via CAAI
October 1, 2010
Dengue Fever's journey back to their Cambodian roots saw them embraced by the locals and inspired to keep spreading their sound, writes Anthony Carew.
IN 2005, Dengue Fever suddenly found themselves suffering an identity crisis, brought on by an imminent tour of Cambodia.
The Los Angeles-based band formed in 2001 with the intention of re-creating ''Khmer rock'', the uniquely Cambodian music of the late 1960s/early '70s, which fused the guitar rock heard on US armed forces radio with traditional Cambodian music. They were serious enough to recruit Chhom Nimol, who was plying her trade as a wedding band and nightclub singer in the Little Phnom Penh neighbourhood in Long Beach.
With their first two albums, 2003's Dengue Fever and 2005's Escape from Dragon House, sung entirely in Khmer, the sextet became global ambassadors not just for the Khmer rock sound but, in many ways, for Cambodia itself.
''It's a strange position to be in,'' Dengue Fever drummer Paul Smith says. ''We never intended to take on that responsibility, to be these ambassadors spreading the word about Cambodia. We just loved this music and wanted to play it.''
This strange cultural situation came to a head when they were set to travel to Cambodia. For Nimol - and Dengue Fever's music itself - it was a homecoming. For four of the band's remaining members, however, it was a journey into the unknown: they'd never been to Cambodia.
The sense of pseudo-danger - would they be loved? Hated? - encouraged filmmaker John Pirozzi to tag along and the result is 2008 documentary Sleepwalking through the Mekong.
''The first time we went back, it was really wonderful, if somewhat surreal,'' Smith says. ''Even as we were there, you knew that this was one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences that you're going to hold on to for the rest of your life.''
The tour - which included a showcase on Cambodian national television, a day jamming with local schoolchildren, and a concert staged in a Phnom Penh shanty town - found Dengue Fever almost universally embraced.
For younger crowds, the sight of a towering African-American bassist (Senon Williams) and a profusely bearded hipster guitarist (Ethan Holtzman) playing something uniquely Cambodian was out of this world.
For elders, it took them back to a more innocent era, before the Khmer Rouge seized power in 1975 and sentenced the stars of the local music scene - such as Dengue Fever's heroes, Sinn Sisamouth and Ros Sereysothea - to forced labour, torture and death.
''It gave us such a deeper understanding of the culture and the history,'' Smith says.
In the five years since, Dengue Fever have moved away from being sound-specific re-creationists to, on 2008's Venus on Earth, something more eclectic, with songs now sung just as much in English.
But at the same time, they've grown more comfortable in their ambassadorial role, with live shows now featuring history lessons on the millions who died during the Khmer Rouge's bloody reign.
''Playing in Cambodia changed how we felt about what we were doing,'' Smith says. ''To ourselves, it also gave us a sense of credibility. It wasn't that other people were saying we lacked credibility but we were worried about being accepted for playing this music.
''Taking it back to the country that it came from, we weren't sure how they were going to see us. But, being embraced, it felt a little like we were getting the blessing of the people who created this music.''
Dengue Fever play the Melbourne International Arts Festival's Beck's Bar, at the Forum, on October 16. melbournefestival.com.au
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