Kyrgyz craftsman Sadyrbek Sagynbayev has been crafting the traditional instrument komuz from the trees of the steppe for 15 years. The komuz, one of the national symbols of the Kyrgyz people, is believed to date back to the Göktürk era. Made of carved wood, the komuz consists of a body, neck, and three strings stretched along its length. Traditionally, the strings were made from animal intestines or horsehair, but today nylon strings are used.
Often regarded as the ancestor of the Turkish “baglama,” the komuz continues to gain popularity. Since September 9, 2019, Kyrgyzstan has celebrated Komuz Day annually. Epic tales are recited to the sound of the komuz, and traditional music performances are unimaginable without it. While there are dozens of komuz masters across Kyrgyzstan, 66-year-old Bishkek resident Sadyrbek Sagynbayev is among those keeping the craft alive.
Although a professional painter by trade, Sagynbayev’s passion for making musical instruments from wood dates back to his childhood. The son of a komuz craftsman, he studied painting at the Art Academy in Bishkek, later working as a chief stage designer in theaters and appearing in films.
“I was interested in both komuz playing and painting as a child,” he recalled. “My father used to make komuzes, and I helped him. I chose painting as my profession and worked in theaters after graduation. One day, my friend Nuraydin Abdırazakov told me he was making komuzes, and I said I wanted to learn. He took me to his workshop, gave me a piece of pine, and showed me how it was done. Remembering what my late father had taught me, I made my first komuz with great enthusiasm. Even though I was a painter, I always wanted to make komuzes. I sold that first one for 800 soms. It made me feel like a millionaire,” he said.
Later, a friend introduced Sagynbayev to a master craftsman. “I took lessons from great masters and started making komuzes wholeheartedly. After finishing work at the theater, I would go to a nearby park and make komuzes. I would lose track of time. Eventually, I could make one every two or three days. Back then, everything was done by hand. Today, electronic tools make it easier, but it’s still a job that requires patience, precision, and skill. Now, I can finish one komuz a day,” he said.
Each Komuz Has Its Own Voice
Sagynbayev usually makes komuzes from apricot and walnut wood. “Sometimes I get orders for pine. Each type of wood gives the komuz a distinct tone. Even if you make three identical komuzes from the same apricot tree, none of them will sound exactly the same. That’s one of the most fascinating things about the komuz. Another feature is that it can play melodies that are impossible to perform on many other folk instruments — it’s truly versatile,” he explained.
He noted that about 80% of the komuz’s sound quality depends on its soundboard, for which he uses a special type of pine that grows in the Issyk-Kul region. Sagynbayev emphasized that the wood should be cut in November or December.
“My late father used to say that a tree should be cut while it’s ‘asleep,’ not when it’s alive. Wood cut in winter doesn’t crack, but trees cut in warmer months often do, making them unsuitable for komuz making,” he said.
He said he obtains wood from acquaintances across Kyrgyzstan: “When someone cuts down an apricot tree, they send me 5–6 sections, and in return, I make them a komuz.”
Passing the Tradition Forward
“Each time I make a komuz, I feel as though I’m making one for the first time,” Sagynbayev said. “I can’t call myself a great master. The komuz is a sacred instrument.”
His family supports his craft. “My daughter graduated from the music school’s komuz class and now teaches it to students. Many foreigners are also interested — she teaches komuz online to students from the USA, Germany, France, Saudi Arabia, Korea, and Japan. Some have even visited Kyrgyzstan to meet us. My son also plays the komuz,” he said.
“The sound of the komuz evokes indescribable emotions.”
“For me, making komuzes is a way of life. It’s good for the mind. The sound it produces evokes feelings that words can’t describe,” Sagynbayev shared. “I play the komuz, but I can’t read musical notes. When I hear its sound somewhere, I always stop to listen — it feels like the komuz is greeting me. Creating the sound of the steppe from wood leaves an indescribable emotion inside me.”
He sells his komuzes to Kyrgyz people and foreigners around the world, noting that an apricot-wood komuz costs around $290. Interest in the komuz among young people is increasing every year. “Every Kyrgyz household should have a komuz. My late father used to say that a home with a komuz brings prosperity,” he said.
Sagynbayev also trains apprentices to pass the craft to future generations. “I’m teaching everything I know.”
He added that Kyrgyz komuz masters gather every two years. “Until now, each master has made komuzes in different sizes; some with long necks, others with thick or thin soundboards. When a child used to one master’s komuz picks up another’s, their fingers don’t always fit. That’s why we’re now trying to establish a single size standard for komuz making,” he said.
İHA
