The Cambodian Space Project
Spectator.co.uk
Read original article at Spectator.co.uk
The Cambodian Space Project spreads Cambodian music around world. Here is the first half of a Spotify Sunday Cambodian rocky playlist compiled by the CSP’s Julian Poulson. The second will appear here tomorrow.
The opportunity to compile a mix-tape for The Spectator is also an opportunity to rewind through a soundtrack to Cambodia’s bewildering history. Let’s start with the sound of the Chapei Dong Veng, a UNESCO-listed instrument that predates Buddha’s enlightenment: the Chapei would most certainly have been heard during the times of ancient Angkor when the Khmer Empire was at its greatest.
Fast forward to ‘Operation Menu’ – when the Nixon / Kissinger secret war inside Cambodia saw the dropping of more tonnage of bombs than the entire duration of WW11, changing Cambodia forever. In 1975, the genocidal Khmer Rouge took control of Cambodia, murdered one third of the population and destroyed all culture. In 1980, when Pol Pot had been forced into the jungles, the CSP’s diminutive diva, Srey Thy, was born into war and poverty, in the biggest bay boom in the world’s history.
War raged on. Thy and her father, a tank driver, moved about Cambodia in a T53 tank listening to the radio. Music was again free to be enjoyed and Thy learned the songs of pre-war Cambodia. In the newly independent Cambodia of the 1960s, Prince Norodom Sihanouk produced popular music and films while ducking and weaving the Cold War politics of the day. In today’s Phnom Penh, groups like The Cambodian Space Project are at the forefront of an arts and culture revival.
Here’s the CSP’s Cambodian Rock mix-tape – a musical trip through time and space.
Surfin Bird - The Trashmen
Whenever I hear the Trashmen’s ‘Surfin Bird’, I think of the extraordinary effect this song has during one of the most shocking and debased scenes in Stanley Kubrick’s film Full Metal Jacket. It’s a moment when the contrast of brilliant rock ‘n’ roll music of the 1960s is coupled with the horror of war. Music is fun, war is hell.
We refer to this song as ‘the Cambodian national anthem’ when we play it live. It’s the best known song by Ros Sereysothea aka ‘The Golden Voice’ of Phnom Penh. Sereysothea sings the lyric ‘I’m sixteen’ against this fantastic surf groove while the backing vocals answer ‘give me some love / give me love’. In our version, Srey Thy changes the lyric to sing ‘I’m 31’ but we keep the same answer vocal. The sound of this song really epitomizes the sound of Cambodian Rock. Sereysothea disappeared during the Pol Pot years, most likely murdered by Khmer Rouge, but her voice and music remain extraordinary reminders of the pre-war music of Cambodia.
Often, when we play shows in Cambodian villages, the older people will say that Srey Thy reminds them of Pan Ron. It’s no surprise to us that this happens. Pan Ron, like Ros Sereysothea, was one of the great Cambodian divas of the 1960s but was considered far more risqué than the latter. This saucy style is something that appeals to Srey Thy, and Pan Ron is her favourite Cambodian singer.
In today’s Cambodia, a singer writing risqué songs like those of Pan Ron would be censored or banned. CSP’s first release was a version of this song, ‘Kynom Mon Sok Jet Tae’ (or ‘I’m Unsatisfied’ or ‘Rusty Man’). It’s a great, free-spirited pop song with an incredibly infectious vocal hook.
CSP released this song on the first vinyl put out by a Cambodian band since the fall of Phnom Penh to the Khmer Rouge. In April 1975, the Khmer Rouge set about implementing its infamous Year Zero mandate, destroying all culture in an ill-conceived idea to return to agrarian utopia. Musicians, artists, intellectuals were all targets of the regime and were murdered along with almost 2million Cambodians.
Srey Thy loves the music of Nancy Sinatra and we’ve worked up versions of ‘Summer Wine’ and ‘Some Velvet Morning’. We were surprised to also find this Khmer version of ‘Bang Bang’ as it’s also a song we thought to cover before we found the version by Pan Ron. We’ve since recorded a live version for BBC3. This version by Pan Ron has a more upbeat swing than the original Nancy version but has the same mood of romance and darkness: an atmosphere that recurrent throughout a lot of Cambodian music.
Many of the original recordings of Cambodian music were destroyed or lost during the Khmer Rouge period. Unlike in neighbouring countries, it’s near impossible to find the original vinyl, so every time I discover a new song, such as this one, I’m excited.
I also realize just how much depth there was to the 1960s music being produced in Cambodia. Not only did the musicians, and worldly producers like Sin Sisamouth, import sounds from The British Invasion and via GI Radio spilling over from the war in Vietnam, but also they reinterpreted this music in a unique way, adding traditional Khmer melodies and beats and coming up with fresh and original sounds.
I love the great garage rock sound on this track and the way the drums and guitars swing in and out of double time. There was a wonderful sophistication to the way the Cambodian musicians were playing and experimenting with new production ideas in these recordings. This track really rocks.
A cyclo is a pedi-cab. I’m told cyclo drivers are often ‘a bit stoned’ and perhaps that’s why they like this fun but very poorly paid job. Yol Aularong seems to have been the wild boy of Cambodian rock: in this track he sings about taking a cyclo down to the market, checking out all the girls from the comfy vantage point the cyclo’s low-down, slow moving recliner chair offers.
It’s a classic, sleazy rock ‘n’ roll track made famous again by its release on Parallel Words 1996 Cambodian Rocks compilation and its inclusion on the soundtrack to the Matt Dillon film City of Ghosts. The film is only worth watching because of that great soundtrack and for the cameo by Ian Snow, of the much-loved but now-demolished Phnom Penh bar, Snow’s Bar.
Read original article at Spectator.co.uk
The Cambodian Space Project spreads Cambodian music around world. Here is the first half of a Spotify Sunday Cambodian rocky playlist compiled by the CSP’s Julian Poulson. The second will appear here tomorrow.
The opportunity to compile a mix-tape for The Spectator is also an opportunity to rewind through a soundtrack to Cambodia’s bewildering history. Let’s start with the sound of the Chapei Dong Veng, a UNESCO-listed instrument that predates Buddha’s enlightenment: the Chapei would most certainly have been heard during the times of ancient Angkor when the Khmer Empire was at its greatest.
Fast forward to ‘Operation Menu’ – when the Nixon / Kissinger secret war inside Cambodia saw the dropping of more tonnage of bombs than the entire duration of WW11, changing Cambodia forever. In 1975, the genocidal Khmer Rouge took control of Cambodia, murdered one third of the population and destroyed all culture. In 1980, when Pol Pot had been forced into the jungles, the CSP’s diminutive diva, Srey Thy, was born into war and poverty, in the biggest bay boom in the world’s history.
War raged on. Thy and her father, a tank driver, moved about Cambodia in a T53 tank listening to the radio. Music was again free to be enjoyed and Thy learned the songs of pre-war Cambodia. In the newly independent Cambodia of the 1960s, Prince Norodom Sihanouk produced popular music and films while ducking and weaving the Cold War politics of the day. In today’s Phnom Penh, groups like The Cambodian Space Project are at the forefront of an arts and culture revival.
Here’s the CSP’s Cambodian Rock mix-tape – a musical trip through time and space.
Surfin Bird - The Trashmen
Whenever I hear the Trashmen’s ‘Surfin Bird’, I think of the extraordinary effect this song has during one of the most shocking and debased scenes in Stanley Kubrick’s film Full Metal Jacket. It’s a moment when the contrast of brilliant rock ‘n’ roll music of the 1960s is coupled with the horror of war. Music is fun, war is hell.
We refer to this song as ‘the Cambodian national anthem’ when we play it live. It’s the best known song by Ros Sereysothea aka ‘The Golden Voice’ of Phnom Penh. Sereysothea sings the lyric ‘I’m sixteen’ against this fantastic surf groove while the backing vocals answer ‘give me some love / give me love’. In our version, Srey Thy changes the lyric to sing ‘I’m 31’ but we keep the same answer vocal. The sound of this song really epitomizes the sound of Cambodian Rock. Sereysothea disappeared during the Pol Pot years, most likely murdered by Khmer Rouge, but her voice and music remain extraordinary reminders of the pre-war music of Cambodia.
Often, when we play shows in Cambodian villages, the older people will say that Srey Thy reminds them of Pan Ron. It’s no surprise to us that this happens. Pan Ron, like Ros Sereysothea, was one of the great Cambodian divas of the 1960s but was considered far more risqué than the latter. This saucy style is something that appeals to Srey Thy, and Pan Ron is her favourite Cambodian singer.
In today’s Cambodia, a singer writing risqué songs like those of Pan Ron would be censored or banned. CSP’s first release was a version of this song, ‘Kynom Mon Sok Jet Tae’ (or ‘I’m Unsatisfied’ or ‘Rusty Man’). It’s a great, free-spirited pop song with an incredibly infectious vocal hook.
CSP released this song on the first vinyl put out by a Cambodian band since the fall of Phnom Penh to the Khmer Rouge. In April 1975, the Khmer Rouge set about implementing its infamous Year Zero mandate, destroying all culture in an ill-conceived idea to return to agrarian utopia. Musicians, artists, intellectuals were all targets of the regime and were murdered along with almost 2million Cambodians.
Srey Thy loves the music of Nancy Sinatra and we’ve worked up versions of ‘Summer Wine’ and ‘Some Velvet Morning’. We were surprised to also find this Khmer version of ‘Bang Bang’ as it’s also a song we thought to cover before we found the version by Pan Ron. We’ve since recorded a live version for BBC3. This version by Pan Ron has a more upbeat swing than the original Nancy version but has the same mood of romance and darkness: an atmosphere that recurrent throughout a lot of Cambodian music.
Many of the original recordings of Cambodian music were destroyed or lost during the Khmer Rouge period. Unlike in neighbouring countries, it’s near impossible to find the original vinyl, so every time I discover a new song, such as this one, I’m excited.
I also realize just how much depth there was to the 1960s music being produced in Cambodia. Not only did the musicians, and worldly producers like Sin Sisamouth, import sounds from The British Invasion and via GI Radio spilling over from the war in Vietnam, but also they reinterpreted this music in a unique way, adding traditional Khmer melodies and beats and coming up with fresh and original sounds.
I love the great garage rock sound on this track and the way the drums and guitars swing in and out of double time. There was a wonderful sophistication to the way the Cambodian musicians were playing and experimenting with new production ideas in these recordings. This track really rocks.
A cyclo is a pedi-cab. I’m told cyclo drivers are often ‘a bit stoned’ and perhaps that’s why they like this fun but very poorly paid job. Yol Aularong seems to have been the wild boy of Cambodian rock: in this track he sings about taking a cyclo down to the market, checking out all the girls from the comfy vantage point the cyclo’s low-down, slow moving recliner chair offers.
It’s a classic, sleazy rock ‘n’ roll track made famous again by its release on Parallel Words 1996 Cambodian Rocks compilation and its inclusion on the soundtrack to the Matt Dillon film City of Ghosts. The film is only worth watching because of that great soundtrack and for the cameo by Ian Snow, of the much-loved but now-demolished Phnom Penh bar, Snow’s Bar.
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