I have a difficult time describing
Dengue Fever to my friends partly because I understand what Chhom Nimol is singing and the style of music they're steeped in is what I grew up on. I can say something stupid like, "You know, it's psychedelic pop world music with an indie rock twist. Os Mutantes but Southeast-Asian and not overtly political and stuff. You probably won't like it." But that's bullshit.
Thanks, uh, Myspace!I just can't remove myself from the music and approach it objectively to compare them to other bands in my limited knowledge. I don't want to try to yet. Plus, I would hope that my friends would love it, too.
For now, I can't articulate it other than this:
It is the sort of stuff that we had piles and piles of cassette tapes of in the car. This is sweat in the summer, and drinking neon green (because pink is lame) sugary, milky, watery drinks with ice cubes bobbing around in this genius piece of plastic wrapped around a straw and bound with a rubber band, and sticky rice, and papaya salads, and meat on sticks, and learning how to ride a bike that first time, and living in the city, and Catholic school. That's all kind of a mouthful and still doesn't approach what I mean. My (mostly middle class, white, suburban) friends grew up with the Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, or whatever it is that their parents loved. What did I have? I had Khmer Rock. (Oh, hi. I'm Cambodian.)
"I'm Sixteen"My parents came to America, as kids, basically, in the '80s with other refugees thanks to something called a genocide. I don't often acknowledge that I'm a first generation American and that I learned America as my parents were going about it, too. That's really fucking stupid. I'm only realizing now that it's kind of bad ass, Amy Tan-esque implications and all (don't worry, I'm not a Genius Who OMG Hates My Mom So Much Why Am I Not White So I Fail At Being Awesome By Whining For Eight Billion Pages In Thinly Veiled Fictions That Bore Monica To Tears But Make Oprah Squint In Awe--my mom rules harder than your mom and I'm pretty average in the grand scheme of things but I accomplish vast levels of awesomeness and have no aspirations to make anyone squint in awe other than cute boys, to be humble about the matter(anyway, I
get Ms. Tan and her work and her impact and blah blah blah I just wish I found it dynamic and, you know, interesting)). Pardon that digression.
Anyway. Music. Yeah. My parents, well, they kind of rule and kind of suck and I'm glad that they're my parents and they've shaped me into the lump of flesh that I am and blah blah blah. I used to resent that I didn't have the WASP youth of my friends but fuck, my parents have passed down a ridiculous sense of cool to me, if I've gotten anything else good from them other than a fierce temper and a thick head of curly hair. Also, life. Living is pretty boss.
"Sleepwalking Through the Mekong"My father spent his late youth in Oklahoma smoking weed and rolling down hills, listening to Black Sabbath. I found this out at 16 when I severed the end of my thumb in the process of chopping up chocolate for brownies and listening to old tapes I found in the basement. This is not a long story. I didn't know about this until way too late; by then, I'd already established my taste and no prodding or poking could make me feel good for never having actively listened to the Beach Boys until I was a junior in high school. For all I knew, he didn't listen to music. And still doesn't.
Moms (yes, I call her "Moms") gave birth to me in her youth in Philadelphia and she listened (and still listens) to Top 40 and everything Cambodian she could get her hands on. I blame her for the tapes, for
Sinn Sisamouth and
Preap Sovath in my life and all of the people whose names I don't know but music I remember so well.
"Sober Driver"And Moms's brother (my uncle because that's how that works) and their parents, i.e. my maternal grandparents, need some credit, too, for having karaoke on 24-7 and VHS tapes of concerts in Cambodia on heavy rotation. I went to Cambodia when I was 15 and had the oppurtunity to pause for a moment just outside of one of those insane concerts where everyone is so polite and enamored--you really have to see it to understand or maybe I just need to explain it some other time, who knows. Anyway, I was on the back of my cousin's motorbike and I don't remember what I was thinking. I'd be lying if it were something deep and profound; it was probably something along the lines of, "Holy shit, there are a lot of people here just to listen to music."
Thanks, ericrichardson!This is getting all stream-of-consciousness (but not really because I've reread/barely edited this about sixteen times before finally pressing "publish post") and rambling and stupid so, yeah, what I wanted to say? I just wanted to say that I'm really psyched on going to see Dengue Fever at the
Empty Bottle on Wednesday. Really, really psyched. I have a plethora of anecdotes and memories stored in my fat head and I can't wait to add Wednesday night to the list.
麵包超人 (アンパンマン) "ANPANMAN" the Azuki-Bean-Jam Bun Superman thanks to Spitzgogo_CHEN
