Show Review: Dengue Fever at the Highline Ballroom in New York City
Dengue Fever at Highline Ballroom – June 10, 2011
As Dengue Fever’s lead singer Chhom Nimol tentatively takes the stage at the Highline Ballroom in New York City, her first few words of introduction in English are barely audible over the conversation in the crowd. Moments later, the tables have turned. When the music kicks in and she launches into the first few bars of song in her native language of Khmer, Chhom’s haunting and yet powerful voice is the commanding force in the room.
Los Angeles-based Dengue Fever’s fusion of American rock and Cambodian pop seems unique, but it’s not. They have the vibe of a party band, which is also a bit of a misunderstanding.
Brothers Ethan and Zac Holtzman founded the group a decade ago to pay tribute to an obscure and tragic footnote in music history. During the 1960’s, the sounds of surf artists like Dick Dale and the Beach Boys began leaking into Cambodia via U.S. Armed Forces Radio from Vietnam. Local musicians tried to imitate the style, and ended up creating a genre all their own, a campy clash of Asian tradition with the youthful energy of Western rock and roll. Within a few years, the scene fell silent as most of the artists involved had been killed alongside many of their fellow citizens during the brutal reign of communist dictator Pol Pot.
Chhom herself comes from a line of prominent Cambodian musicians and was a karaoke star in her native land before being “discovered” by Dengue Fever. She’s still a national hero, which explains the sprinkling of Cambodians in the crowd, many of them much younger or older than fans you would normally spot at a hipster haunt in downtown Manhattan.
Four albums into their career (Cannibal Courtship was released in April), Dengue Fever has developed a solid sense of its strengths. The band wisely opens the set with a string of traditionally-flavored tunes sung entirely in Khmer, allowing Chhom to win over the audience with her vocal virtuosity. The fact Cambodian oldies like “Lost in Laos” are difficult to distinguish from originals like “Hold My Hips” (some of which are written in english and then translated) stands as a testament to Dengue Fever’s faithfulness to their influences.
Where things get more complicated is when the group launches into more modern english-language material. One of the first new songs of the night is the bouncy anthem “Family Business.” The seamlessness of the tune demonstrates how far Dengue Fever has come in its quest to merge its Eastern and Western identities. They are, as bassist Senon Williams recently put it, “100 percent” indie and Cambodian. However, Chhom is notably detached in her delivery when compared to the passion on display just a few minutes earlier.
During the kitschy duet “Sober Driver,” in which she plays a drunken party girl trying to flirt her way into a ride home, the singer seems embarrassed by the premise. Nevertheless, she shakes her hips, giggles and smiles her way through the number like a pro. The riddle is whether she’s really enjoying herself or just putting on a good act.
Chhom’s enigmatic relationship with the rest of Dengue Fever leaves the group vulnerable to charges of trafficking in exotica. Yet it would be overly cynical to paint her as some kind of modern day Yma Sumac (the so-called “Peruvian Princess” with an otherworldly four-octave vocal range who in the 1950’s was consigned by the U.S. music industry to performing cheesy Tiki-tinged lounge music). Her aloofness is an essential part of the band’s chemistry, and says a lot about the enduring diversity of music globally. For all the hand-wringing about the homogenizing effects of western pop culture, in this instance the cultural chasm between Phnom Penh and LA is far too vast for either side to overwhelm the other.
The one time Chhom truly lets her guard down at the Highline comes late in the set during a spirited rendition of “Tiger Phone Card,” perhaps Dengue Fever’s finest single. “The first thing I do/is throw my arms around you/and never let go” she croons to her imagined lover during the ballad that reboots the classic theme of long distance relationships for a new globalized era. The tale of separation seems to strike a chord deep in the heart of singer, who has herself journeyed very, very far from home.
Talk Normal may be made up of two ladies, but that doesn’t stop them from taking jarring melodies and dissonant guitars and cranking them over some furious art rock beats. Channeling the best of early 90s noise rock and pop, the ladies of Talk Normal released Sugarland this fall through Rare Book Room and are set out to tour the country to support it. Both members took the time to answer Ghettoblaster’s questions about their homebase, and possible reasons why Andrya likes to call NYC “The City of Dirt & Dreams.”
Andrya likes to call it “The City of Dirt & Dreams.”
