Dancing on air

When more than a dozen khaki-clad dancers air stepped, jitterbugged and boogie woogied their way through a 30-second commercial for global thread-peddlers Gap in 1998, they unintentionally turned a new generation of rug cutters not onto affordable casual-fit pants but a certain something called ‘swing’.

Jazz – a form considered sacred by the world’s most po-faced musicians (even Russian classical composer Igor Fyodorovich Stravinsky, of habitually high brow, saw fit to approve) – had by the early 1930s birthed its most errant offspring. The traditional two-beat sound of New Orleans had given way to smoother, four-beat syncopated melodies and a dance craze instantly demonised as [GASP!] ‘light entertainment’. By 1935, despite much huffing and puffing on the part of moralistic types, the Swing Era had officially cometh… and would grip the US for a further decade.

Swing, which abandoned the string-heavy orchestration of the ’20s in favour of edgier horn and wind arrangements, was born of the African-American community (as indeed was its forebear), but swiftly transcended racial boundaries. Called on to define this Harlem sound by Bing Crosby on national radio, Louis Armstrong replied thus: “Ah, swing. Well, we used to call it syncopation then they called it ragtime then blues then jazz. Now it’s swing. White folks, y’all sho’ is a mess.”

It was a view Armstrong shared with author Norman Mailer. In his 1957 pamphlet The White Negro, Mailer charts the emerging philosophy of racial role reversal, describing folk “with a middle-class background (who) attempt to put down their whiteness and adopt what they believe is the carefree, spontaneous, cool lifestyle of Negro hipsters: their manner of speaking and language, their use of milder narcotics, their appreciation of jazz and the blues, and their supposed concern with the good orgasm.”

And who could blame hep cats and hipsters for yearning to go the way of such hedonism? Even before Cab Calloway’s 1939 Hepster Dictionary defined them as one ‘who knows all the answers, understands jive’, swingers were speeding up the waltz, cannibalising classic ballet manoeuvres and jabbing a much-needed shot of adrenalin straight into the heart of the Great American Songbook.

Legend has it that sometime in 1927, a year after the Savoy Ballroom in New York first opened its doors, what is today the world’s most famous swing dance was christened quite by accident. A newspaper reporter watching couples swing dance in the Savoy, which occupied an entire block, asked local enthusiast George ‘Shorty’ Snowden what the dance was called. On the bench next to the two men was a newspaper article about American aviator Charles Lindbergh’s record-breaking flight to Paris, bearing the headline: ‘Lindy hops the Atlantic’. George turned to the reporter, said simply ‘Lindy hop’ and then set about creating the world’s first lindy hop dance troupe.

A fusion of jazz, tap, breakaway and Charleston, the lindy hop shot to prominence in the mid-’30s when a swift-footed chap by the name of Frankie Manning joined the ranks of Whitey’s Lindy Hoppers, a dance troupe resident at the Savoy. Deploying hitherto unseen ‘air steps’, in which at least one foot departs solid ground in zany acrobatics, Manning raised the dance bar a considerable margin. Perhaps nowhere is this more brilliantly evidenced than in the 1941 film Hellzapoppin’, where Manning and his fellow dancers catapult each other into the air in a series of torso-tossing moves. These Hip to Hip, Side Flip, Over The Back, Back Flip, Over The Head and The Snatch were, at least at the time, the wildest dance manoeuvres ever conceived.

In actual fact, so wild was the lindy hop that Nazi Germany furiously outlawed it, not that this could of course halt the explosion in German swing bands. Eventually the German authorities relented and created their own Nazi swing band, Charlie And His Orchestra. The band recorded entire albums of swing songs with lyrics ridiculing the Allied nations, which the Nazis promptly then parachuted behind ‘enemy’ lines.

It would take a further 40 years and the advent of break-dancing before anything came close to swing in terms of sheer power, strength and energy. In the meantime, arrangers such as Nelson Riddle and pop vocalists Frank Sinatra, Bobby Darin, Dean Martin and Nat King Cole made sure it was etched onto the global consciousness. By the late 1990s, when Louis Prima’s 1956 song Jump, Jive An’ Wail became forever wedded to the image of Gapsters in khaki-coloured cargo pants, a revival was long overdue.

Today, swing having been immortalised for the 21st century masses first by JXL in Little Less Conversation then by Robbie Williams’ Swing When You’re Winning and later by Marilyn Manson in Mobscene, it’s even on the rise in the steaming urban jungles of Asia. “It’s massive in Korea and China, especially Beijing,” says Richard, a psychologist and long-dancing member of Phnom Penh’s premier swing dance club formerly known as PPPSwings but now poised to relaunch with a weekend-long extravaganza September 27 – 29, followed by weekly classes, as Swing Penh. “Most major cities have swing events. With salsa, it’s a cultural thing, it’s part of an ethos, but with swing it’s just about the dance and you get to choose from a huge set. I got called as a reluctant stand-in and felt a bit awkward, but then it became like a problem to solve: how do you do this? We don’t do too much of the ‘throwing around’ stuff. We’re middle aged, you know…” [Laughs]

The crotchets and quavers (quarter and eighth notes) associated with African-American music trip lightly out of the speaker, translated into nifty toe-heelery by the assembled swingers as a series of ‘triple steps’ and ‘steps’. Part Elvis, part rockabilly, Berlin neo-swing group The Baseballs, backed by an upright bass, punch out a swing-style cover of Rhianna’s Umbrella, replete in upswept quiffs, upturned collars and rolled-up denims.

“This is the one everyone wants to swing dance to,” says Kat, a fellow Swing Penher, as her dance partner Richard spins her away from him and then snaps her body back to his in a move called ‘the quick stop’. “You can swing dance to all sorts of music, including a lot of modern stuff.” Says Richard: “We use Morcheeba, all sorts. I like that you’re not held to one genre. In one night, you can have the whole range of music from the 20th century, which is really good fun.”

Janice Wilson, Swing Penh’s resident instructor, has performed, choreographed and taught dance in 11 countries, touring with Michael Buble and Wynton Marsalis and opening for Bill Cosby at Disney World. “Swing allows for full immersion. You’re not just listening to the music, you’re living it; breathing it,” she says in what might just be the shortest interview in the history of The Advisor.

But before you launch yourself full pelt into the whip, the push, the Carolina shag or the pony swing, you’d be well advised to watch Groovy Movie, from 1944, a gloriously tongue-in-cheek guide to the lindy hop. Also, try to avoid a ‘swungover’: the mental and physical results of binge jitterbugging, as defined by author Bobby White.

And remember, say the word ‘swinger’ in certain circles and you can expect to be met with a snigger: the phrase can also refer to spouse-swapping. “Someone posted this advert on Expat Advisory Services a while back looking for swingers in town,” says Kat. “This nice little old lady wrote back saying how happy she would be to welcome them to Phnom Penh. It was so sweet! I don’t think she had any idea…”

WHO: Hep cats and hipsters
WHAT: Swing Penh Launch Weekend
WHERE: Phnom Penh
WHEN: From 9pm September 27
WHY: “Swing allows for full immersion. You’re not just listening to the music, you’re living it; breathing it” – Janice Wilson

…..

Swing Penh
Launch Weekend

Swing with DJ Invisible Agent
9pm September 27 at the Village, #1 Street 360

Swing Brunch
10:30am September 28 at Comme A La Maison, Street 57

Swing Workshops
2:30pm – 6:30pm September 28 at Doors, Street 84 & 47 (beginners) and The Exchange, Street 84 & 47 (intermediate)

Swing With Kin
9pm September 28 at Doors, Street 84 & 47

Poolside Lindy Grub
10:30am September 29 at The Quay Rooftop Bar, Sisowath Quay

The sound of survival

Forgotten songs Booklet2So this is it! This is literally ‘the sound of survival’. Even after decades of war and cultural destruction, during which traditional Cambodian music was banned and almost forgotten, ancient masterpieces are being resurrected on the newly released album Cambodian Forgotten Songs Vol. 2.

The story behind this revival starts with a purchase of an old book at a flea market in Paris. Chansons Cambodgiennes, written in 1921 by French academic Albert Tricon, contains the Western scores and phonetic lyrics of 54 Cambodian songs that were on the cusp of vanishing into the mists of time. After a journey to the other side of the world, the book eventually ended up at the Bophana Audiovisual Resource Centre in Phnom Penh.

The centre immediately set about singing and playing new life into this otherwise-at-risk-of-being-forgotten musical heritage, much of which had survived only as oral tradition. Supported by professional artists and music academics, the first CD of eight songs was released in 2009 and is now being followed up with a newly released second volume, also containing eight tracks. Although nobody can know for sure how the music was originally played, the recordings, say the good folk at Bophana, remain as close to traditional forms as possible.
The result is fascinating: a melodic combination of traditional Khmer instruments, vibrato vocals and poetic lyrics. Three different Khmer music styles are covered, all easily recognisable by the instruments and rhythms used. Mohori, commonly performed at banquets and folk dances, sounds almost Chinese influenced because of the huge part the roneat eik (‘bamboo piano’) plays. But the addition of flutes, drums and finger cymbals gives these love songs an exotic, optimistic tone. This is also represented by some feel-good lyrics: ‘My darling, I will take care of you’ from the song Mon; ‘Sleep deeply, my beloved/ Sleep on my lap’ from Sangsar (‘Sweetheart’).

The sound is very different from arak, which dates back to the days of animism. The lyrics of ‘spirit possession’ songs Khlong, Komréng and Dâmbang dèk are strongly determined by this ancient belief system in which mountains, trees and animals are worshipped as sentient beings. Knowing this, you could be forgiven for interpreting the ostensibly innocent lyrics about nature as sexually loaded come-ons. Take, for example, Dâmbang dèk: ‘Young grass, flat land / At the peak of the mountain / Eagles are crying…’ This ‘ancient rock ‘n’ roll’ is characterised by ever faster drum rolls to seduce the souls of the departed. The change of rhythm and repetitions of melodies are almost hypnotic, sucking you into the music in what feels like a fleeting possession. The final two tracks are popular Khmer traditional songs, oozing with fun. Indeed, Svai muy mek (‘Green frog’) will most likely make you hop up and down on the spot.

To make the album’s appeal as wide as possible, it comes with a booklet containing English-language translations of the lyrics, as well as full musical scores for each song. Even the technical difficulties involved are described in detail. Without this extra feature, the album should still be considered something of a national treasure. And luckily, even after two albums featuring 16 forgotten songs (both available from the Bophana Centre now on a donation basis), there are still 38 such songs left to unearth.

WHO: Cambodian musicians unearthing traditional songs of the past
WHAT: Cambodian Forgotten Songs Vol. 2
WHERE: Bophana Centre, #64 Street 200
WHEN: Now
WHY: Rediscover the beauty of Cambodia’s rich musical heritage

Moi Tiet: One more

Moi Tiet, quite literally ‘one more’ in Khmer, was originally conceived in 2012 by Scott Bywater, a Tasmanian drifter turned Phnom Penh local. Moi Tiet was the result of years of solo and group performances spread across four continents. Along with burly bassist Andre Stuart (South Africa), smooth saxist Marian Gommard (France), lead guitarist and pedal addict Chuck Villar (Philippines), percussionist Greg Lavender (Australia) and songstress Jenna Holliday (UK) this sextet boasts musical influences that range from Bob Dylan to Aretha Franklin. According to Scott, who has the trademark lead-singer characteristic of being first to answer: “If you are going to try to fly together, everyone has to believe you’re going to fly in the first place.” Even in light of the differences in gender, age and nationality, Moi Tiet leave you wondering why the UN has so much trouble cooperating. Their creative process is quite democratic: everyone gets a say in how the band plays. Currently, Scott writes many of their melodies which range anywhere from the bluesy feel of Flyin’ Into Pochentong, or Sunday Child, to the riffy tunes of Every Colour But One, but that’s changing. As Marian explains, it’s really hard to shine on a tenor sax in the key of A.

WHO: Moi Tiet
WHAT: All-original blues and stuff
WHERE: Equinox, #3a Street 278
WHEN: 9pm September 28
WHY: They could teach the UN a thing or two about international cooperation

The sound of survival

So this is it! This is literally ‘the sound of survival’. Even after decades of war and cultural destruction, during which traditional Cambodian music was banned and almost forgotten, ancient masterpieces are being resurrected on the newly released album Cambodian Forgotten Songs Vol. 2.

The story behind this revival starts with a purchase of an old book at a flea market in Paris. Chansons Cambodgiennes, written in 1921 by French academic Albert Tricon, contains the Western scores and phonetic lyrics of 54 Cambodian songs that were on the cusp of vanishing into the mists of time. After a journey to the other side of the world, the book eventually ended up at the Bophana Audiovisual Resource Centre in Phnom Penh.

The centre immediately set about singing and playing new life into this otherwise-at-risk-of-being-forgotten musical heritage, much of which had survived only as oral tradition. Supported by professional artists and music academics, the first CD of eight songs was released in 2009 and is now being followed up with a newly released second volume, also containing eight tracks. Although nobody can know for sure how the music was originally played, the recordings, say the good folk at Bophana, remain as close to traditional forms as possible.

The result is fascinating: a melodic combination of traditional Khmer instruments, vibrato vocals and poetic lyrics. Three different Khmer music styles are covered, all easily recognisable by the instruments and rhythms used. Mohori, commonly performed at banquets and folk dances, sounds almost Chinese influenced because of the huge part the roneat eik (‘bamboo piano’) plays. But the addition of flutes, drums and finger cymbals gives these love songs an exotic, optimistic tone. This is also represented by some feel-good lyrics: ‘My darling, I will take care of you’ from the song Mon; ‘Sleep deeply, my beloved/ Sleep on my lap’ from Sangsar (‘Sweetheart’).

The sound is very different from arak, which dates back to the days of animism. The lyrics of ‘spirit possession’ songs Khlong, Komréng and Dâmbang dèk are strongly determined by this ancient belief system in which mountains, trees and animals are worshipped as sentient beings. Knowing this, you could be forgiven for interpreting the ostensibly innocent lyrics about nature as sexually loaded come-ons. Take, for example, Dâmbang dèk: ‘Young grass, flat land / At the peak of the mountain / Eagles are crying…’ This ‘ancient rock ‘n’ roll’ is characterised by ever faster drum rolls to seduce the souls of the departed. The change of rhythm and repetitions of melodies are almost hypnotic, sucking you into the music in what feels like a fleeting possession. The final two tracks are popular Khmer traditional songs, oozing with fun. Indeed, Svai muy mek (‘Green frog’) will most likely make you hop up and down on the spot.

To make the album’s appeal as wide as possible, it comes with a booklet containing English-language translations of the lyrics, as well as full musical scores for each song. Even the technical difficulties involved are described in detail. Without this extra feature, the album should still be considered something of a national treasure. And luckily, even after two albums featuring 16 forgotten songs (both available from the Bophana Centre now on a donation basis), there are still 38 such songs left to unearth.

WHO: Cambodian musicians unearthing traditional songs of the past
WHAT: Cambodian Forgotten Songs Vol. 2
WHERE: Bophana Centre, #64 Street 200
WHEN: Now
WHY: Rediscover the beauty of Cambodia’s rich musical heritage

 

The color of music

SATURDAY 28 | The artist sweeps one arm over a canvas unrolled on the studio floor like a psychedelic welcome mat – a vast technicolour mash-up of lively forms and textures. From the next room, the dull rhythmic thud of bass bins threatens to stir the sticky air. “I will do something connected to his music, to show the rhythm of the sounds, the movement,” she says, nodding towards the door. “I use colours to express emotions and shapes to show the mood. You can see the DJ’s hands moving here, and over there is the sound.” An index finger jabs at enamel that’s been dribbled over acrylic like the zigzag of a hospital heart monitor. “And here you can see the equaliser, like the sounds that come out of the speaker when Warren’s playing.” More pointing, this time at a bright swirl of paint: “This sound here is like a DVD spinning. Each shape expresses an emotion: happiness, excitement…” Chhan Dina and Warren Daly are daring to tread in some of history’s most well-heeled footsteps. The duo – one a classically trained Cambodian artist; the other a DJ from Ireland – are redefining for the 21st century the complex relationship between sound and vision. Dina and Daly merge electronic dance music with live instruments and artists and audience participation to create a multisensory experience – a trip without a trip. Led by Daly, who in 2000 co-founded online record label Invisible Agent, they’re building on the work of 1960s San Francisco arts collectives that used disco balls and light projections on smoke to produce trip-like sensations (The Brotherhood of Light, who toured with The Grateful Dead, were inspired by the Beat generation and Ken Kesey’s ‘expansion of consciousness’ Acid Tests). In Swagger, Daly fuses pop culture, high culture and low culture by hooking painters, musicians, graffiti artists, digital artists and DJs into one psychedelic show.

WHO: The sonically and visually open-minded
WHAT: Swagger
WHERE: Meta House, #37 Sothearos Blvd
WHEN: 9pm September 28
WHY: A trip without a trip

All in one day

Back in the 1990s, the international comics community began holding an annual 24-Hour Comic Day: the challenge is to produce a 24-page comic in 24 hours. No preparation (except materials, music and food), from initial concept to full art, with even proofreading completed within one day. You can nap, but the clock keeps ticking. There are two ways to not quite make it: in the Eastman variation, you sail past the deadline and keep going until the work is completed; in the Gaiman variation, you stop at whatever point the time runs out.

Since 2008, the growing Phnom Penh comics community has joined in this global sharing and along the way created what is called the ‘Cambodian variation’: the event is open for 24 hours, but participants produce one page in one hour; you can drop in, be brilliant and head off again. This scenario is more appropriate for local artists, because it allows those with jobs, second jobs, studies and/or family responsibilities to take part without having to commit to the more intense 24-hour version.

“The operative word here is ‘fun’,” explains organiser John Weeks, from the Siew Phew Yeung/Our Books group. “Each day has had a great informal atmosphere that brought the community together: amateurs, professionals, local and international artists.”

Globally, the day set aside for this event is October 5, which falls on Pchum Ben this year; the Phnom Penh event has been brought forward to the weekend before. Java Café and Gallery will host an exhibition on the evening of September 27 to showcase examples of work from previous years, then the scribbling and scrawling fun begins on September 28 at 8 am.

“Artwork will be shared on October 13 via social media, to remind participants that a Cambodian contingent has also contributed,” says John. The ability to connect electronically has contributed to the success of the event in recent years. Compilations of contributions are published afterwards for sharing throughout the comics world. There are plans to compile and distribute collections from the Cambodian events in the near future.

The format is simple and designed to maximise participation. A couple of local artists, including Sao Sreymao and Moeu Diyadaravuth, will be on hand as guides to welcome, assist and encourage. “It is a great chance to get together and share,” says Sreymao, who has been involved in the event for years. She knows it’s hard for people to put aside the time, especially when it’s for love not money, but emphasises that this actually is a way to meet new friends and to make a connection with people with the same interests. “Sometimes it’s funny that you know someone, see them every day and then find out oh, you also make comics!”

Spectators are welcome, but don’t be surprised if a pencil is thrust into your hand. Who knows? You might change your life.

WHO:Established and budding comic-book writers and the comic-book curious
WHAT: 24-Hour Comics Day
WHERE: Java Café and Gallery, #56 Sihanouk Blvd.
WHEN: From 8am October 28
WHY: Experience the Cambodian variation on comic books

 

L’Orchidee: Where nature takes centre stage

The tree was there first, so it stayed while Jenny and Patrice built the restaurant around it. It cuts into the seating space during the rainy season, but they figure the green is worth it. “When people in a Lexus drive up and ask if we have air-conditioning I point to the tree,” says Patrice, “Air-con is expensive and we would have to increase our prices.”

Who do they want to attract? Beatles fans (three of their albums play non-stop) who want to eat spectacular Khmer and European food. Patrice, born in France, refers to himself as a European cook and is inspired in the kitchen. From time to time he ventures out of his domain to personally check whether folk are enjoying his food. Jenny – waitress, cashier, manager and owner – runs the front operation. Her first language is Khmer, but she is also fluent in English and French and will soon add German to her polyglot portfolio.

A meal at L’Orchidee starts with a cold, wet towel. Could anything be more refreshing than wiping your hands and mopping your neck on a hot, sweaty day? Next comes the complimentary spey chrok, a cross between Ukrainian sauerkraut and Korean kimchi. The pickled cabbage perks up your taste buds with a hit of vinegar.

According to David, a dedicated regular, the chicken amok is “like a party in your mouth”. It follows a traditional recipe Jenny got from her grandmother. Mirka, from Slovakia, adds that the food is: “Beautiful. Really tasty and perfectly spiced: not too much, not too little.”

The menu lists the prices in riel and offers small and large portions. Highly recommended is the amok fish served in a banana leaf (18,000 riel; 27,000 riel) and fried chicken with lemongrass (14,000 riel; 21,000 riel). Carnivores can tuck into the lok lak – fried beef with onion, tomatoes and a fried egg (16,000 riel, 24,000 riel) – or the French style filet in cracked Kampot pepper (32,000 riel). Dessert hounds will drool over the crème brulee (8,000 riel).

Want to try a truly local dish? Order the cow’s tongue (1,800 riel; 2,700 riel) or the duck feet salad with glass noodles (12,000 riel; 15,000 riel). According to Jenny, “Khmer people really like cow’s tongue and we slow-cook it for hours.” The bar has what you want and there’s a focused wine list. Non-tipplers can imbibe fresh coconut (4,000 riel) a smoothie (8,000 riel) or soft drinks.

“We aren’t going to get rich quickly because we want to build up relationships,” Jenny confides. “People are important and we want them to come back and to bring their friends. We want our customers to stay with us forever.”

L’Orchidee, #82 Street 464; 010 998123.

Dancing on air

When more than a dozen khaki-clad dancers air stepped, jitterbugged and boogie woogied their way through a 30-second commercial for global thread-peddlers Gap in 1998, they unintentionally turned a new generation of rug cutters not onto affordable casual-fit pants but a certain something called ‘swing’.

Jazz – a form considered sacred by the world’s most po-faced musicians (even Russian classical composer Igor Fyodorovich Stravinsky, of habitually high brow, saw fit to approve) – had by the early 1930s birthed its most errant offspring. The traditional two-beat sound of New Orleans had given way to smoother, four-beat syncopated melodies and a dance craze instantly demonised as [GASP!] ‘light entertainment’. By 1935, despite much huffing and puffing on the part of moralistic types, the Swing Era had officially cometh… and would grip the US for a further decade.

Swing, which abandoned the string-heavy orchestration of the ’20s in favour of edgier horn and wind arrangements, was born of the African-American community (as indeed was its forebear), but swiftly transcended racial boundaries. Called on to define this Harlem sound by Bing Crosby on national radio, Louis Armstrong replied thus: “Ah, swing. Well, we used to call it syncopation then they called it ragtime then blues then jazz. Now it’s swing. White folks, y’all sho’ is a mess.”

It was a view Armstrong shared with author Norman Mailer. In his 1957 pamphlet The White Negro, Mailer charts the emerging philosophy of racial role reversal, describing folk “with a middle-class background (who) attempt to put down their whiteness and adopt what they believe is the carefree, spontaneous, cool lifestyle of Negro hipsters: their manner of speaking and language, their use of milder narcotics, their appreciation of jazz and the blues, and their supposed concern with the good orgasm.”

And who could blame hep cats and hipsters for yearning to go the way of such hedonism? Even before Cab Calloway’s 1939 Hepster Dictionary defined them as one ‘who knows all the answers, understands jive’, swingers were speeding up the waltz, cannibalising classic ballet manoeuvres and jabbing a much-needed shot of adrenalin straight into the heart of the Great American Songbook.

Legend has it that sometime in 1927, a year after the Savoy Ballroom in New York first opened its doors, what is today the world’s most famous swing dance was christened quite by accident. A newspaper reporter watching couples swing dance in the Savoy, which occupied an entire block, asked local enthusiast George ‘Shorty’ Snowden what the dance was called. On the bench next to the two men was a newspaper article about American aviator Charles Lindbergh’s record-breaking flight to Paris, bearing the headline: ‘Lindy hops the Atlantic’. George turned to the reporter, said simply ‘Lindy hop’ and then set about creating the world’s first lindy hop dance troupe.

A fusion of jazz, tap, breakaway and Charleston, the lindy hop shot to prominence in the mid-’30s when a swift-footed chap by the name of Frankie Manning joined the ranks of Whitey’s Lindy Hoppers, a dance troupe resident at the Savoy. Deploying hitherto unseen ‘air steps’, in which at least one foot departs solid ground in zany acrobatics, Manning raised the dance bar a considerable margin. Perhaps nowhere is this more brilliantly evidenced than in the 1941 film Hellzapoppin’, where Manning and his fellow dancers catapult each other into the air in a series of torso-tossing moves. These Hip to Hip, Side Flip, Over The Back, Back Flip, Over The Head and The Snatch were, at least at the time, the wildest dance manoeuvres ever conceived.

In actual fact, so wild was the lindy hop that Nazi Germany furiously outlawed it, not that this could of course halt the explosion in German swing bands. Eventually the German authorities relented and created their own Nazi swing band, Charlie And His Orchestra. The band recorded entire albums of swing songs with lyrics ridiculing the Allied nations, which the Nazis promptly then parachuted behind ‘enemy’ lines.

It would take a further 40 years and the advent of break-dancing before anything came close to swing in terms of sheer power, strength and energy. In the meantime, arrangers such as Nelson Riddle and pop vocalists Frank Sinatra, Bobby Darin, Dean Martin and Nat King Cole made sure it was etched onto the global consciousness. By the late 1990s, when Louis Prima’s 1956 song Jump, Jive An’ Wail became forever wedded to the image of Gapsters in khaki-coloured cargo pants, a revival was long overdue.

Today, swing having been immortalised for the 21st century masses first by JXL in Little Less Conversation then by Robbie Williams’ Swing When You’re Winning and later by Marilyn Manson in Mobscene, it’s even on the rise in the steaming urban jungles of Asia. “It’s massive in Korea and China, especially Beijing,” says Richard, a psychologist and long-dancing member of Phnom Penh’s premier swing dance club formerly known as PPPSwings but now poised to relaunch with a weekend-long extravaganza September 27 – 29, followed by weekly classes, as Swing Penh. “Most major cities have swing events. With salsa, it’s a cultural thing, it’s part of an ethos, but with swing it’s just about the dance and you get to choose from a huge set. I got called as a reluctant stand-in and felt a bit awkward, but then it became like a problem to solve: how do you do this? We don’t do too much of the ‘throwing around’ stuff. We’re middle aged, you know…” [Laughs]

The crotchets and quavers (quarter and eighth notes) associated with African-American music trip lightly out of the speaker, translated into nifty toe-heelery by the assembled swingers as a series of ‘triple steps’ and ‘steps’. Part Elvis, part rockabilly, Berlin neo-swing group The Baseballs, backed by an upright bass, punch out a swing-style cover of Rhianna’s Umbrella, replete in upswept quiffs, upturned collars and rolled-up denims.

“This is the one everyone wants to swing dance to,” says Kat, a fellow Swing Penher, as her dance partner Richard spins her away from him and then snaps her body back to his in a move called ‘the quick stop’. “You can swing dance to all sorts of music, including a lot of modern stuff.” Says Richard: “We use Morcheeba, all sorts. I like that you’re not held to one genre. In one night, you can have the whole range of music from the 20th century, which is really good fun.”

Janice Wilson, Swing Penh’s resident instructor, has performed, choreographed and taught dance in 11 countries, touring with Michael Buble and Wynton Marsalis and opening for Bill Cosby at Disney World. “Swing allows for full immersion. You’re not just listening to the music, you’re living it; breathing it,” she says in what might just be the shortest interview in the history of The Advisor.

But before you launch yourself full pelt into the whip, the push, the Carolina shag or the pony swing, you’d be well advised to watch Groovy Movie, from 1944, a gloriously tongue-in-cheek guide to the lindy hop. Also, try to avoid a ‘swungover’: the mental and physical results of binge jitterbugging, as defined by author Bobby White.

And remember, say the word ‘swinger’ in certain circles and you can expect to be met with a snigger: the phrase can also refer to spouse-swapping. “Someone posted this advert on Expat Advisory Services a while back looking for swingers in town,” says Kat. “This nice little old lady wrote back saying how happy she would be to welcome them to Phnom Penh. It was so sweet! I don’t think she had any idea…”

WHO: Hep cats and hipsters
WHAT: Swing Penh Launch Weekend
WHERE: Phnom Penh
WHEN: From 9pm September 27
WHY: “Swing allows for full immersion. You’re not just listening to the music, you’re living it; breathing it” – Janice Wilson

 

All in one day

Back in the 1990s, the international comics community began holding an annual 24-Hour Comic Day: the challenge is to produce a 24-page comic in 24 hours. No preparation (except materials, music and food), from initial concept to full art, with even proofreading completed within one day. You can nap, but the clock keeps ticking. There are two ways to not quite make it: in the Eastman variation, you sail past the deadline and keep going until the work is completed; in the Gaiman variation, you stop at whatever point the time runs out.

Since 2008, the growing Phnom Penh comics community has joined in this global sharing and along the way created what is called the ‘Cambodian variation’: the event is open for 24 hours, but participants produce one page in one hour; you can drop in, be brilliant and head off again. This scenario is more appropriate for local artists, because it allows those with jobs, second jobs, studies and/or family responsibilities to take part without having to commit to the more intense 24-hour version.

“The operative word here is ‘fun’,” explains organiser John Weeks, from the Siew Phew Yeung/Our Books group. “Each day has had a great informal atmosphere that brought the community together: amateurs, professionals, local and international artists.”
Globally, the day set aside for this event is October 5, which falls on Pchum Ben this year; the Phnom Penh event has been brought forward to the weekend before. Java Café and Gallery will host an exhibition on the evening of September 27 to showcase examples of work from previous years, then the scribbling and scrawling fun begins on September 28 at 8 am.

“Artwork will be shared on October 13 via social media, to remind participants that a Cambodian contingent has also contributed,” says John. The ability to connect electronically has contributed to the success of the event in recent years. Compilations of contributions are published afterwards for sharing throughout the comics world. There are plans to compile and distribute collections from the Cambodian events in the near future.

The format is simple and designed to maximise participation. A couple of local artists, including Sao Sreymao and Moeu Diyadaravuth, will be on hand as guides to welcome, assist and encourage. “It is a great chance to get together and share,” says Sreymao, who has been involved in the event for years. She knows it’s hard for people to put aside the time, especially when it’s for love not money, but emphasises that this actually is a way to meet new friends and to make a connection with people with the same interests. “Sometimes it’s funny that you know someone, see them every day and then find out oh, you also make comics!”
Spectators are welcome, but don’t be surprised if a pencil is thrust into your hand. Who knows? You might change your life.

WHO:Established and budding comic-book writers and the comic-book curious
WHAT: 24-Hour Comics Day
WHERE: Java Café and Gallery, #56 Sihanouk Blvd.
WHEN: From 8am September 28
WHY: Experience the Cambodian variation on comic books

20th century vinyl: the music of Southeast Asia’s 78rpm era

Obscure record collector David Murray spent five years trawling the dustbins of Southeast Asia in search of music’s rarest vinyl species: the 78rpm. His efforts have been compiled into a four CD box set titled Longing for the Past. Boomkat has the details:

‘Longing For The Past’ surveys 90 kaleidoscopic pieces from 78rpm records recorded between 1905-1966 across Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, Burma, Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia.  As to be expected, they’re practically all swaddled in a rich patina of fuzz, the inevitable pock-marks of time when you consider many were not properly stored, but the fact they’re here and still sounding so bright and otherworldly should be considered a minor miracle. We’re effectively bearing witness to another world through the smeary windows of an archaic time machine, offering privileged, rare glimpse of the region’s indigenous music and culture before they were ravaged and irrevocably altered by all manner of factors, from war and genocide to the pervasive influence of imperialist cultural policy.

In addition to the 90 tracks, the set also contains a substantial book with pictures from the era and meticulous notes on each song and its instruments. Taken together, the combined work is an immense effort by any standard and an unrivaled contribution to the documented history of Southeast Asian music. That it exists at all is nothing short of amazing. And for less than 50 quid, it’s practically a steal.