About 10 years ago, a modest, intimate launch of the six-track album “Famous Men” took place at Hi-Fi Records. From that release, the song “The Bride and the Bachelor” later found a place in Netflix’s popular series Outer Banks, while “Crimson,” another of his compositions, was featured in “The Case File”. Many film viewers will likely recognize these tracks, as his music has quietly but memorably accompanied visual storytelling across different platforms.

As a viewer myself, I have often felt that some of the most beautiful and emotionally resonant scenes of Director J.Sengedorj’s film “The Salesgirl” (2021), which is a piece that went on to receive numerous awards at international film festivals, were truly “brought to life” and enriched with depth, color, and atmosphere through B.Dulguun’s music. The soundtrack did not merely accompany the film; it elevated its emotional texture.

Last summer, several of his songs were also included in “Death Stranding 2: On the Beach”, a highly anticipated title by Hideo Kojima, widely regarded as a living legend in the world of video games. When asked about this achievement, he responded simply and characteristically, “The most important thing is that the song itself has to be good.” This understated remark perhaps best captures his artistic philosophy.

It is also worth mentioning that B.Dulguun co-founded “Fat Cat Jazz Club”, which is a cozy, tasteful, and quietly charming hidden gem in our city, together with his friend G.Khongor. The venue has become something of a “home” for musicians, a place where live music, warmth, and community come together naturally. With that, we present our interview with the creator behind all of these works: indie folk singer-songwriter B.Dulguun (Magnolian).

Indie folk has a very distinctive rhythm. It feels as if it exists at the meeting point of the city’s constant movement and the countryside’s calm—a kind of in-between emotional space.
 

I decided from the very beginning that this was the genre I would sing in. Rather than carefully choosing one style from many, this is simply the music that has “grown” out of me. I’ve always loved and been deeply drawn to folk singers. From the start, I also thought I would avoid writing songs that require an exceptionally powerful or technically demanding voice. I grew up listening to Fleet Foxes—an indie folk band formed in Seattle, Washington, in 2006—and Bon Iver, the singer-songwriter, and that probably had a strong influence on me. I kept thinking to myself that I wanted to create music like that.

You first performed at Playtime in 2015, didn’t you? Also, is it true that 29 out of the 30 people in the audience were your friends or acquaintances?
 

Yes. And that’s probably true. At the time, Playtime didn’t have many stages, especially ones dedicated to live music. I remember going on stage around 3:00 p.m. When I looked out toward the audience, there were only a handful of people standing at the front of a fairly large open space—and they were all familiar faces. I was still very new to songwriting then. I simply stood there alone, played my guitar, and sang. I also had a desire to stand out as a solo artist, to be different from others.

That ratio must be very different now, right?
 

Of course, it’s completely different now (laughs). When I performed last year, the entire area was filled with people. I’ve gained listeners; I’ve found my audience.

Since then, you’ve formed a band, haven’t you?

In the early days, the band members changed quite often. But now we have a stable lineup. I’m working with N.Jamukh on drums, Ch.Davaadorj and B.Oyunbold on guitar, and B.Bayartsengel on violin. I’d say that the new ideas we developed through discussion as a band really shaped our latest album. Occasionally, my wife B.Enkhjin joins us as a backing vocalist at major concerts. I usually write the songs myself. At first, I thought I would only compose the music and eventually find a singer who could “bring it to life”. But after searching and searching without success, I finally decided, “Alright, I’ll just sing them myself.”

You started learning guitar at the age of 12. When did you begin composing and singing your own songs, then?
 

When I had just learned to play guitar and sing, there was a time when I would invite girls from my class to listen (laughs). But I never really finished my songs back then. I’d make a 30 to 40 second “something” and then abandon it. I think I started writing full-length songs when I was about 16. Around the age of 10, I was already in a band—we even recorded our songs in a studio. After that, I went on to study at university, majoring in visual arts. People who graduate in that field can pretty much do anything. But I never once thought I’d make a living from it. My parents never make decisions for me or tell me, “Do this, do that.” A lot happened before I was finally able to release my first album, “Famous Men”.

The album cover is very interesting.
 

Yes. One thing I was absolutely certain about was that I didn’t want to release an album with my own photo on the cover. One day, while looking through old photographs kept in a metal box at our home, I found that image. I showed it to my wife, and she immediately said, “This is really great.” Finding that photo was pure luck, honestly. It’s a very intriguing image, isn’t it? Although it depicts the countryside, it doesn’t show a young man on horseback. The photo was taken during Naadam. You know how people usually dress when they go to the countryside in summer. If you look closely, you’ll see three older brothers adjusting an antenna so they can watch the wrestling.

You’ve said that your first guitar gave you a lot. What exactly did you mean by that?
 

The guitar my parents bought for me still exists. It’s nothing fancy. But it feels very “spiritual”, almost like a consecrated statue. I once broke it, actually—but I glued it back together.

Who have you been reading lately?
 

Chilean Writer Benjamín Labatut’s “When We Cease to Understand the World”. It explores how 20th-century scientists became obsessively devoted to their work and how their discoveries were connected to World Wars I and II. I’d also like to highlight Ernest Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea”. When I’m writing lyrics, sometimes absolutely nothing comes to mind. I get stuck—there’s nothing to hold on to. At moments like that, picking up any random book and reading it suddenly gives me inspiration: “Ah, so this is another way to write.” To write, you need freedom. If you try too hard, you become tense. You end up criticizing everything you write. 

The song “All the Different People” from “They Sing Up On The Hill” (2019) has an opening that sounds very similar to “She’s Got You High” from 500 Days of Summer.
 

It really does, yes.

Have there been times when a song turned out very differently from how you originally imagined it during the writing process?
 

Yes, there are. Which song would you like to talk about?

For example, “Civil War”.
 

Interestingly, people don’t ask much about that song. I had written about half of it, and then nothing came to me—no ideas at all. I didn’t know how to finish it. It was like a car stuck in the mud. You keep pushing, but the wheels just won’t come out. Still, I managed to finish it in the end. “Caroline” also has a very unusual story. One day, I couldn’t get into my apartment. I must have come home late because of a concert. Everyone inside was asleep, and I didn’t have a key. So I ended up spending the whole night in the stairwell. I kept walking upstairs, and by the time I reached the roof of the building, the sun was rising. It was right at that moment that the chorus of the song came to me. The feeling of creating something new is incredible—so exciting. I remember thinking, I’ve found it, this is it.

Could you talk more about that feeling? I’ve heard that some of your listeners even show your music to their foreign friends with pride.
 

Composing music feels like something you can’t really control. It’s a bit like fishing. At the very least, you have to cast your line into the sea. Sometimes you catch a fish; sometimes months or even years go by without catching anything. Maybe I think this way because I read The Old Man and the Sea. And when you catch a really big fish, it feels like a gift from the ocean. That’s why creative work requires not only talent and skill, but also a certain amount of luck. For example, “Indigo” was created exactly like that; very quickly. I almost couldn’t believe it myself. I was so excited that I couldn’t sleep. Music is a kind of transmitter. It’s like saying, I want to pass this feeling on to you. You and I already share the same kind of heart.

So how would you say your songs have changed over time?
 

I believe my new songs are better than my older ones. But I don’t think the process of songwriting itself has changed. Usually, the more you do something, the easier it becomes. But for me, that’s not the case at all. If anything, it’s become even harder.

Maybe creative work never truly becomes manageable?
 

Well, I’m not sure. My main goal is not to repeat myself. Of course, I could keep writing songs that sound similar to my previous ones. But that would mean I’m just imitating myself. I don’t want to do that. I’ve already written most of the songs for my new album, and I think they’re better than anything I’ve done before. Overthinking while writing songs is definitely not a good thing, and that is something listeners can sense. There’s a clear difference between something that’s been forced and something that has flowed naturally.