Mark Slobin on Afghanistan’s Musical Heritage

When Mark Slobin first set foot in Afghanistan in the late 1960s, the country was at a crossroads. A new constitution had recently opened Afghanistan to the world, and with it came a sense of possibility. For Slobin, then a young ethnomusicologist eager to study musical traditions beyond the Western canon, it was the start of a lifelong connection to a culture that would both welcome and challenge him.

Slobin recalls those early days vividly: the bustle of the Bazaar where he first met musicians or in the chai khana (tea rooms) with other men in the communities he travelled to, the steep learning curve of navigating difference dialects and ethnicities, and the careful balance of earning trust in a society where music was respected but carried a complicated social status. “Music had a low status in the society. Musicians were polite, but often hidden,” he remembers. “Music was considered enjoyable, yet dangerous if taken to extremes.”

Music Across Boundaries

During his fieldwork, Slobin sought out sounds across Afghanistan’s diverse ethnic landscape. He discovered music as a unifying force, while also noticing sharp differences between traditions. Local styles flourished in weddings, parties, and private gatherings, while the rise of Radio Afghanistan in the 1950s and 1960s began to standardize a shared national sound. Instruments like the rabab and dumbra—simple, scarce, and deeply tied to identity—captured his imagination.

“The radio orchestra was extraordinary,” Slobin explains. “It blended Indian influences with Afghan instruments to create something distinct, something Afghans could call their own.” Women, however, often performed in secrecy, a reality that underscored both the richness and fragility of Afghanistan’s musical world.

Secrecy and Survival

Slobin also confronted the silences around music. Dance, for instance, was far more difficult to access than instrumental traditions, as it was considered even more taboo. Cassette tapes, however, shifted the landscape—allowing music to travel, be shared, and preserved in private spaces.

But political upheavals repeatedly threatened these traditions. The Taliban’s first ban on music in the 1990s shocked the world. Still, Slobin notes that today’s situation is even bleaker. “The current ban has gone further—musicians have been killed, and the cultural heritage is suffering losses we may never recover from.”

An Uncertain Archive

In the early 2000s, efforts were made to safeguard Afghan music. Slobin, along with colleagues like John Baily and Lorraine Sakata, worked to preserve collections and promote Afghan musicians in exile. Thousands of hours of Radio Afghanistan’s archives were digitized by Sakata, yet the Afghan government declined to allow copies abroad. Their fate, now under Taliban control, remains uncertain.

For Slobin, this represents more than a lost archive—it’s the erasure of a nation’s artistic memory.

Looking Forward

Despite the challenges, Slobin remains hopeful that younger generations, both in Afghanistan and the diaspora, will carry the torch. “What worries me is the stagnancy,” he admits. “Even in exile, musicians are struggling to experiment or create new work.” Yet, he believes that the rich traditions he witnessed decades ago still have the power to inspire.

As he reflects on his years in Afghanistan, Slobin’s message is clear: music is not just entertainment, but a cultural lifeline. Preserving it means preserving the soul of a people.