Horses are to Huun Huur Tu as cars were to Bruce Springsteen in his prime: a narrative motor, but also a symbol of unexpressed longing.
The Tuvans admire their herds as they run on the hill; gallop on their racers, exciting the envy of their rivals; dismount and admire the maidens of Saryglarlar. The music is polyphonic throat singing, with neighing fiddle and drumbeats like hooves.
At the close of “Chryaa-Khoor”, they snort and whinny.“Let our herds grow and expand”, they sing.