Various | Cambodian Rocks Vol. 3 and 4 |Khmer Rocks | Cambodia

Cambodian Rocks Volume III—All Psyched Up is the probably the most fun yet in the series. Khmer Rocks director Krisna Rithasakvejith has obviously heard the desire (expressed here and elsewhere) for a compilation that concentrates on the “out sound” of Cambodian pop—he’s come up with a collection of gritty garage tracks, psychedelic moments and straightforward pop tunes in which gnarly guitars suddenly raise their fuzzy heads. All Psyched Up has the edge of the original Parallel World Cambodian Rocks plus the great pictures and lyric translations that make the Khmer Rocks discs so great.

If forced to limit my review to only one sentence, I’d write this: Damn, Cambodia turned out some badass guitar players. Case in point—the maniac on Ros Seresothea’s “Wait Ten Months.” I’ve probably listened to this song a hundred times on both Parallel World’s Rocks and the City of Ghosts soundtrack, but I still can’t get over the guitar, which squeals out the same demented lick again and again in two different solos. Having the translation of the lyrics for the first time adds a lot of meaning to the out-of-control feel: “Entering womanhood/My body has changed dramatically/Men check me out…/But I’m just not interested.” Like Humbert Humbert with a six-string, our mystery player channels lust for an under-aged hottie into hot licks. This is the same guitarist who recorded Ros Seresothea’s “I’m Sixteen” and numerous Sinn Sisamouth songs, including this disc’s opener, “Don’t Be Too Mean.” I’d like to know the name of this garage genius.

There are other lyrical surprises. For instance, Yol Aularong’s Troggs-like guitar and Farfisa rave up, “Come Again Tomorrow” turns out to be about coffee and fried breadsticks.

My biggest surprise, however, was seeing my review of Volumes I and II referred to in the liner notes of Volume III, mentioned in the context of western reviewers making negative cultural assumptions about the Cambodian artists. Although the notes are careful not to put it so bluntly, the concern expressed is that non-Cambodians have assumed that Ros Seresothea and Sinn Sisamouth were poor, uneducated, rural people who learned about western music through US army radio broadcasts during the Vietnam War.

Actually, I personally never assumed any of these things. I know that imported electric guitars and recording studios don’t fall out of the sky, especially in 60s and 70s Southeast Asia. It’s obvious that most of these performers had to be urban and well off--in fact, I used the words “middle class” in my review. I did mention that, considering that his lyrics for his covers of western pop tunes were always different from the originals, “perhaps Sinn couldn't understand the words to the songs that so profoundly influenced his music.” My guess was that he was a middle or upper-class guy who probably spoke French and Cambodian. According to the notes, Sinn in fact spoke seven languages and traveled extensively abroad.

Although I think my words were a bit misinterpreted, the points director Krisna Rithasakvejith makes are very important. The Golden Age of Cambodian music was brief and beautiful—who knows what sort of cultural jewel Phnom Phen would be today if it weren’t for the insanity of the Khmer Rouge? One of the things I like best about Khmer Rocks is that its discs are put out by people of Cambodian descent who have a lot of love for this music—and a lot to teach us more recent fans.