. But because Mongolia has spent decades cultivating its musician discourses and authenticity, many Inner Mongolian musicians today actually prefer Mongolian made instruments for their tone and expression price saviness. Mongolia also developed a professional music education system quite early, based on the European Conservatory model, and that had a big influence on Inner Mongolia. For instance, in hut almost all the university househead fellow teachers have been to Mongolia. So the influence isn't just stylistic, less institutional, even educational. But this exchange is not one way. Over time, Inner Mongolian musicians and institutions started developing their own sense of cultural autonomy. After long exposure to Mongolian cultural output, they began creating a more localized contemporary househelp fido style, one that better reflects their own identity and local realities. So in a way, what started as influence has now turned into a dialogue and even acquired form of self definition through Art.
- [22:55]
B
Well, it's really interesting to see how Mongolia and Inner Mongolia differ in institutionalizing this instrument and also in creating their unique sounds respectively. Here, perhaps I will add some sound clips for our listeners to get a sense of how the horsehead fiddle sounds and is performed, formed quite differently in these two different places. Sa but moving on to our next question, the horsehead fetal is often described as carrying deep symbolic meaning for Mongols. In your view, what does the instrument represent today both locally and in broader cultural or national contexts?
- [24:44]
A
Yeah, so the Hausei fiddle really carries a lot of symbolic meanings. For example, some people link it to Genghis Khan and the aristocratic regime, or see the horse side fido as a crystallization of nomadic civilizations wisdom in craft and art. But it looks a bit different depending on where you are in Mongolia. For example, it's officially considered the national instrument. Back to the 1990s, the government even had a senior instrument maker create a special state horsehead fiddle to represent the heart of Mongolian culture. Then in 2002, they set up formal rituals for praising and blessing it, and encouraged every household to hang one at home. More recently, there's been a big push for people all over the country to learn it. It's kind of a national project now. In short, to defend their right to interpret the symbolic meaning and cultural authenticity of the Jose Fido, the government of Mongolians, its intellectual elite and the Jose Fido art community have made considerable efforts efforts in China. The symbolic significance of the Jose Fido has not been deeply shaped by state power. It remains merely one among southern local instruments. The National Ethnic Orchestra in Beijing once employed a low pitched instrument modeled after the Husai Fido, but has since switched to using the bass as its low pitched instrument. However, then, the Mongolian government has long promoted the househeld as the region's most prominent cultural symbol. Naturally, this symbolic branding is primarily motivated by the desire to enhance in Mongolia distinctiveness in the tourism market during the development of its cultural tourism industry. Regardless, this government's promotional efforts have significantly increased the househelp's visibility in our daily lives. You see it in city design, even in subway handrail, in hut shaped like the househead Fido heights. And when we visit museums in various cities across Inner Mongolia, we can always find at least one househead fido in this place. Play as well as the government's tourism campaign Sing and Tall in Mongolia even uses the instrument in its logo. So while the househeld used to be mostly connected to Mongolian identity, now it cross the ethnic and geography boundaries in big cities like Beijing and Shanghai, a lot of non Mongols are learning Asian too. For many Mongols, that's really exciting. It feels like their culture in being appreciated and respected. But some also feel a bit uneasy, like something precious might be diluted. All that competition for resources could make it harder to maintain traditional practices. Because of that, some musicians and instrument makers put a lot of emphasis on authenticity. They might say things like, to carve a true horsehead, you need to have lived with horses. Or if you didn't grow up in the Mongol homeland, the instrument you play won't have a soul. So the househead fiddle today is really a mix. It's a source of pride, a cultural symbol, but also something that sparks questions about tradition, authenticity and identity.
- [28:56]
B
So even if the horsehead fiddle is perceived as gradually transcending Mongolian ethnicity and becoming more popular and well respected, it still actually motivates the traditionalists to discuss its importance as an ethnic cultural symbol. Very interesting. And because you've done extensive fieldwork traveling to different cities and banners in Inner Mongolia, I'm also, like, very curious about what struck you the most and what have you personally gained from this journey?
- [29:26]
A
Journey, yeah. What really moved me the most during my field work was seeing how deeply Mongolian people are connected to their folk arts. If I hadn't lived among them day by day, I could not truly felt how they still manage to stay in emotional resonance with the world, even while living modern lives. You know, a lot of early social theorists, people like George Smale and Walt Benjamin, talked about how city life changes the way we feel and sense the world, and how art helps us stay emotionally alive. These days, lot of what we called art has turned into cultural products made to spark certain emotions on purpose. But among Mongolians, I found that art and life are still really intertwined. It's often said that Mongolians love to sing, and I rarely saw that. There were so many moments when I was just blown away by the beauty of their music. One that really stayed with me was a birthday party I attended in the Shillingl grassland. A few elderly guests sung all night long from ancient long songs to modern grassland songs in China. And when I Woke up around 5 or 6 in the morning, they were still singing. That moment filled all almost magical. Another time, I was reading a Mongolian author's book and came across a song called Non Jia, a folk song from the Hoqin region. The author mentioned it twice. Once when he heard his grandma sing it back home, and again when a group of Mongolian elites from different regions in Beijing sang it together. Many of them Crying. I see. Did I got so curious what kind of song could move people like that? And then the very next day, at a small gathering, a friend of mine started singing in Nuanjia. Everyone at the table joined in, and to my surprise, I found myself crying too. The song tells the story of a girl who's married a far from home with the voice of a groom's servant expressed in her homesick. Somehow, in that moment, everyone seemed to become that girl, feeling the same longing and tenderness. A lot of old Mongolian songs go beyond religion or ethnicity. They just touch people's hearts. This kind of music really shows what the sociologist Hmurosa calls resonance. This is a free and open way of expressing emotion, and it helps modern people, who often feel disconnected, to feel the world again. In my research, I talk about how emotional connections created through resonance have become a new way for groups to form identity. Today, artistic practices like singing are one of the best ways to create and share those communal feelings. In my view, looking at emotions is the way rhythm complements existing studies on ethnic identity, which often focus too much on regional or instrumental perspectives. And for anyone learning Mongolian language, singing in these songs is honestly a wonderful way to pick up vocabulary and feel the rhythm of the language itself.
- [33:16]
B
Yes, thank you very much for sharing your experience. I will definitely try to learn some Mongolian songs and get to know the culture more intimately as you you did. I want to end our conversation by asking you that. Looking ahead, what do you see as the future of the Horsehead Fido? And how might globalization, technology, or younger generations shape its place in Mongolian culture?
- [33:39]
A
I think the future of the house I feeder really depends on the people who make and play it. From what I've seen, the instrument making sense is slowly improving. Young crafts today are super resolved. They learn about acoustics and materials from social media, and they can easily buy tools or parts online. And when it comes to music and performance, the house side fiddle is showing up on more and more stages around the world. It's also breaking some of the old taboos, like the idea that only Mongolian men can play it. There's even a magic metal band from Inner Mongolia called Night Treasures. A few years ago, they brought in a hofido player, and that instantly made their sound and image stand out. Looking ahead, I think the househead fiddle might become a bit less mystical. Maybe it will find a balance between being its cultural symbol others imagine, and being appreciated simply as a beautiful music. Music for the younger generation, the instrument feels much closer. It's no longer something that only their father or grandfather could play. Since the early 2000s, more kids are learning it in schools or through after school programs and some even study Hause Fido performance or making in college. They are also really creative. I once saw a very short video where a student played a twice sized horsehead fiddle and some young artists are even using it in installation art exhibition. But there's another side to it. As teaching becomes more formal, a lot of the traditional knowledge, the rituals, taboos, old stories is getting lost. Many of the students I talked to actually don't know much about the cultural background of the Hausa Fido. So yeah, I feel like the sacredness and the mystery around the instruments are slowly being deconstructed by young people through new media. And I'm planning to keep following how all this evolves in coming years.
- [36:02]
B
So it's really interesting to listen to you talking about your prediction about this instrument's future development and how young generations might engage with the instruments development in the future. Thank you so much for joining us today.
- [36:18]
A
So thank you for having me ning.
- [36:20]
B
And to our listeners. You can reach Songyin through email and also be sure to follow her work and the cultural exhibitions through RedNote. We will include the links in the show notes below. If you enjoyed this episode, don't forget to subscribe and stay tuned for more conversations like this. Thank you for listening to the Nordic Asia Podcast showcasing Nordic collaboration in study in Asia. You have been listening to the Nordic Asia Podcast podcast.