Born in 2005, Ly Mí Cường has brought sáo Mèo to international music competitions twice in his life — and he managed to take home the first prize both times. Cường’s anchor is always H’Mông culture, the wellspring that has nurtured his soul ever since he first took up the flute of his people, sáo H’Mông.
Lũng Phìn Commune, where Cường was born and grew up, is lodged amid the Đồng Văn Karst Plateau Geopark in Hà Giang Province. Here, in the middle of the mountains, market sessions are held once every six days, peach blossoms cover the hills with pink blotches, and summer maize fields stretch to the end of the horizon. I arrived in Lũng Phìn just after the maize harvest season finished, leaving behind withered stalks in between grey karst chunks.
Ly Mí Cường’s hometown is Lũng Phìn, Hà Giang.
The route from the Lũng Phìn People’s Committee to Cường’s childhood home spans about 4 kilometers. From afar, the tiny path appears like a thread dangling around fluffy clouds on mountain shoulders. The bouncy motorbike ride across the sharp turns here didn’t stop Cường from relaying tales of his upbringing. “Whenever I’m home, I help my grandma and parents with chores. I pluck corn when it’s corn season, I pick and dry tea when it’s tea season,” he intoned. Then, he pointed at little dots on mountains: “You see, H’Mông houses are often perched deep in the ranges. We have a saying: no peak is taller than the knees of the H’Mông people. This wisdom originated from the nomadic patterns and early settlements of H’Mông ancestors.”
Cường sometimes peruses photos of his hometown decades ago, marveling at its rammed earth abodes, yin-yang roof tiles, and stone fences. On festive occasions, young H’Mông men play some khèn and flute tunes during courtship rituals. “I like to imagine that had I been born earlier, I would have lived in that ambiance and been able to see those cultural practices in their most original forms,” his voice suddenly got pensive as he reminisced about a past never lived.
Cường’s family trade is making Lũng Phìn Shan Snow tea. Pictured: Cường (right) and his grandma (left).
Traversing a quaint cement street, Cường’s house materialized amid the thickness of bamboo. Golden ears of corn dangled from the eaves. In the afternoon, patches of sunlight pierced the tree canopy, painting long strokes of yellow on the walls. This was where Cường’s childhood dreams were nourished. Amongst those, he once dreamed of being a police officer when he turned 22, something Ly Mí Pó — his father, a civil servant — has been grooming him for. Still, the experiences of his formative years have planted within him a different wish for a future filled with the mellifluous sounds of flute and khèn.
When Cường was 15, he went down to Hanoi to attend his first-ever music lessons. As a little boy, he used to tag alongside his father to meet Hà Giang’s veteran sáo Mèo musicians. Sáo Mèo is a traditional wind instrument of the H’Mông people, created from bamboo segments. One day, Cường got his own flute just for fun, but over time, the bond between the H’Mông boy and this flute grew stronger and stronger. He loved accompanying Ly Mí Kịa, a flute maker in Sủng Trái Commune, on his trips to seek bamboo to make sáo Mèo. During his own free time, Cường bought his own set of tools to make flutes.
The third lunar month of 2018 was time for the annual Khâu Vai Romance Market. Kịa suggested that Cường go along with him to play the flute at the market. It was raining torrentially, rendering the path from Lũng Phìn to Khâu Vai into a muddy hell. Four days later, Cường met his father with an unprecedented sense of pride: “I did it, I made the flute, I sold it for one million. This is my first income!” It wasn’t much, but for Cường, that was extremely motivational, as it helped him realize that playing the flute is a decent way to make a living.
Khèn is a revered instrument of the H’Mông people.
It was also the first time he felt the special feeling of standing in a crowd as they observed him with curiosity. “I pretended that it was my stage. Suddenly, subconsciously, it sparked a fire in me as I dreamed of one day being on a big stage,” he distinctly remembered that moment. He spent VND500,000 from his profit to get himself a new flute. “It’s just a piece of bamboo, why is it so expensive?” — That was the random thought of a 12-year-old boy, and it pushed Cường to make more money to get his hands on better-quality flutes.
As time went by, his passion for folk instruments burned brighter. One night, under the warmth of the family lamp, his father asked: “Do you want to move to Hanoi to study?” Cường hadn’t before envisioned what life would be away from home. A silence bloomed in between the conversation.
His father continued: “I’ve given it some thoughts, not everybody needs to become an official. You should follow what your heart wants, as every field contributes to our society in its own way, none is better or worse. If you decide to pursue it, I think you need to study professional music theory to go far. The bamboo flute major at the Vietnam National Academy of Music is quite close to your passion.”
Nonetheless, his father was still unsure of his path: “Enrolling in anything else, you’ll only need four years to get a degree. If you choose flutes, it will take six years to graduate, not to mention you’ll have to juggle both the general curriculum and the arts coursework, you need to think it over.”
Cường replied: “I really adore sáo H’Mông. Playing it every day I feel like I’m living life and not just existing. I don’t think I can do it if I have to study anything else but music.”
Cường's father, albeit plagued with numerous concerns over how the family would finance his son’s artistic studies, didn’t hesitate: “Only through education can you improve your life. If you really want to study music, I’m ready to invest in you. You need to sketch out your own life. We’re only here to lay the first bricks.”
Ly Mí Pó, Ly Mí Cường’s dad, is always supportive of his son’s pursuit, even though he steered Cường towards a life in the government.
Those words were all Cường needed to cement his determination. After having the heart-to-heart with his dad, the 15-year-old moved to Hanoi to start preparing for the university entrance exam. “All these years, my world was wrapped up in the meandering roads that I walked to my school on the side of the mountain. I went to the village school, I didn’t go to the township, I could never picture what studying in Hanoi would be like,” he explained.
Cường boarded a night bus heading towards the capital, carrying with him hopes and imaginations about life in the big city. After some shuteye, before him stood an entirely foreign universe, chock-full of the clamor of traffic that shocked and overwhelmed him. He missed his home, his grandma, his parents, the maize fields, rows of sa mộc trees, and the sound of the wind, jungle birds, and of the gaggle of kids frolicking in front yards.
The road from the village to the capital for education was, in reality, very challenging. Though he was aiming for the bamboo flute program, Cường’s experience playing it was nearly zero, so he spent 15 days getting used to it and practicing 24/7. The effort paid off because Cường finally received the acceptance letter.
Cường nurtures a dream to spread his love for traditional instruments to young H’Mông at his hometown.
While still catching up with the new pace of life, Cường also encountered academic hurdles. Being exposed to music theory much later than his peers, Cường felt that he was lagging behind. “Looking at the music sheets, I couldn’t read the notes. Using them to write songs was even tougher. My progress was always slow,” he laughed. As the curriculum got deeper, the lessons got more complicated and compound, from music theory to breath and rhythm control, so Cường was daunted.
Luckily, alongside Cường was a patient mentor who was always ready to say: “Whichever part you don’t get, you can see me after class, you can learn faster if I can correct you right away instead of you figuring it out on your own.” He was Ngọc Anh, a veteran ethnic instrument player and instructor. “Don’t you worry. You just need to practice more and interact [with it] more and you will get better.”
Juggling both the general curriculum and the music program, Cường had to spend twice the time on coursework, including on weekends and holidays. Despite the shaky start, the music knowledge gained in class and the support of his mentor helped Cường become more well-versed in his craft. This was the foundation before he could bring his sáo Mèo and khèn onto public stages.
No matter where he was performing, Cường always showed up in his traditional attire. Cường explained: “If I want to go far, I need to be sure of who I am and where I come from.”
Ly Mí Cường is always proud to play khèn and sáo no matter how big or small the stage is.
As Cường shared, when H’Mông people feel sad, they tend to seek the company of folk music. The flute is thus the ideal instrument to express those feelings, showing an appreciation for nature, mankind, and life. It’s often said that the sound of H’Mông flutes has distinct personalities. Meanwhile, khèn is treated as a spiritual instrument, encompassing the soul of H’Mông communities.
“The space heavily affects the emotions of art practitioners. Before, I played sáo and khèn right in the heart of the mountains. In university, I started to bring them with me to the streets and under the limelight. The change in environment brought about different moods in me, but no matter where I am, whenever I hear those traditional melodies, I can’t help but sense that thread linking my presence to my past. I picture the length of time, the vastness of space, and the immensity of the artistic legacy that my H’Mông forebearers created. It makes me proud,” Cường beamed.
H’Mông musicians play the flute to express emotions.
That pride nudged Cường to seek out ways to promote his people’s instruments to more people. That was why Cường signed up for numerous music competitions both in and out of Vietnam. After clinching the top prize at a music talent contest in Saigon in 2022, Cường pressed forward with his quest to introduce his flute to the international arena. These ambitious dreams proved difficult financially, especially to Cường’s family. During a competition in Singapore, when he managed to pass the first round, he asked his dad if he should continue, who replied: “Just let us know how much you need, if I can handle that amount, of course you should continue. I always support you. I already stockpiled 200–300 kilos of tea leaves [to sell] for you.”
Ly Mí Cường dedicated his first prize at a competition in China to his mother.
When he sat on a plane for the first time to fly to Singapore, he started crying when he thought of his family. “My first overseas competition passed by like a dream. When I got through the first round, I wondered to myself: ‘Am I really overseas?’ Holding the first prize trophy in my hands, I couldn’t believe it,” he recounted. The first thing he did after winning was calling his dad and yelling “I got first prize!” in the explosion of joy from both sides of the screen.
Most recently, Cường once again was the winner in the ethnic instrument category at a competition based in China. “I really feel grateful for small victories, I don’t see first prizes as excuses to be boastful. I still need lots to learn,” he explained. Cường definitely feels lucky and blessed to have experienced and learned so much from his social connections. His performance was a rendition of Ngọc Trung’s ‘Tiếng rừng,’ and Cường was happy because, besides being able to handle the song’s complicated techniques, he was the first person to bring sáo H’Mông to the competition, piquing the curiosity of friends abroad.
Cường is proud and grateful for the cultural heritage of H’Mông ancestors.
Besides just a little touch of luck, Cường believes that his most unwavering source of strength is the richness of H’Mông culture. “Loving our country or our culture is something a bit too abstract. I simply just love things belonging to our community, our people, each homestead, each tune of our khèn and sáo. So I want to profess that love in my works. I admire the determination of H’Mông people to survive in harsh conditions and I’m proud of the wealth of our ancestors’ heritage. My music will always tell those stories and evoke those influences,” Cường said.
That spirit was exactly what flows through Cường’s latest composition, ‘Núi Đêm’ (Night Mountains), which was crafted on a misty late night in Tà Xùa (Yên Bái). Inspired by a H’Mông folk song in Đồng Văn, the song is a sáo H’Mông instrumental track featuring modern arrangements. With a heart-wrenching tune that’s at times melancholic, at times stormy, and even jubilant, ‘Núi Đêm’ is how Cường expresses his gratitude for his people’s resilience.
“The mountain range is majestic over hundreds of thousands of years, and the H’Mông will continue to survive, as stable as a mountain,” he explained the song’s message. Via ‘Núi Đêm,’ he chronicles the tale of migration, settlement, labor production, and cultural practice of his community. “With this composition, I allowed myself to freely overcome the hurdles of professional music theory,” he divulged.
Pursuing traditional music means always facing hardships. Indigenous cultures must overcome pushback from contemporary trends. One must wonder if musicians like Cường would lose their roots once they get exposed to mainstream music education. Cường, however, is not worried, but even eager to use his professional education as a platform to elevate the traditional arts he’s currently pursuing. “I think traditional music is inherently limitless. It’s in my breaths, my flesh, so it can’t be taken away. I don’t want music to be confined to pre-established standards,” he opined.
That mindset helps Cường write music as freely and creatively as possible, diving headfirst into novel mediums without any qualms. Playing the khèn in the major concert Show của Đen was one such experiment. Upon accepting the invitation from Long Nguyễn, the show’s music director, Cường was concerned as such a distinctively ethnic instrument like khèn hadn’t been featured before in rap performances.
All those worries vanished immediately after that 30-second solo Cường did on the show to a rapturous response by thousands of spectators. “It wasn’t a full minute on stage with my H’Mông khèn in the tracks ‘một triệu like’ and ‘Đi Theo Bóng Mặt Trời,’ but I was going crazy from joy. That was the first time I ever stood on a big stage with an influential artist like Đen Vâu in front of the audience,” Cường gushed. This marked the key point when he decided to put more effort into his art.
Ly Mí Cường on stage with rapper Đen Vâu in 2024.
Vietnamese culture is a river that flows through the current landscape, always shifting and shaping past obstacles, albeit being influenced by many factors. “My generation of young people were born into a time when local culture is not practiced often enough and is constantly diluted by foreign cultures. The work to preserve and continue those practices needs the stable mind of youth. That’s my main concern,” he told me.
Thus, according to Cường, crafting new media based on the foundation of traditional heritage is a way to push local culture closer to contemporary audiences. He believes that the arts are a very personal voice, so artists need the freedom to try out new things, but to achieve that, artists employing ethnic elements must engage in responsible research and approach such materials with respect, in order to create in a reasonable way, avoiding the misappropriation trap.
Apart from promoting H’Mông culture, Cường also wishes to spread his pride and confidence in being a young H’Mông. “Before, I carried with me shame in being part of an ethnic minority. When I arrived in Hanoi, I met Hoàng Anh, the founder of Lên Ngàn. I was really inspired by his adoration of traditional culture. At the same time, when I learn more about my roots, about H’Mông culture, and discover more cultures, I no longer feel ashamed because a sense of pride has grown multiplefold. Vietnam is so diverse, and each ethnicity has its own cultural elegance. I’m even more proud to be H’Mông in an ethnically diverse nation,” he shared.
Cường believes artists need freedom to create, but they also need to do their research and respect local cultures.
At this moment, Cường doesn’t see the preservation of cultural heritage as a passion anymore, but a life purpose: “Life naturally pushes me forward, like it’s telling me ‘do this thing’ so I, with all my love and youth, reply: ‘Of course, I’ll follow.’” Organizing activities related to H’Mông culture, like performances, talks, and workshops, makes him feel alive, seeing the efforts of young H’Mông to protect and nurture the ancestral legacy.
Apart from his work with the H’Mông Culture community, created by and for H’Mông students, in Hanoi, Cường recently developed the “Nốt Si” program (Musical Note B) to motivate and inspire H’Mông children in Hà Giang to appreciate traditional music. In the near future, he’s planning to invite musicians to teach sáo and khèn to kids in Lũng Phìn, his hometown. “The best way to preserve culture is to practice it,” he said.
