Derek Beres >> Talk

Tibetan vocalist Yungchen Lhamo was brought into this world surrounded by struggle and social tension. Born in a labor camp and working in a carpet-weaving factory at age five, her grandmother’s “illegal” music lessons would be her saving grace. During her early years, growing up in a society where singing ritual music could translate into beating or death, Lhamo’s voice would be soft. Fast forward thirty-three years and she has become the world’s most renowned interpreter of Tibetan folk music, highlighted on her 2006 Real World release, Ama.

Translating as “mother,” the album is dedicated to her own. Through years of continual harassment—including the death of two children from starvation, the murder of her father, beatings on herself and mother, and a husband that had to flee the country—the elder Lhamo never spoke an ill word of anyone. The Buddhist idea of compassion in any circumstance is easy to print but hard to interpret in reality. Lhamo, mother and daughter, have integrated it to the point where no separation between what they believe and who they are exists. This philosophy proves thematic throughout Ama.

At the age of twenty-two Lhamo and her family took the 1,000-mile hike through the Himalayas to Tibetan camps in Dharamsala, India. It was here her musical career commenced. Lhamo, whose name means “Goddess of Mercy and Song,” had never taken the notion of a musical career seriously. Visiting various camps she was given the recommendation to travel to the West and spread awareness of Tibetan culture by no less a man than the Dalai Lama. In 1994 that journey began.

A consummate musician that predominantly performs a cappella, Lhamo’s voice immediately penetrates the listener. She has translated a lifetime of struggle and tension into beauty. While most of Ama is recorded with instruments, the two solo songs demand the most attention. “Someday” is dedicated to the Dalai Lama, the present incarnation and those past, while discussing the idea of returning to the homeland. It is an ode to the triple gem (Buddha, Dharma, Sangha), by which prayer makes clear that home is already inside each of us. The colorful reverb applied to her voice makes it a haunting reality.

The other a cappella track is the record’s highlight: “9/11,” an obvious tribute. By this unforgettable day, Lhamo was living in Queens, New York. In just under five minutes the emotions of that experience are recalled with layer after layer of vocal perfection working itself into your heart. Her mastery of breath and pitch becomes apparent here; her power of sustaining every note is indicative of her ability to focus her total energy into artistic creation. The discipline of Buddhism and music are the same, and on “9/11” Lhamo proves her understanding.

“Buddhism is something we practice from the moment we wake up,” Lhamo told me a few years ago, drinking pots of chai in New York. “We don’t say ‘This is a class you go to meditate for one hour.’ You can’t just say some mantra and say you’re Buddhist. I don’t particularly wish that everyone becomes Buddhist. My wish is that everyone finds their own spiritual path. We are always chasing something that’s not there. We think ‘if I chase this I will be very happy.’ If you know Buddha, there’s a method you can take to be happy. To become Buddhist is actually very difficult.”

While the emphasis has been on her a cappella singing, this is no sleight to the gorgeous instrumentation tastefully scattered throughout the record. It is here Lhamo’s true penchant for creating a global community shines. Native instrumentation is present, such as the gorgeous danyen (three-stringed guitar) leading the melody on “Ranzen” and “Om Mani Padme Hung” (the central mantra in Tibetan Buddhism), as well as the gyumang (multi-stringed hammered dulcimer) and bamboo flute.

The predominant feature remains Lhamo’s voice, however, while a wide range of instruments converge. Eastern modalities are played on Western instruments: electric guitar, trumpet, violin, and an assortment of percussion are sprinkled throughout. Local New York cellist Rufus Cappadocia, accustomed to playing a variety of Eastern musics (often pairing with excellent ghazal vocalist Vishal Vaid), adds an underlying depth to three songs. African kora master Mamadou Diabaté plays off the gyumang brilliantly on “Tara,” devoted to one of the world’s most well known goddesses.

Most interesting on “Tara” is Lhamo’s journey into English. While she only performs in Tibetan, British vocalist Joy Askew adds a soulful dynamic unheard on Lhamo’s previous releases, Tibet, Tibet and Coming Home. Askew’s deep, bluesy vocals fuse with Lhamo’s effortless oscillations magnificently, as do guest Annie Lenox’s contribution on “Fade Away.” A dark, roving backdrop sets the stage for this Eu-rhythmical meeting, with a meaning as luxurious as the sound the two create. Lhamo penned the song as a thank you to those that showed kindness when she left her homeland, and having the back-forth with Lenox only adds to the communal atmosphere she’s lauding.

There is an old saying that merely to be in the presence of a master is to be illuminated. Lhamo’s character is as disciplined and inviting as the Buddhist philosophy she adheres to. Her devotion to ritual music in a world governed by pop, rock, hip-hop, and electronica takes courage and faith, proven by her insistence of performing solo. To hear her voice in the speakers or in concert is to be drawn further inside, reflective and inspired. In many respects she has taken on the role of bodhisattva, lifting others while journeying along her own soulful path. With a record as beautiful and meaningful as Ama, the traveling becomes all the easier.