Music – Advisor

DIY or die

Riz Farooqi, vocalist for the Hong Kong hardcore band King Ly Chee, should have more chips on his shoulder than a poker table at Naga World. Riz is Pakistani by ethnic heritage and his parents are devout Muslims. Yet, despite being Pakistani and growing up in China, English is Riz’s first and native language. He has never fit into the society in which he grew up, and he’s used to having to struggle with people who don’t understand him.

It is no mere coincidence that his band recently released an album titled CNHC. The CN stands for China, the HC stands for – you guessed it – hardcore. It’s a hardcore affectation that’s been scrawled as graffiti on bathroom walls or merchandised at shows as t-shirts. It was used first (or if not first, then most famously) in New York as NYHC.

Hardcore is a musical genre that formed as an offshoot of punk. It still shares some commonality with traditional punk, but over the years it mutated and evolved to the point where it had its own distinct sound. By the late ‘80s there was a definite metal influence on hardcore’s style of guitar-playing, as well as its haircuts. Today, hardcore has its own family tree of sub-genres, some of them arguably more popular than hardcore ever has been. Metalcore, for instance, likely has a lot more current listeners than traditional hardcore.

King Ly Chee has been an active band since 1999, with four albums out and a number of tours of Asia under its belt. When the group started out 16 years ago, there was no awareness of hardcore in Hong Kong, and very little going on generally with underground or alternative music. Riz first got into hardcore when he attended the University of Massachusetts at Amherst in 1994.

In that same year, I was in America, running an all-ages DIY venue for punk and hardcore shows with the singer of the band Bloodline, which headlined that first show I’d attended. I was a bit precocious, without a doubt, but hardcore is a participatory culture. It requires its fans to be the creators of the music or the organisers of the shows, because if they don’t take it upon themselves to do it, nobody else will. There’s no real money in it, and it has little mass appeal or commercial potential. DIY as an ideology isn’t about home improvement. The Do It Yourself ethic is about having an independent streak – about creating instead of just contemplating – and it is often accompanied by an anti-capitalist conviction that music (and art in general) should be created for the sake of self-expression, not just to make money.

With that in mind, how exactly does one go about growing a music scene into something vibrant, exciting, and sustained by the efforts of the fans? Riz shared his thoughts on what he believes is necessary to develop a more active underground music scene in Cambodia. He’d be the first to tell you that he hasn’t achieved the total results he’d hoped for in Hong Kong to date, but his 16 years of experience nonetheless give him a great deal of insight into the subject.

1. We need more bands.

“The best thing to do is to get more bands started,” Riz says. “Then those bands will inspire even more people to start their own bands. The more bands you get going the more they will want to get better than the next band as a way of friendly competition and that helps improve songwriting and raises the standards. As these bands play shows together, over time, a community forms around them.”

When Riz asked for my help in setting up King Ly Chee with a show here in Phnom Penh, my first thought was: who the hell do I get to play with them? While shows with bands from disparate genres can be fun and are a good way to cross-pollinate the fan bases of those different genres and groups, the most effective way to get people to show up for a touring band that they aren’t familiar with is to give them strong local support in the form of a local band that already has a following. And, in order to maximise the possibility that the local band’s fans will in turn become fans of the touring act, they should have a similar sound.

For this reason, I asked Sliten6ix to open as they are, if not hardcore precisely, the most well-known “heavy” band in Cambodia. They have also been more or less defunct for over a year now, after they parted ways with their original guitarist. In the intervening year, the bassist also left to join another band. Sliten6ix, in order to play, needed a bassist and guitarist. We managed to get it done, but having to bring a band out of retirement just to put a bill together for a show speaks volumes about the current state of alternative/underground music in Cambodia.

2. These bands need to write and play their own songs. Covers should be a fun rarity, not the entire set list.

“Cover songs are not your songs,” Riz says. “No matter how much you can connect to someone else’s song, it’s still someone else’s song. So when you’re playing someone else’s song and the crowd is going wild, you have to realise how much cooler it would be if the crowd was going wild screaming the words to a song whose words came from your heart, based on your feelings and thoughts.”

Cover bands do not encourage the growth of a music scene in the same manner as bands playing their own original music. They can be fun to watch and entertaining and all that, but some kid isn’t going to watch you play a Beatles tune and think to themself, “I want to be like THAT guy!” They are going to think, “I want to be like John Lennon, and so does that guy!” They come away with the impression that live music is for rank amateurs who don’t even know how to write their own songs. They aren’t watching John Lennon perform live, they do not get to meet him after the show and talk about other bands that John Lennon likes, and it doesn’t matter how note perfect your cover is, because you aren’t him or Paul McCartney or George Harrison. Hell, you’re not even Ringo. Not even close. Those guys are all still remote as the Gods perched on Mount Olympus to a bunch of kids looking to be inspired. And in order to inspire kids to form their own bands, we need to do so ourselves.

3. Should teens be hanging out in dive bars? Even in Cambodia?“

Once you’ve got bands going you gotta find a place to play,” Riz says. “Then book your own shows, put out your own music, get it up online and spread the word. There’s a reason people outside of Cambodia don’t know anything about Cambodian heavy music – and it’s up to YOU guys to change that.”

Teenagers who are 18 years old can go wherever they like. But it’s better if they are exposed to the live music scene a few years earlier than that, if possible. The existence of a safe, clean, welcoming, and wholesome all-ages music venue willing to let bands play, whose music is none of the above, is perhaps an unachievable pipe-dream. But with the number of NGOs operating here, you’re telling me that not one of them has any kind of community centre that they’ve opened in Phnom Penh? Nothing like that? Perhaps somebody could start an NGO, solicit donations internationally, pay themselves a salary out of those donations, and use the rest to open a community centre that has a performance space where bands could play, including teenagers’ newly formed bands. Just a thought, if anybody out there is tired of teaching.

4. What kind of bands do we need more of?

“The ‘sound’ doesn’t matter as much as the heart and attitude,” says Riz. “I’ve seen some pretty amazing bands in the States that absolutely were hardcore at heart, if not in their sound.”

It would be nice to see any kind of bands forming, so long as they’re playing original songs. Personally, I would like to hear and see more music from the extreme or alternative genres being played. But ultimately, as Riz says, it doesn’t matter so much what a band sounds like, rather, how the band thinks and how they do things. Are they independent? Passionate about what they believe in and their music? It doesn’t matter so much whether the music generated by all of these young pioneers is hip hop or hardcore. It’s more important to the future of arts in the city that it be original and – hopefully sooner rather than later – actually good.

King Ly Chee will play at 8pm, Wednesday June 17 at Show Box, #11 St. 330 with Sliten6ix as part of their Asia tour.

Old flame, new fire

The moment passes in a flash. Tokay, the first cut off Dengue Fever’s latest album, opens with a frighteningly lo-fi percussion sample that sounds like it came off a cheap Casio keyboard. The digital cliché stops your heart (and not in a good way), and for a terrifying moment you think Dengue Fever, not long ago one of LA’s finest hipster bands and Cambodia’s own post-pop musical superstars, have jumped the shark.

Then a kazoo drops in (or something that sounds like a kazoo, but maybe not an actual kazoo. Maybe that cheap Casio) backed by African-style drums and a nimble bass line. When the music pulls back and lead singer Chhom Nimol comes in, it’s like an old flame has sauntered into the room and flashed a coy smile. No sharks. No fear. Instant new crush.

So it goes with Dengue Fever, who have not released a full-length album since Cannibal Courtship in 2011. In the ensuing time the band dumped its previous record label, Fantasy, and started its own, Tuk Tuk Records, which has allowed the sextet to create and release music on its own terms.

Since debuting in 2001 as a gimmicky Khmer oldies band, Dengue Fever has continuously defied expectations. The labels – Khmer oldies, garage, world, psychedelic, surf – have never stuck.

The Deepest Lake took a year to come together, and with it the band seems to have fully assimilated its influences. No longer is Dengue Fever just an LA band with an exotic Khmer singer, or a Khmer oldies band with barang musicians. The influences on The Deepest Lake are far more diverse than anything previous. They include African and Latin rhythms, dream pop and even rap. The music defies categorisation – try as we might.

After Tokay, the seductive opening cut, the band drops into No Sudden Moves, a song about some doped-up meth heads who live across the street. The track embodies the classic Dengue Fever sound, from the driving melodies and low-end sax fills to the trademark reverb-drenched guitar licks and high-flying vocals.

The song opens with a solo bass line and an upbeat guitar-driven melody. It’s a bit quirky, and momentarily feels a bit too cute, but Chhom Nimol’s vocals soon take centre stage and pull the track back toward a middle-of-the-road indie rock groove. And then beyond.

In a first for the band, the Battambang songstress starts rapping midway through the song. It’s an unassuming shift, and she handles it so deftly that it takes a moment to fully realise that you’ve just heard Chhom Nimol spittin’ rhymes like a South Central cholita.

The third cut, Rom Say Sok, is big-hair surf rock fun reminiscent of the B-52s in their Love Shack days.

From there the album slips into a dreamy, atmospheric mood with Ghost Voice and Deepest Lake on the Planet. In the former, the band serves up a trippy, jungle rock tapestry composed with cowbells and traditional Khmer melodies, in the latter a hypnotic dream pop journey through submarine fantasies.

The English-language Cardboard Castles marks a return to arm-waving indie pop, and the song is sure to make any college kid worth his microbrew swoon.

Vacant Lot is another moody, minor-key ensemble that seems tailor made for an overdose scene in a Quentin Tarantino film. Still Waters Run Deep, a fast-paced surf rock number, could easily score the chase sequence.

The Deepest Lake closes with Taxi Dancer – a slow-grooving showcase for Nimol’s haunting vocals – and Golden Flute, a similarly inspired tune built with expressive percussions and brooding, musical textures.

If the Khmer oldies hits were the gimmick that started it all, the band, now nearly 15 years old, has certainly evolved into a mature outfit with its own distinct sound. The Deepest Lake is likely Dengue Fever’s finest album yet. And with the new evolved sound, the band seems just a little less crush-worthy, and just a little more like something suitable for a long-term affair. Hopefully, it won’t take another four years to hook up again.

Beats and blunts on Death Row

When most of us say we “grew up with Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre,” we mean we had them blaring on our stereos. When DJ Jam says it, he means he spent his after-school hours with them cutting tunes and passing doobs. The producer and official DJ of the veteran rappers speaks about the pre-fame days, how he scouted Lil Bow Wow and what happened the night The Notorious B.I.G. was killed.

…..

How did you become the official DJ for Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre?
The first person I met from the crew was Kurupt, when I was doing the major college parties at San Diego State University. I ended up transferring colleges to LA, where Kurupt would come visit my campus and rap to my beats. Sometimes I’d hook up with him, Snoop, Warren G and everyone. This is way before they were known. I was making mix tapes back then, and when they heard them they were like, “Oh man, you’re dope!”

Just before I moved to LA, a big club called Jamaica House, opened up in San Diego. All the big stars went there. You’d rock up and Tupac would jump up on stage or Run DMC. The first night they opened I DJ’d with an Akai MPC60 drum machine sampler. I had one before they came out on the market, cuz I knew somebody who knew somebody. People didn’t know what it was – they’d gather ‘round just to see the dude with the weird machine playing all this crazy stuff! One night I was DJing and Dre comes in with [Big] Shug. Dre comes up and asks me to dinner. Next night I’m at a strip club eating this big dinner in Hollywood! He says he’s about to do this project, The Chronic, he thinks I’m a dope DJ, and am I down?

So once I moved to LA a little after, I’d go to the studio with Dre after school. I’d be in my schoolbooks then mixing at the board. One day, in comes Snoop, Kurupt and all them. There was no “Snoop and Dre” back then. So I’m sitting there looking at them and I’m like, “What are you guys doing here?” And they look at me and they’re like, “What are you doing here?!” Everybody just busts up laughing, like, “How did this dude from San Diego just come in and basically infiltrate our camp?” It was that moment where they were both cool with me being their DJ. If it wasn’t for that moment, I dunno, man… I would have been satisfied with either of them, whoever asked me first, I guess. Everyone was just like, There’s got a be a message here or something. So I just started DJing for everyone on Death Row [Records]. It was good how it happened because The Chronic was basically a Snoop-Dre album anyway. And I was behind them both already. It was very organic.

Snoop seems like such a chill guy on stage. What’s he like in person?
Snoop’s such a happy-go-lucky, laidback guy. Nothing really pisses him off, know what I mean? All the other artists are cool with him too. They always come to our dressing room, wherever we are. And whoever they are, he always lets them in, shows respect – country singers, actors, it doesn’t matter. Like 80 percent of the time they’ll come smoke with us, so I keep seeing all these stars who I really didn’t think smoked, and I’m like, “Ohhh, okay. I see now.” (laughs)

Dr Dre seems to have a comparatively less “laidback” persona onstage…
Dre wants to make sure that everything’s just right. He’s very, very, VERY critical of his stuff – too critical, I think, sometimes. But it shows. He’s made some of the best productions and sets ever. The Up In Smoke tour was a perfect example of that. So many elements. I mean, who the hell does that? He’s got the pieces and puts it all together. It was the same with his music-making. It was like he was doing surgery. That’s how he got his name – the Doctor.

You are responsible for scouting Lil Bow Wow in 1993. How did that happen?
We were on tour in Columbus, Ohio and I was sound-checking on stage. Bow Wow’s father waves his hand, so I go over and he says to me, “Hey, this is my kid, and he can rap.” He was six at the time. I pulled him on stage, put on a beat and he starts rapping. I’m like, “Whoaaa!” I take him backstage and tell Dre and Snoop they gotta check this little cat out. Bow Wow just freestyles acapella, and everyone’s blown away. Then Lil Bow Wow’s like, “Play some music!” Dre hits the boombox and he starts dancing his little butt off! So Dre tells Bow Wow and his father to go home, pack, and come on tour with us. And they did. After the tour, we sent for him and his family to come live in LA while we worked on Snoop’s album, Doggystyle. Dre wanted Lil Bow Wow in his studio to suck it all in. But then Dre fell out with Deathrow and Shug so all production stopped. And Lil Bow Wow was just left there. So Dre called Jermaine Dupri and asked him to take him and polish him up. By that time, Snoop had given him his name: Lil Bow Wow. Guess that’s history right there.

You collaborated with The Notorious B.I.G. What was that like?
Well, before Biggie was out there, Puffy, the creative master marketer as he is, said, “Okay, what’s something different we can do to make Biggie known? He called the LA offices and they said that my mix tapes with Snoop and Dre were crazy. Puffy flew Biggie out and said, “Put him in the studio with Jam.” No one had ever made a proper mix tape to promote an artist before this point; it was always a sampler tape – bits of songs off the album that just fade out. Biggie comes into my studio at the radio station with a box full of blunts, we smoke them and I ask him to start rhyming over some beats. He did and we wrote a song, right there on the spot. We called it Real Niggas Do Real Things. We played it on my radio show and it became huge. It’s been copied by so many artists now, when I travel I always go to record stores and buy a different version. I’ve got a giant stack of ‘em from around the world now! So I was there for the birth of Biggie industry-wise, but I was also there the night he was killed.

What happened that night?
There was a big party in Hollywood. It was fun and crazy, and we were all coming out to go to an after-party in Hollywood Hills. The limo pulls up and I get in. We’re all having fun – I was hanging out of the window, waving a bottle of champagne around The Suburbans pull up with Biggie, Puffy, Jermaine and the security and all of a sudden, “bam bam bam!” Everybody hits the deck and somebody pulls me back inside the limo. People scrambling, screaming everywhere, cars screeching. The limo pulls out of the lot and we’re like, “What the hell’s just happened?” So we call Jermaine on the cell phone, Puffy’s next to him and he’s saying, “Biggie’s been hit! Biggie’s shot!” We all beeline it to the hospital. [The doctors] take Biggie upstairs. About 10-15 minutes later we were told he didn’t make it.

Why do you think he was shot?
There’s a lot of things involved. There was the East Coast/West Coast rivalry at its peak. It could have been a jealous fan, or somebody linked to somebody’s crew, or an undercover police thing. Shug had a lot of stuff going on with police. Dre and Shug were going through some stuff business-wise, and personal stuff too. So it could have been any number of things…I couldn’t put my finger on just one.

Wow, that’s a lot of history. So why Cambodia?
Haha! I love seeing all the crazy ideas for clubs and festivals all over the world, from Asia to Ibiza – everywhere! I love seeing the architecture, design, creativity, the money put into it. If I had a club I’d just take all these different crazy ideas from festivals and clubs…one day, maybe. For now, I’m just going to keep producing, and keep DJing around the world ‘til I get tired of it.

Don’t miss DJ Jam at Nova’s Third Anniversary, 9pm, Friday June 6 at Nova Club, #19 St. 294.

Struggle no more

Sliten6ix has been recognised as the flag bearer for extreme rock in the Kingdom, yet the band’s only available songs, Into The Struggle and Nevermore, have been largely overlooked. Originally made available online to promote their debut EP, the tracks on Bandcamp are a testament to the exposure and productivity the act enjoyed before a recent hiatus. The good news for fans is that the band’s vocalist, Tin, says the group is open to the idea of emerging with a new line-up and fresh sound.

To the uninitiated, this extreme form of metal may sound like a collection of marbles being dropped into a whizzing blender, but to those of us who have mastered the horned salute and survived mosh pits that looked like human casseroles, this is fine art. More importantly, it’s the historic moment when the sensitive embryo of local metal emerges from the chrysalis as a grotesque butterfly. Decades from now, these unassuming recordings could be considered a brave coming of age for Cambodian rock.

Sliten6ix’s brand of deathcore continues the marriage of metal and hardcore punk that first appeared in the late ‘80s. There was a pivotal moment in the development of metal when bands suddenly decided they were sick of singing about evil elves and became more interested in the intensity, social commentary and self-deprecating attitude of punk. Thankfully, bands like Napalm Death and Carcass saved us from becoming vampires. The sound evolved, giving birth to metalcore, deathcore and a long list of obscure subgenres. It’s quite bizarre that Cambodia’s new wave of locally produced alternative music is of a genre that would be considered among the world’s most extreme.

A key element to the Sliten6ix sound is the aggression and intensity of vocalist Tin. He has a scream that could strip the paint off your house, and his angst is believable. I’m not sure what he’s angry about but I sure as hell hope it’s not me. The arrangement of Into The Struggle is clever, taking metal fans on an impressive journey. Say goodbye to the old two-verse, three-chorus humdrum and say hello to barely controlled anarchy. Despite riding a flaming rollercoaster, the band remains tightknit with stabbing dynamics and gritty riffery – the result of years in practice studios and on stages.

Being a relatively new devotee to the local scene, I’m impressed by the courage of local heavy rockers. In present day Cambodia, Sliten6ix’s brand of rock ‘n’ roll is more shocking than Elvis wiggling his pelvis in the ‘50s or Johnny Rotten dissing the Queen in the ‘70s. There couldn’t be anything more alien to their families than irreverence delivered via ear-shredding distortion and terrifying screams, yet here they are in all their wonderfully filthy glory, putting Cambodia on rock’s world stage.

Let’s hope the hiatus ends soon because this band is deserved of the media exposure they’ve enjoyed. Phnom Penh needs mosh pits crammed with local kids who will start believing that the only thing between themselves and their heroes is a second-hand guitar, a hundred hours in a garage with likeminded friends and a venue that will give them a chance to express themselves.

Sliten6ix’s Into The Struggle and Nevermore are available for download at http://sliten6ix.bandcamp.com/

Astronomy Class: Urban stargazing

Australian hip hop group Astronomy Class are back in the Kingdom to perform with singer Srey Channthy for the first time since the road trip that inspired the Khmer rock-infused 2014 album Mekong Delta Sunrise.

After partaking in a bumpy, cross-country taxi ride from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap with Khmer rock classics blaring non-stop for six hours straight, one of two consequences is likely to occur: either you’ll develop an involuntary eye-twitch upon the mere mention of the Golden Era, or form a deep appreciation and love of that catchy sound and the legends behind it. Luckily for us, Australian hip hop group Astronomy Class embraced their colourful 2012 road trip with keen ears and creative foresight to produce their 2014 Khmer rock-infused album, Mekong Delta Sunrise, a collaboration with Cambodian Space Project vocalist, Srey Channthy.

MC Ozi Batla explains, “While we were in Cambodia, we linked with the Klap Ya Handz crew who turned us on to a whole lot more amazing music, and we began writing songs inspired by those classic tunes. We felt we needed an authentic Khmer voice on there, so we reached out to Srey Channthy and the rest is history.”

The album features songs that touch upon a variety of topical, often controversial, issues. The Whitehouse of Kissinger and Nixon disparages US policies in the war that contributed to the rise of the Khmer Rouge, while the “dark side” of tourism is highlighted by title track Mekong Delta Sunrise, in which Ozi Batla rhymes: “Pontoon chorus line fighting over scumbags / Madame in the background with a knife in her bumbag.”

Concerning this particular song, Batla remains ostensibly unphased by the risk of receiving backlash for finger-pointing at local landmarks.

“Hopefully, that song will be taken in the spirit it was intended,” he says. “It is a tongue-in-cheek look at Phnom Penh nightlife, based on observations and some creative interpretations. This is the first time we have been back as a band, but Channthy tells us the response has been overwhelmingly positive.”

Further abroad, the band’s most well-loved track from the album is the satirical Four Barang In A Tuk-Tuk. Following its 2014 release, the song made Australian radio history by becoming the most frequently rotated song by a Khmer singer on the national youth radio station Triple J. The song, in which Channthy is “basically dissing the barang who get drunk and fall over in the streets” uses comical lyrics and a catchy tune to address an issue which the band members take quite seriously.

“The general attitude from tourists that ‘anything goes’ is the most embarrassing thing,” says Batla. “Having grown up in a tourist town, I’ve seen how travelers can conveniently forget they are going wild in someone’s home.”

Although Four Barang In A Tuk-Tuk may have received the most international acclaim, Batla’s personal favourite on the album is Woman Wants To Drink, written by Srey Channthy.

“I really love [the song],” says Batla. “It’s one of the first songs Channthy has ever written basically on her own, and she nailed it. It’s such a nice contrast between her ‘sweet but sour’ delivery and [my] pseudo-lecherous baritone. The song, according to Thy, is partly autobiographical. It tells the story of a young woman from the village going out in Phnom Penh on her own, and the judgements and assumptions she faces for doing so. Channthy is a staunch advocate of women’s rights, and her own journey has informed that a great deal.”

Playing for the first time in Cambodia since the trip that catalysed Mekong Delta Sunrise, Batla hopes that audiences will not only be entertained by the performance, but will additionally take away the key, positive messages which flow through the album.
“[It’s a record] that has a strong female Khmer voice, exercises freedom of speech and embraces international cooperation; three things that should define modern Cambodia.”

Astronomy Class will perform with Srey Channthy for one night only at 8:30pm on Saturday April 18 at The Mansion – FCC. Mekong Delta Sunrise will be available at the show on CD, vinyl and cassette. $5 entry

Hypnotic Hex

Binary coding and digital data storage doesn’t exactly evoke visions of dreamy soundscapes and innovative musical creation – except if you’re artist Cissi Tsang. Tsang, aka timeofhex, explains the technique and inspiration behind her original electronic creations.

What if inanimate objects could speak to us? It’s the kind of concept that can make brain cells explode like popcorn. Talk about it and you’ll either be committed to an asylum or offered an honorary doctorate. Yet it’s this notion that Perth-based artist Cissi Tsang, aka timeofhex, is exploring via techniques that give photographs a voice.

Hexidecimal, put very simply, is a system by which text is stored as numbers in digital devices. Sourcing hexadecimal data from photos, Tsang uses a surprisingly organic method to convert images to songs. The result is not the abstract creation you might imagine – it’s a dreamy blend of world music and electronica. During April, timeofhex will bring the hypnotic results of her experiments to Phnom Penh.

“I’ve always been very keen on merging photography and music,” Tsang explains. “Then I came across hexadecimal data, which corresponds very well with music, given it is 16-bit. I usually grab a selection from the hex data, somewhere random, and then I’ll go from there. Tempo, instruments, rhythm and the pitch of the notes are something I control. The notes themselves are up to the photo.”

The music is a blend of atmospheric keys, tribal percussion and contextual effects that appeal to a wide audience while having innovative roots. While Tsang names a few musical influences, including Dead Can Dance, she’s more excited about inspiration for what she describes as “a soundscape” and “narrative.”

“I have been influenced by audio dramas quite a bit,” she says. “I listen to a lot of Doctor Who dramas from Big Finish. They do a lot of the older Doctor stories. I love how they create narratives just purely through sound. It’s fascinating how little sound cues can tell so much.”

Since perfecting her technique during 2014, timeofhex has produced an impressive catalogue, with over a dozen tracks already available online. It seems that wherever Tsang travels with a camera, it’s another opportunity to capture an exotic scene both visually and musically. Cambodia is set to get the treatment when it becomes a six-song album. In the meantime, Tsang promises to provide fresh material to her Phnom Penh audience.

“The songs I’ll be performing in Cambodia are from the Abandoned album,” she explains. “The album was made from a series of photos I took in Vanuatu last year of various abandoned spaces around the island of Efate.”

So, how about that brain-splitting possibility of objects finding a voice through the songs of timeofhex? Is there another level of meaning Tsang looks for when converting her images to sounds?

“Perhaps on a level, yes,” she says. “It’s always surprising to see how the music from data can reflect the photo itself. It’s pretty fascinating. Also, it adds an extra layer of interaction to the creation of the work. It’s like finding the organic element in cold hard data.”
Audiences will witness Cissi Tsang converting cold data into warm compositions when timeofhex performs on Saturday April 11 at Equinox with The Potato Stars and Delta Kong.

Check out timeofhex online at http://samarobryn.com/ and https://soundcloud.com/timeofhex

Evrywhr & Anywhr

Evrywhr has been busy since he touched down in Phnom Penh a little over a week ago.

“It has been non-stop since I got here, but I’ve got to say I’ve had an absolutely amazing experience so far,” says the elusively titled Grammy Award-winning artist and songwriter.

Evrywhr is halfway through shooting his month-long Cambodian adventure series, which focuses on his exploration of contemporary Khmer music, culture and the artists that are pioneering its development. Masterminded by an awesome crew of producers and technicians from Los Angeles, the web series will hopefully be launched later this year.

“I have been blessed with this incredible opportunity to work with artists from across the world,” Evrywhr says. “I’m learning about traditional Khmer music and meeting the most amazing collection of people. It’s an overwhelmingly beautiful experience I can’t compare to anything else. I can only sum it up with the words ‘love, truth and travel.’”

When asked what he had been up to most recently on his Cambodian adventure, the experience that sprang immediately to his mind was, justifiably, a taxi ride.

“We got a taxi from Siem Reap to Battambang yesterday. It was crazy, I thought I wasn’t going to make it. I definitely have a new appreciation for rollercoasters and knowing that they, at least, will end safely.”

In Battambang, Evrywhr visited the Phare Ponleu Selpak circus school to meet some of the performers after experiencing the epic performance they put on the night before. He then travelled to Kampot to meet some more musicians for his final show in Phnom Penh and for some much needed R&R.

“After checking out some of the stuff going on in Kampot, I’m looking forward to relaxing and doing some writing,” he says. “I have been so inspired since I arrived in this amazing country and that has kicked off so many ideas which I’m keen to work on. It’s getting time to turn off the TV cameras and turn on some creation.”

Evrywhr is getting pumped for the big show, which is scheduled for Friday April 3 in Phnom Penh.

“So far, we’ve been travelling around locking in artists for the show,” he says. “We’ll have Tin from Sliten6ix. I have met so many amazing people, but Tin is my favourite so far. He is real and I love that. We’ll also have Sam Rocker, this amazing lady from Siem Reap with vocals like I have never heard before. I’m not going to mention too many names just yet but I think we might have a very special Khmer guest lined up for the show. It’s definitely going to be one not to miss.”

As he speaks about his experience in the Kingdom, Evrywhr seems almost overwhelmed by the unique and diverse levels of creativity the country has thus far provided.

“It’s perspective. It’s all about perspective in life,” he says. “In America, in general, we lack perspective, lack the ambition to travel. To understand someone else is not to tolerate, but to put yourself in their shoes. I’m learning here. I’m learning about myself through the Khmer people, through experience, and as I learn more I am able to show more to others.”

Evrywhr will perform with a myriad of renowned Khmer and international musicians, artists and DJs at Rock Cambodia. He will be playing original tracks written with many of the creative artists with whom he has collaborated on his journey. Profits will be donated to organisations that promote contemporary art and music in Cambodia.

Evrywhr performs at 9pm on Friday April 3 at Rock Cambodia, #468 Monivong Boulevard. $5 door.

Audio Mainline: Soma for the soul

Phnom Penh has a musical dynamic duo that has been flying either under, over, or off the radar for some of you out there for some time now and today we’re going to correct that oversight on your part and shame you out of your abject ignorance. Sound like fun? Good attitude.

The dashing Warren Daly is the founder, owner and operator for Invisible Agent Records. The label has been releasing a steady stream of eclectic, genre-defying electronic music since 2000 on various formats: CD, vinyl, digital, possibly player piano rolls and Shamans sent on foot to engage in oral story-telling. Invisible Agent Records has an impressive number of releases in its catalogue for an indie or DIY venture – 41 with the release of Audio Mainline’s Soma EP, according to Warren’s best estimates.

Check out Audio Mainline on soundcloud

Audio Mainline. What is it? A new injectable form of music that gives an intense rush and that is destroying communities and causing an epidemic of sonic overdose deaths? No, of course not, don’t be an idiot. That’s not biologically possible. Audio Mainline – and I risk drawing down his considerable wrath upon my head by saying this – is Hal FX. He’ll tell you it’s more complicated than that. Yes, there is more to it than just Hal FX, but he’s the essence. Much in the same manner that if someone were to ask me what peanut butter was made of, I would (after taking a moment to marvel at the stupidity of their query) say, “peanuts, mashed into a creamy consistency” even though some of the more processed varieties might contain a dozen or more ingredients of myriad variety and origin, all of them essential to the finished product. If Audio Mainline was peanut butter, then Hal FX would have to be the peanuts, mashed into a creamy consistency.

Audio Mainline is a collaborative musical effort – a collective, if you will – guided and directed by Hal FX but utilising the contributions of many other musicians: a revolving line-up, who variously provide elements such as live instrumentation, ambient electronica, and other more esoteric things like location recordings or visual performance elements. Does that sound avant garde to you? Then you’re a prick, lighten up. It isn’t over your head. This isn’t pretentious abstraction or weird for the sake of it. It is quite melodious and pleasing to the ear much of the time and it has a nice driving beat backing it that takes away any sense of sleepy or dull that puts some ambient music on par with listening to a CD of whale noises: sure, it’s interesting, even beautiful at times, but it’s also a whale making fucking noises, you can’t dance to it or even hum along, and in my opinion music does need some structure, some familiar conventional elements to balance the unfamiliar and strange. Happily enough, Soma is music. Good music, and absolutely not fucking whales bellowing.

My honest assessment of Audio Mainline, Soma, and, really, Hal FX, would be: He is the real deal. He is a legit talent producing original music here as an immigrant to Cambodia. Both he and Warren have been living here for a number of years and have strong ties to the Cambodian community. In fact, Warren’s partner of many years now is the internationally recognised Khmer artist Dina Chhan. They’ve put down some roots here and you’re safe in investing some interest into their endeavors, they will be here for you to enjoy and Phnom Penh needs to give Audio Mainline, Hal FX, and Warren’s Invisible Agent label its strongest support because they deserve it. The production values, the sonic crafting that has gone into this independent release and the Sound (capital S) that Hal FX manages to coax out of the tools of his trade, while lacking any kind of budget to speak of, is absolutely superb. He is very, very, very… good.

It is a project that pushes the boundaries of modern music in some new and interesting directions given all the cross-genre elements that go into it. It isn’t hard on the ear – it is quite soothing in its own way, but it is past pop music, entering more interesting territory again. This is what creativity and originality sounds like, Cambodia. Embrace it.

Drakkar Band: Rockin’ the boat

Named after a Viking dragon ship, Drakkar has well and truly lived up to its namesake. Since its conception in 1967, the band has ridden waves of soaring successes and survived the crushing power of the Khmer Rouge regime. With members now in their 60s and 70s, Drakkar is ready to take their powerful rock on their first US tour.

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Few musicians can lay claim to forming a band that has persisted for almost five decades, creating the country’s highest selling album three times over, surviving the Khmer Rouge period and continuing on to play at sold out shows around the world. Vocalist and guitarist of the legendary Drakkar band, 63-year-old Touch Tana, recalls how it all transpired with sharp wit and humbling candour.

Long hair, loud shirts and a lifelong promise

Despite now being recognised and respected as one of the legendary musicians of the ‘70s, Tana makes no attempt to pretend that the rock star life came naturally to him.

“When I started, I knew only one song. The way I played the guitar was the worst – [lead guitarist/vocalist] Chhatha even said so!” Touch laughs. “I felt ashamed and I said, ‘Maybe I should not be a musician.’ But [bassist and vocalist] Molivan said, ‘No, no stay! You can learn to play the guitar like me.’ He’s the best musician of all Drakkar, too. So that’s how I learned.”

When Drakkar was formed in 1967 with its three other members, Touch Chhatha, Mam Molivan and Tan Phanareth, Tana was the youngest of the four, possessing significantly less experience and confidence than his elder bandmates.

“I felt very shy because I was only 16-years-old. And we were a travesty, you know! We had different clothes and hair. I grew my hair, cut my jeans. I felt funny doing it because I was so shy, and I came from an educated family.”

There was little time for Tana to become accustomed to his new role, however. No sooner had the band formed than they were asked to perform at a large party for the socially elite at the American Embassy. Pushed straight into the deep end, Tana managed to draw upon an inexplicable self-confidence in a moment of fear – a behaviour which not only salvaged the band’s first performance, but was later to save his own life.

“When I was backstage, no one knew who I was because I’d never played with them before. No one shook my hand. Everyone was like, ‘Who is this guy with the band?’” Tana recalls. “We were called onstage and I had to play electric guitar. I’d played acoustic, but I’d never played an electric guitar before that day. And we hadn’t rehearsed. No one even knew what song to start with. No one played anything and we all just stood there. Phanareth lost it – he got a little scared. But as the others became more scared, I became strong. I picked a song and said, ‘Okay, let’s play.’ The crowd was breathless – they just stood there with their mouths open.’”

From that point on, Tana became more serious about his role in the band. But having been raised in an educated, well-respected family, Tana’s ambition to play music professionally were at odds with the future his parents’ had in mind for their son. On the day his parents had promised to buy him a guitar as a result of doing well in an exam, Tana was forced to make a promise of his own that would forever change his life’s trajectory.

“When we went to get the guitar, my mother and father were really upset with me. It ended up being so expensive. My mother didn’t realise how expensive it was when she made the promise. When [the shopkeeper] told her it was 10,000 riels, my mother said to me, ‘No way! Are you stupid? Are you crazy? You want me to spend that amount of money on this?’ I said, ‘Mum, you promised. I need only one. I don’t need a motorcycle, I don’t need anything else.’ Finally, my parents agreed, but only on the condition that I promised never to become a professional musician – I was not allowed to make money from it. I kept my promise. To this day, I do not survive with making music.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CQkeBTJFHlc

Going solo

True to his word, Tana continued to perform with the band, but always alongside his own studies and never again with the aspiration to turn it into a career. In 1970, Drakkar split up to pursuit individual careers, some of which were military or governmental roles afforded by the Vietnam War. Tana’s experience and passion for the arts lead him to land a role developing a programme for a government radio station. It was here that Tana inadvertently produced the makings for what were to become the country’s highest-selling albums in 1971.

“I just started to play the first song I wrote, called Why Are You Angry? Then one of the agents started recording, but I didn’t know. I stopped playing, then later I heard him play the song back over and over, and I thought, ‘Who’s playing my song? How could another person have thought of the exact same tune as me?’” Tana lets out a long, wheezing laugh. “When I realised he had recorded me, I was so surprised. The agency asked me to write 20 songs for a cassette to record the next week. I ended up recording two cassettes that year for them.”

Never one to break a promise, Tana refused the offer to continue producing recordings for the company, and made a conscious effort to redistribute any profits earned from his musical successes.

“They wanted me to do many more, but I said no. I had my other work to do. Besides, if I started earning money from recording then it would have been a profession and I’ve promised not to do that. The moment I started earning money from it, I immediately spent it – on other musicians, their drinks, their food. I didn’t save any money from it. I just wanted to test out what I was capable of or not, and now I know I can do it.”

The two cassettes featured 40 songs in total, all of which were originals penned by Tana, but sung by guest musicians including Pen Ron and Mao Sareth. At one point, Tana was given the option of collaborating with the legendary singer Sin Sisamouth on his records. After much deliberation, Tana declined the offer, partly due to financial restrictions, but primarily because it conflicted with a particularly strong principle of his.

“Sin Sisamouth I love and respect so much.” Tana says. “He talked to me so sincerely and nicely even though I was just young and new in music. I wanted him to be in my cassette so much. But something for me to consider was this: why don’t we try other musicians out? Because Cambodians should have many different musicians, not just one. It doesn’t mean I don’t like Sin Sisamouth – he is the best. And that’s largely because he made many originals – he mostly did not copy. That’s why I respect him. And yet, people are always copying him now. Cambodia needs variety.”

A second shot

After finishing his contract with the recording agency, Tana was asked to tour Vietnam, playing music to soldiers in US military camps. The original members of Drakkar were now heavily preoccupied with commitments to work and family, so Tana collaborated with three new musicians for the shows: lead guitarist Som Sareth; drummer Ouk Sam Ath; and bassist Ouer Sam Ol. The tour catalysed the second instantiation of the Drakkar band.

“The musicans were all extremely talented. We went to Vietnam for six months. Again, not to do it professionally – I just wanted to try and see what it was like. We played Rolling Stones covers and things for both Cambodian and US soldiers and they really liked it. They danced and sang along. We loved the music, each other, and the way we all played together in Vietnam. So, a little while after we returned, we formed the second Drakkar. We were very popular. We were the first Cambodian band to play on TV.”

The restructured Drakkar band enjoyed newfound popularity with its different sound and, between 1972-73, recorded the band’s first album, Drakkar ‘74. Originally intended as a test record, the album suffered initial sales levels so low that Tana eventually dismissed the idea that it would ever become a hit and moved to Pailin to start a new business. In late 1974, Tana received a phone call from his brother announcing that the album had sold all 20,000 copies, making it the highest selling album for Cambodia to this point.

Producing another 20,000 copies, which sold out in a few months, the band intended to make another 20,000 immediately after. However, their creative endeavours, like all others at the time, were suddenly and brutally cut short as the Khmer Rouge regime took hold of the Kingdom.

Surviving on talent

Although he was openly recognised by most soldiers and villagers as a musician, Tana was one of three members of Drakkar who managed to survive the Khmer Rouge period. In fact, it was perhaps his gift for music that afforded him the opportunity to be spared – at least on one occasion.

“I met one group of soldiers and they had one guitar but they didn’t know how to play it. They were like monkeys with it.” Tana recalls quietly. “Then one day they asked me to teach them because they knew I could play. So I tuned it and played a Khmer revolutionary song and they liked it. Then one soldier asked me to play an old song. I said ‘No, it’s prohibited.’ He pleaded with me, ‘I just want to know what it sounded like. I promise no one will hear.’ So I started to play one of the Apsara songs, Annie. They liked it a lot and danced. They asked me to teach them so I did, just a little bit. They gave me boxes of cigarettes, let me eat with them and treated me quite well. But then, maybe two months later, all the soldiers swapped over and went to different sections and I never saw them again.”

With the changeover came an influx of unforgiving soldiers who controlled Tana’s commune with the typical cold-hearted, violent tyranny for which the regime was renowned. Tana was one of their chief targets.

“The new soldiers wanted to kill me. They set up stories to try to kill me all the time. The way they did it was by getting people to judge you and turn against you. I was set up to steal fish. Groups of villagers would take turns to collect fish from the lake. During one of my turns, one of the guys in my group cast the net and when the fish were hauled in he said, ‘Take one fish home for your family. Everyone takes one.’ ‘I said , ‘Aren’t you scared?’ But he assured me that it was okay, and I saw everyone take one. So I did. Then when I went into the room where we prepared to go home, the chief told me to stop on my way out. They checked me and found the fish, but not on the others. I was so shocked. I said, ‘But what happened to your fish?’ and they said, ‘Don’t try to blame us.’ I realised that everybody had released their fish, but they had not told me. They tricked me. I went to put the fish back but they said, ‘No keep it – eat one fish before you die.’”

Tana continues, leaning in with his voice lowered, “I knew they were going to come after me that night, but I didn’t tell my wife. We prepared the fish and ate it. At about 6:30pm, the sun set. I heard many people come and gather outside. The whole commune comes – a thousand people – because they all want to see the killing. The people jeering in the crowd were my friends. In fact, the man who had set me up was my old friend I had gone to school with. Once everyone had sat down for the meeting, they come knock on my hut. The young boy soldiers were singing, ‘Tonight we’re going to kill the man, cut open his belly and stuff it with grass.’ I tied one knife down each leg. I became brave. I don’t know why, but when I get very scared I become brave. Like I did that first time on stage – just like that.”

“I raised my hand and said to the crowd, ‘Do you allow me to say something before you kill me?’ They said ‘yes.’ I said, ‘Do you allow me to talk without interruption until I stop?’ They agreed. I said, ‘Thank you.’ So I talked. I talked non-stop for about two hours. I talked about every one of them. Because I knew that most others had stolen rice. I had checked all their houses before. I went everywhere, I was well prepared.

The crowd was so angry. They wanted to stop me but they could not because they had already promised. In the end, the chief told the villagers to go back home. Eventually, the chief went too, and then it was just me and my wife left. So we went home.”

Of course, not everyone was as fortunate as Tana. By the end of the regime, an estimated 90% of the country’s traditional musicians and the majority of its contemporary musicians were believed to have died at the hands of Pol Pot’s army. With them, most of the country’s music and film recordings, paintings and additional historical records of Cambodian art were lost.

Gone but not forgotten

In early 2015, filmmaker John Pirozzi released the documentary “Don’t Think I’ve Forgotten,” which explores the Cambodian rock ‘n’ roll scene of the ‘60s and ‘70s. The film features archival footage of contemporary performances as well as interviews with musicians who survived the Khmer Rouge period, including Tana and his other surviving bandmates.

This year, Drakkar will be touring America to help promote the US premiere of the film. “I really appreciate what John did,” Tana says with a smile. “He did a very good job. He really revealed the good of Cambodia and the strength of the people he interviewed. And with the film, our music is now being shown in a top place in the world. We’re very excited.”

Drakkar will play their last gig in Cambodia before heading to the US at 8pm, Friday March 27 Sharky Bar, #126 St. 130. Free entry

Green machine

While most of us were sneaking furtively into clubs and making out on sticky dance floors blasting the Top 40, Jacques Greene instead spent his adolescence carefully tuning his ear to the intricacies of techno composition, feeling his way around synthesisers and drum machines. This early fascination has since resulted in collaborations with iconic sound artists including Radiohead and The xx, as well as the release of his co-owned label, Vase records.

Despite an impressive track record, Greene has somehow managed to dodge the mainstream media spotlight for the most part – a circumstance that he says is far from accidental. “I try to keep a tiny bit of distance from full blown transparency, maybe call me old-fashioned,” Greene says. ”I don’t want to go full anonymous because that betrays the purpose by drawing more attention to your identity. But yeah, I think I’ve kept a healthy distance.”

This relatively old school approach interlaces Greene’s work on a multitude of levels beyond media exposure. His regular implementation of analogue equipment within the recording process and live sets is one particular characteristic of Greene’s which sets him apart from an increasingly competitive crowd.

“Every single record at least has a few analogue elements,” explains Greene. “It started with just being something I idolised as a kid; the image of someone figuring out a synthesiser or a drum machine appealed so much more to me than sitting at a computer, clicking away. From there, it became a thing of comfort. I enjoy the physical nature of using those instruments. I think we just have an incredible luxury in this time to be able to choose what approach we want. In the late ‘80s, if you wanted to make a house record there were not that many ways to go about it. You needed the machines and the knowledge to program them.”

Such words could just as easily emanate from the lips of a wisened digital media veteran. At only 25 years old, however, Greene speaks with a calm confidence that belies his youth, thanks to a 10-year pedigree already neatly tucked beneath his belt. “Twenty-five almost feels old at this point, actually, simply because I started using drum machines, synthesisers and production software around the age of 15.” Greene says.

On March 13, Greene will be arriving in Cambodia for the first time to perform a characteristically dreamy house and techno set. According to Greene, Punters will be treated to some of his new material, which partly draws upon his recent eclectic, alternative influences.

“I’ve been in the studio writing a lot, and when I do I like to remove myself a bit from the immediate context of my peers. So I’ve been listening to artists like Gila Monsta, Shlohmo, and all those new Aphex Twin SoundCloud uploads. I’ve been working on a lot of new music, so hopefully I get to try out a few. I try to surprise myself as much as I can, so hopefully something that keeps everyone, myself included, excited.”

Jaqcues Greene will perform at 10pm on Friday March 13 at Pontoon Pulse, #80 St. 172. Tickets are $8 (incl. one drink). Presale available at Pontoon, Duplex and Samai Distillery.

Category: Music