Cambodian rock from the late sixties was very nearly erased on purpose — the musicians who made it were among the first targeted, and for decades the songs survived mostly on degraded cassettes passed between families abroad. An organ player in Los Angeles found those tapes, and then went looking for a singer who could actually do it, and found her performing at a Long Beach nightclub where she was already well known to a community that had brought the music with them. That is the band. Live it is louder and stranger than the premise suggests: surf guitar, a saxophone, Khmer-language vocals over psych-rock that could have come off a Nuggets compilation. The high desert room suits it — wood, warmth, a crowd that came out for something and does not need it explained first. Music at 9:30 PM in Pioneertown. December nights out here get genuinely cold, and the patio fire is where the conversations happen once the set ends.
Cambodian rock from the late sixties was very nearly erased on purpose — the musicians who made it were among the first targeted, and for decades the songs survived mostly on degraded cassettes passed between families abroad. An organ player in Los Angeles found those tapes, and then went looking for a singer who could actually do it, and found her performing at a Long Beach nightclub where she was already well known to a community that had brought the music with them. That is the band. Live it is louder and stranger than the premise suggests: surf guitar, a saxophone, Khmer-language vocals over psych-rock that could have come off a Nuggets compilation. The high desert room suits it — wood, warmth, a crowd that came out for something and does not need it explained first. Music at 9:30 PM in Pioneertown. December nights out here get genuinely cold, and the patio fire is where the conversations happen once the set ends.
Cambodian rock from the late sixties was very nearly erased on purpose — the musicians who made it were among the first targeted, and for decades the songs survived mostly on degraded cassettes passed between families abroad. An organ player in Los Angeles found those tapes, and then went looking for a singer who could actually do it, and found her performing at a Long Beach nightclub where she was already well known to a community that had brought the music with them. That is the band. Live it is louder and stranger than the premise suggests: surf guitar, a saxophone, Khmer-language vocals over psych-rock that could have come off a Nuggets compilation. The high desert room suits it — wood, warmth, a crowd that came out for something and does not need it explained first. Music at 9:30 PM in Pioneertown. December nights out here get genuinely cold, and the patio fire is where the conversations happen once the set ends.
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