Finding the next Khmer Michael Jackson -- The pop music industry in Cambodia

I've been working for Cambodian Television Network (CTN) for a little over six months now, and over that time I've seen a lot of pop singers coming in and out. I've been listening to the music, watching the performances, and generally observing.

I previously spent a lot of time complaining how all the songs sound the same. That's not quite true, as I've since learned to discern the differences, but it is true that, like most pop songs, there's a formula -- 2-4 counts of 8 for an intro, a verse of 4 or 8 counts of 8, a chorus of the same, a 2 to 4 counts of 8 solo, and then another verse and two choruses to the end. There are very, very few that veer too far from this. The one time we had a song in three, my dancers freaked out.

Roughly half of the singers actually perform their songs live (it just occurred to me if I'm really supposed to be disclosing this...but, I doubt it's much of a secret). A good number seem quite unsure of the songs, and when they do sing live, aren't exactly sure when their entrance is. Once on stage, they remain stuck more or less in one place with their microphone. The girls are usually in such tight dresses or such high heels (or both) that doing anything else would be dangerous. If there are two of them, one in awhile they'll change places.

In the dressing rooms, they're nice enough, even the bigger stars. They always have an entourage, or at least one person (usually I guess it's a younger sibling) to do their hair and help them with their shoes. They borrow makeup sometimes, liberally splash white powder on their faces (like everyone else, including the MCs), and sit quietly with their smartphone/tablet until it's time to sing.

So all of this was observed, and then the switch went, and I got curious. One of the singers performing last weekend was singing live, with a really great voice, and I went looking for songs on the internet. He's one of the bigger stars here, but I can only find three songs. And that's when I started asking questions. Who are these people, where do they come from, how do they get where they are and why don't most of them seem to know their songs, how do they make money, and really, what's going on here.

Turns out, most don't seem to know their own songs because they aren't their songs at all. There are a few large production companies/recording labels, and they write songs. Since there's a formula that works more or less, they follow the formula. Or, they'll translate a foreign song into Khmer. Then, they'll hire a voice to record the song, and release the album as a compilation. Then, they'll trot the singer off to perform on various television stations/events.

The singers themselves are paid for the recording and for the events. They are all of course screened for lookability. But they don't do anything themselves -- not the music, not the lyrics, and no dance. I'm sure there are some exceptions, but I haven't found them yet. Some bands -- like Dengue Fever and the Cambodian Space Project, which aren't really pop -- have recorded albums but the pop singers don't, or not that I know of.

In short, the pop singers are good-looking cardboard cutouts with a voice. It would be easy to point fingers at this and announce that Cambodians only know how to copy and therefore they wouldn't have any ideas should they have creative liberty over their music and careers, and probably just prefer to look pretty and get money.

Gee, that doesn't sound like anyone I might know of in America...

I'm getting off track. It would be easy to say that, but probably as wrong as announcing that all Americans eat hamburgers on a daily basis. From my experience here, and from the few conversations I've had so far, it's not necessarily a question of not wanting, but not knowing where to start. Not even knowing what tools you need to begin.

One of my friends has a band, and they write music. But where to record? How to record? She has no idea. The pop singer I thought was talented apparently used to be a construction worker. It probably never occured to him to sing, let alone make an album.

I have one Cambodian friend who is incredibly intelligent and an inquistive mind. She asks questions about everything, knows her own culture and it flaws, and has ideas about it. I was talking to her about this, which is when of course I thought, what you really need is an independent record label, with a studio and a crew of musicians. Then you need to find a singer who's willing and interested in taking a risk, get a songwriter on board and lock everyone up for several months and create a kick-ass, unique, original album, and then get it on the market in any way possible.

If the album is good, the independent ARTIST industry will explode. I capitalized artist because that's what's needed. Not singers, artists. I asked my friend about a million times, and each time she said yes -- that singer is out there. Probably more than one. Much like my students at CLA who had no idea where to begin in making a dance, but with a few tools in their back pocket, created some of the most innovative and interesting dance I've ever seen, there's a singer out there who wants to take control of their career, who doesn't just want to sing the songs they're given.

I think I have enough to do, but I want to find someone to make this happen. It's not just the traditional arts scene that needs to be nurtured and given artistic liberty, but also the modern and pop scene.

And I'd like to meet that singer who wants it enough to make it happen. Sure, some do just want to look pretty and get paid (hey, I wouldn't mind that either!!!). But I'd be happy to take the bet that many want more, but couldn't even imagine where to start, and so follow the system.

Any takers???

NOTE: I want to add something here -- I want to make it clear that I don't believe the singer in question also needs to be a songwriter. I'm just envisioning a place where they just start, however small or big, to take ownership of their music and their work as an artist.

Commercial is a dirty word: reconciling art and money

Last week, in a smoky speakeasy style bar, an argument took place. The participants were from all different backgrounds, American, French, Cambodian, Dutch, or some combination of the above, from artists to advocates to researchers. The subject of debate was the title of this post: is it possible for art to be commercial without losing its creativity and artistic integrity?

It was such a fascinating discussion that I wanted to make a post about it with my own thoughts, as I think it's a pretty common debate among artists. It is actually the foremost problem for artists. How do you make money and be an artist?

The common answer is, you can't. Or at least, not much. Art is not about making money, in fact, is the common thought. And if it is, it's "commercial", and is therefore less artistic, because it was created to please an audience.

There are two extremes, as far as I can see. There is the extreme business side, which views art mostly as a waste of time and will only give it the time of day if it thinks it can be sold or marketed. It's the "only what can make money, and if it can't, it's not worth anything" side of things. Then there is the extreme art side, which is the idea that art should be made only for arts' sake and only to express the artists' feelings, that it's not meant to be understood by a larger audience, where the spectator must put himself into the artists' shoes, thoughts, and philosophy in order to truly see what the piece is about. This is the side that sees any concession to the business side as betraying the artistic integrity of the artist and their work.

As for me, I'm firmly convinced that while the two extremes certainly exist, a middle ground also exists, where the two cross and blend. Somewhere where art can be sold and appreciated by a larger audience, but still keeps its integrity.

To make commercial art -- that is, when you make art with the idea of pleasing an audience -- does not make you less of an artist, someone in the group argued, but it is less creative. I disagree. If I create something that I think will please an audience (and myself), it is still an act of creation. If I didn't create it, it wouldn't exist. Yes, but doesn't that make you less independent? was the next question.

Does it? Maybe. But I don't want to be independent. I don't want to create something that only I can understand, that comes only from me and is created only for its own sake. I'm interested in creating work that can be shared, understood. Is it about the money? No, it's not. It's about the experience.

That's where I think the cross is. When it is "entertainment," "commercial," "artistic," it's under a label. But how about shared human experience? Something that humans can look at and understand something of, whether it be a gesture or a story or a painting. Because they recognize something of their own humanity, they like it, buy it, consume it, watch it, whatever. But the act of portraying something of humanness, human experience, is purely artistic.

Do I think I'll be rich as an artist? No, I don't. Do I think I'll have enough to continue? Yes. And yes, I do think art can be "commercial" and still retain its integrity. Creation is creation, whoever it's made for. One of my friends used the example of Frederick Ashton, the artistic director of the Royal Ballet in London. He deliberately made ballets with the intention of pleasing the audience, and yet you will find very few people who would not call his work "art".

The business business has no time for art, and the artist artist has no time for business. It is very rare to find someone who is both a brilliant marketer and a brilliant artist. But I do think the two can work together, if both are open to each other, and find a way forward.

Here, have a part of my soul: Separating Life and Work

It's not late, not by most college student standards. For me, a bit. The later it gets, the shorter the time between now and when my alarm goes off.

Normally I'd be in bed. But I'm not. I'm here, writing this, carefully breaking off chunks of a chocolate fudge poptart and letting the knot of anxiety in my stomach loosen.

The piece I'm choreographing for my senior creative thesis -- which will also be performed in Paris as part of a larger festival of contemporary dance -- is the first time I have deliberately and intentionally crafted a piece, with narrative and spacing. Essentially, everything I've been learning, as a dancer, in choreography classes. As such, it's a first try, but I want -- as with any artist -- my craft to be complete now, so I can make the best choreography anyone has ever seen now.

First of all: That's ridiculous. My mom often quotes a zen saying, that you can become a master in 20 years, and if you try very hard, 30 years. In other words, it takes time, and you can't rush it. You have to be a novice for awhile. And trust me -- in an artistic world where validation is the law, that's tough. 


The piece in question was not meant to be autobiographical. In fact, I'd like to say it's not. But today when the female dancer -- there are three in total, two male -- hurt her ankle, I danced the part and fell into like breathing. Oh crap -- a lot of me wound up in it.

I promise I'm going somewhere with this.

Today I had two visitors in rehearsal, people I very much respect and trust. And I was terrified. That's where the knot in my stomach came from. You know how it feels. That same, clinging feeling of needing validation, of wanting and hoping desperately that these people you like will like the piece, because their opinion very much matters. 


Here. Have a part of my soul. Doesn't it feel like that? Creation, we think, is from us, from our souls, and my god, showing that is terrifying. The most you part of you, the thing that beats and loves and makes everything you are? And then you have to show it, and let it be judged?

Good lord, it's a wonder there even are artists.

But I realize that there's a trap there. Oh god is there a trap. Does creation come from us? Or the genii -- the daemons, the little spirtis -- in the corners, to use a metaphor from Elizabeth Gilbert? This piece was given to me. By who, I don't know and I'm not going to get into a discussion of the 'higher power'; I'm an atheist and it's not a religious blog, anyway. But Inspiration -- to be inspired -- is a funny thing, and happens in the blink of an eye. I'd like to think it's the daemons.

What are the implications of the artist not being the one who tries and in trying, creates?

Freedom.

You aren't responsible anymore, except to the spark of inspiration itself. The piece was given to me because my experiences allowed me to craft in such a way that it expressed the essence of the piece. Then all I can do is work to get it as close as I possibly can to that essence -- the thing that first inspired me to move in this or that way, to structure movement like this, or that. But then it is not mine, not mine to be judged, not my soul to be tossed from dirty paw to dirty paw like a precious gem.

The artist and his work have been inseparable since the 18th century at least, perhaps before. The artist has also become more and more self-destructive, and melancholy, and alone. No. Let's not fall into the trap. The artist's life is important in that it gives him the ideas and the possibilities to realize the work, but in entwining the two together, art becomes too personal.

It's why I can't dance the part, and why I don't want to. I may physically and emotionally be able to, but it hopelessly confuses what is me and what is the movement. The movement is mine because I channeled the idea, but it is not me. And nor should it be.

The Artist's Conundrum: Validation and Destruction

I'd like to talk about a struggle that is not necessarily exclusive to artists, but certainly particular to them. It's particularly prevalent in my life at the moment, or at least, it was this week.

Artists make art. I think we can all agree on that. Since the days of the Renaissance, art and life have become inextricably entwined, to the point that the artist is generally agreed to be expressing his soul in whatever he creates. Art is personal, and we as artists take it so.

Let me restate that: there is a prevailing feeling that, as an artist, you have to prove yourself to the world that the art you make is worthy, and by extension, that you yourself are worthy of being called an artist. It's a deeply vicious cycle.

You know the show "A Chorus Line"? It's like all of the characters in that show: cynical, desperate, wondering what they need to do to prove that they're worthy of the part. Life and the audition become one another. Life itself looks like one giant audition.

Conventional wisdom says we can't avoid that. If you're stupid enough to go into art as a career anyway, you sure as hell better be creating something worthwhile. It's a big struggle to be noticed, to get acclaim, to do something, to be something, to stand out. Right?

This past week I fell into the trap. I felt dearly as though I had to prove myself to my peers and my superiors and no one was buying it. I was looking for validation and ended up feeling decidedly shat upon. The result was a small incident that prompted a deep, burning rage - and by the way, I don't just get angry about things - and me in tears - and by the way, I don't just cry about things. It takes a lot to do both, and with one simple thing, I was at my worst.

That, my friend, is some high class self-destructive behavior.

But then, in talking to my dad, we started to discuss alternatives to this "conventional wisdom." What if we don't always go around trying to prove ourselves, and just create instead?  Is that even possible? Can we get to a place where we don't have to satisfy the demands of our ego?

It's a subject for another post, but it's the life I'm trying to live -- the state I'm trying to get to. When all I have to worry about is staying true to the creative vision and artistic integrity of whatever it is I'm creating.

I'd say that's pretty radical.