Music & Art - Saigoneer https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art Thu, 23 Oct 2025 17:08:02 +0700 Joomla! - Open Source Content Management en-gb The Multiverse Behind the 1990s Classic 'Người Tình Mùa Đông' by Như Quỳnh https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28475-the-musical-multiverse-behind-the-1990s-classic-người-tình-mùa-đông-by-như-quỳnh https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28475-the-musical-multiverse-behind-the-1990s-classic-người-tình-mùa-đông-by-như-quỳnh

There is a certain timelessness to the song ‘Người Tình Mùa Đông’ by Như Quỳnh, especially in the visuals of its very first performance. For generations of Vietnamese listeners, ‘Người Tình Mùa Đông’ is an icon in the hall of fame of Vietnamese music, but as I have come to discover, the melody that Vietnamese know as ‘Người Tình Mùa Đông’ has lived a life much richer and more transcendent than it might appear.

In recent years, the music industry’s dynamics have shifted towards fandom and celebrityhood, giving performers more ownership over their music and forming a direct channel for them to communicate their artistry to fans. A song today is, more often than not, closely linked with its performing artist rather than its writer, because in many cases, they are the same person.

For much of Vietnam’s modern music timeline, however, the reverse was more common. Across the 1980s and 1990s, songs, first and foremost, were the creations of composers; and each song could have myriad versions performed by different singers, all vying for the earshot of listeners. My parents identify their favorite tracks by who wrote it, and would argue fervently over which vocalists had the best rendition. Composers were so revered for their artistry and personal style that at times their music could grow to become distinctive genres that are even alive and well today, such as nhạc Trịnh Công Sơn or nhạc Phạm Duy. It’s rather comical to think of a Ryan Tedder, Teddy Park, or Hứa Kim Tuyền anthology CD released today.

Như Quỳnh in the 1990s in her 20s. Photo via Nhạc Xưa.

One thing that my parents, and likely many listeners from their generation, would agree on, however, is nobody can sing ‘Người Tình Mùa Đông’ quite like Như Quỳnh. In an era of music when singers were often seen as mere technical executors rather than creators, the enduring impression that this particular version has etched onto our collective consciousness is a testament to Như Quỳnh’s star power, right from the song's very first debut performance.

A wintry love note not about winter

The title ‘Người Tình Mùa Đông’ could be loosely translated as ‘Winter Paramour.’ The song appeared for the first time in 1994 in the Christmas special of a variety music show by diaspora entertainment studio Asia. The rest of this festive set list naturally featured many Vietnamese versions of famous Noël songs, including ‘Last Christmas’ by Wham! and the Spanish-language classic ‘Feliz Navidad.’

The title ‘Người Tình Mùa Đông’ seems a little hyperbolic at first glance, because the Vietnamese winter is typically much less melodramatic than that of the western world. Apart from some northern provinces where the weather does get chilly towards the end of the year (but no snow), our tropical climate renders winter in the rest of Vietnam rather impotent, hardly romantic enough to inspire seasonal love songs. In reality, the lyrics that composer Anh Bằng wrote use winter as a metaphor for the chilly demeanor with which the love interest treats the male narrator in his reminiscence. “Đường vào tim em ôi băng giá / How icy is the road to your heart,” the man laments as the rainy weather takes him back to those days with her. “Trái tim em muôn đời lạnh lùng. Hỡi ôi trái tim mùa đông / Your heart is forever chilly. O wintry heart,” the song ends on a rather bittersweet note.

‘Người Tình Mùa Đông’ by Như Quỳnh, 1994.

This story of male yearning and missed connection is only apparent if one pays attention to the lyrics, because the performance is anything but forlorn. Như Quỳnh walks out on an ivory stage embellished with Christmas trees and white balloons, and starts singing. The music is bouncy and festive, and the melancholy lyrics take on a rather playful and tongue-in-cheek quality, when delivered by Như Quỳnh, as she smiles and sways in place. The song becomes a self-aware assertion from the female perspective, thanks to the Vietnamese language’s flexible pronouns — it’s as if she’s coyly affirming “Yes, it’s not easy to win my affection, what about it?”

The 1980s outfit that has become iconic. Photo via Nhạc Xưa.

This was Như Quỳnh’s first stage performance since she moved abroad; she was 23 years old in the tape recording. Even though she had performed publicly before in Saigon and even won singing competitions, many still single out this performance as the defining moment in Quỳnh’s career. I attribute this to the song’s broad appeal, to viewers both male and female, young and old. Its lyrics are underscored by nostalgia, a key quality that resonates with Vietnamese communities abroad and older fans. Male listeners are obviously drawn to the ingénue image she put on for the live recording; perhaps she reminded them of a similar crush during their formative years. Female viewers, on the other hand, could connect with the confidence and self-assertion in the performance.

Như Quỳnh (left) in a press event for her liveshow Xuân Yêu Thương in 2023. Photo via Thanh Niên.

She’s fun, dresses well, and is literally glowing. The makeup and fashion are flattering, and the singing is naturalistic and not overly indulgent in vocal acrobatics. In the performance, Như Quỳnh wears a red peacoat, a beige pleated miniskirt, black tights and a black beret — a look that has become so iconic that she even recreated it for her comeback concert in Hanoi in 2018. While this ensemble evoked heavy 1980s influence and might look a little dated if seen during the 2010s, it appears surprisingly in place today, given the resurgence of appreciation for retro aesthetics in the 2020s across multiple cultural disciplines from music, cinema to fashion.

The melody that transcends languages

‘Rouge’ by Naomi Chiaki, 1977.

That memorable live stage might have been the first time many Vietnamese heard ‘Người Tình Mùa Đông,’ but few are aware that this melody actually originated from Japan under the name ルージュ (Rouge/Lipstick), written by singer-songwriter Miyuki Nakajima for veteran singer Naomi Chiaki. ‘Rouge’ was released as a single in 1977 for Chiaki’s album, but it underperformed compared to the rest of the tracks. If ‘Người Tình Mùa Đông’ sings of regret and unfulfilled relationships of a man, ‘Rouge’ is the reminiscence of a woman who left home in search of a long-lost lover and had to find temporary work as a bar hostess. Her lover is nowhere to be found, and she reflects on how the journey has changed her, yet her sakura-color lipstick remains the same.

‘Vulnerable Woman’ by Faye Wong, 1992.

Still, ‘Rouge’ doesn’t have a direct link to ‘Người Tình Mùa Đông,’ as a middle evolution stage was involved. If you were an enthusiastic follower of Hong Kong TVB soap operas in the early 1990s, you would find the tune familiar as it appeared in the series Đại Thời Đại (The Greed of Man), albeit as a whole different song by Faye Wong. Wong’s Cantonese version, titled ‘容易受傷的女人’ (Vulnerable Woman), was recorded in 1992 and included in the series as an interlude song. Musically, ‘Vulnerable Woman’ is a heart-wrenching ballad of a woman expressing insecurity in a rocky relationship, urging her lover to stay with her.

The cover of the Rouge album by Naomi Chiaki where the titular song appeared for the first time.

The compilation CD that includes ‘Người Tình Mùa Đông.’

‘Vulnerable Woman’ is one of the most successful tracks of Faye Wong's album Coming Home.

The TV drama turned out to be widely successful, achieving top ratings in Hong Kong that year and spreading to neighboring countries. ‘Vulnerable Woman’ went on to win Song of the Year soon after, and spawned a smorgasbord of covers across Asia in many languages — including Vietnamese, in the form of ‘Người Tình Mùa Đông.’ Singaporean band Tokyo Square released an English-language version, ‘That Is Love.’ Burmese singer Aye Chan May recorded a version called ‘တစ်စစီကျိုးပဲ့နေတယ်’ (Broken Apart). It shape-shifted in Turkey as dance track ‘8.15 Vapuru’ by Yonca Evcimik. There are also numerous other versions in Vietnamese, Mandarin Chinese, Thai, Khmer and Khmu. The melody might stay largely unchanged, but it's fascinating to witness how it reinvent itself in completely different genres: the Turkish version is the most different with an Ace of Base-esque reggae influence, while the Singaporean rendition remains faithful to Faye Wong's instrumentation. Regardless of how similar or transformed the arrangements are, the lyrics are almost always different. 

‘Broken Apart’ by Aye Chan May, 1996.

These translations might seem random, but they fit right in with the prevailing cultural trends at the time, where Asian singers were localizing their favorite foreign songs left and right. Japan looked to the west for cover inspirations, resulting in fascinating artefacts like Hideki Saijo’s rendition of ‘Careless Whispers.’ Hong Kong, on the other hand, went through a Japanese Wave in the 1980s and 1990s, giving rise to a hits like ‘尋愛’ (Searching for Love) by Anita Mui, a cover of ‘Plastic Love’ by Mariya Takeuchi. Vietnam was enamoured by Cantonese media, especially music and TVB dramas, in the 1990s, so songs by Andy Lau, Shirley Kwan, and of course, Faye Wong, were making their way into the cultural landscape of Vietnam en masse. Sometimes, the adaptation cascade does a funny thing, resulting in the cross-cultural evolution of ‘Người Tình Mùa Đông’ from ‘Vulnerable Woman’ from ‘Rouge.’ If someone tells me now that ‘Rogue’ was a cover of something else, I swear I will lose my mind.

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info@saigoneer.com (Khôi Phạm. Graphic by Dương Trương.) Music & Arts Fri, 17 Oct 2025 11:00:00 +0700
In Hội An, Artist Nguyễn Quốc Dân Breathes New Life Into Scrap Materials https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28461-in-hội-an,-artist-nguyễn-quốc-dân-breathes-new-life-into-scrap-materials https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28461-in-hội-an,-artist-nguyễn-quốc-dân-breathes-new-life-into-scrap-materials

The several dozen family altars that formed a hodgepodge pile had each been abandoned in graveyards. For many, this would make them extremely inauspicious. But to artist Nguyễn Quốc Dân, they are perfect for making art.

Cemeteries provide the renowned artist with much of the material he needs for his particular style of art, dubbed Tái Sinh-ism, or Taisinism in English. This was evident when Saigoneer visited his 2,000-square-meter home and workshop in Hội An. Empty bottles, jugs, jars, nets, blankets, bags, electronic casings, pipes, tubes, wires, fabrics, flooring, decor, and decorations: The castoffs of capitalism run amok populate the property. 

We had been ushered inside after the rambunctious pack of friendly dogs was pushed away from the gate guarding the inconspicuous frontage on the outskirts of town. Dân, immediately identifiable by his beard and long hair, was busy overseeing a new construction project on the site, so Huỳnh Huy stepped in. During a planned bicycle trip across Southeast Asia, beginning in his hometown of Bến Tre, Huy stopped at the Recycling Workshop whose mission and philosophy enticed him to stay for more than a year. He has the scars on his hands to prove his dedication to the art and was the perfect person to explain Tái Sinh-sim to us.

Before showing us around the workshop, Huy shared the ideal place for one of Dân’s pieces to be displayed by way of a question: “What is the most secure building in the world?” Unable to provide the correct answer, he responded: “The UN building. Imagine the world’s leaders sitting around one of these statues.” 

Denim jeans shaped and glued into the form of seated Buddha; a television case melted into the warped visage of a helmet or military mask; a hotel duvet contorted and secured in the shape of a cloaked figure: picturing these works beside the world’s most powerful leaders reveals both Dân’s ambitions for his art and the importance of the message he aims to convey. The cavernous metal space that Huy led us through was built according to Dân’s specifications and only completed after several construction teams called it impossible. Large circular doors at the front and back can be swung open and closed to cast crescent moon shadows. 

While Huy pointed out various statues, often asking us to guess what they were made from, Dân appeared to show off the building’s most astounding element. A sunken floor in the middle of the room contains a living tree, while the roof directly above it features a large skylight. Dân has devised some unseen system so that water on the roof can pour in, perfectly mimicking a moderate rainstorm. Dân commenced the downpour, removed his pants, and began making frantic music on the various metal drums, plastic bottles, and discarded surfaces beside the tree. Possessed with an insatiable energy, his solo seemed to stretch on indefinitely while Huy explained how the surrounding art pieces were made.

Many of the works are created by applying “intense heat” to items reclaimed from trash piles and landfills. Time is precious as the melted compounds harden rapidly, so Dân and his team must work quickly to create the intended shapes, often with the support of mannequins and other garbage serving as molds. The process is dangerous, and Huy claims one of the people who helps make them has damaged his fingertips to the point he can now grip burning material. Meanwhile, the team frequently forgoes the face masks useful for protecting against toxic fumes because they are simply too hot to wear. But according to Dân, an artist must be willing to suffer for the work as much as the soul of the material has suffered.

“How much do you think this bottle costs when full, and how much when empty?” Huy asked while lifting a familiar detergent bottle. The answer: VND35,000 full, VND15,000 empty, and then a fee to have it disposed of. The value of items society perceives as worthless trash, compared to what we are paying for, was our entry point into the philosophy of Tái Sinh-ism. This “Rebirth-sim” is not recycling, which aims to give a second life to materials that are of a lower financial value, while up-cycling is the same idea, with a slight reconfiguring of economics. In contrast, Tái Sinh-ism is a complete transformation that elevates items to works of art that cannot be reduced to monetary value, regardless of auction prices or sales receipts. The materials’ lifespans are not extended, but stretched towards eternity with an aim of ensuring they never return to a landfill. 

Landfills play a central role in Tái Sinh-ism. Dân spent his childhood scouring trash with his mother, the pittance offered by salvaged garbage providing for their basic needs. He continues to visit these landfills, albeit with a different mindset. Cemeteries also provide much of his material because unscrupulous individuals looking to dump items illegally appreciate the seclusion and taboo that surround them. Many of the mannequins that Dân uses for his molds and for a towering statue of mannequins were found in cemeteries, for example. And as Dân’s reputation has spread, “trash finds us,” Huy said, noting how supporters will often arrive with various scraps.

Dân resting in a landfill. Photo via Nguyễn Quốc Dân's Instagram page.

While Dân’s work and lifestyle may sound wacky, he is not the art world outsider he may sound to be. His creative talents were recognized at a young age, and he received generous assistance to study at the HCMC University of Fine Arts, where he studied and practiced more conventional contemporary styles. Understanding the foundations, traditions, and aims of these works, while amassing trash materials in his rented Saigon room, led him to an artistic epiphany. Dân believes that all art must address the questions of the day. The questions that elicited cubism and modernism, for example, have been addressed by many practitioners over the past decades, while the question of what to do with the mind-boggling amount of trash our species churns out remains unaddressed. Tái Sinh-ism is his response to that question.

Dân’s experience in navigating the art world, to say nothing of his charisma, has surely helped him achieve a level of success. Quantified by social media followers, news coverage, or public shows, including a recent VCCA exhibition in Hanoi, he can be considered a well-known artist. This notoriety allows him to proselytize for Tái Sinh-ism, with curious locals and foreigners making a pilgrimage to his studio when in Hội An. Meanwhile, he provides classes and workshops for children to help them nurture their creative spirits while instilling at a young age a revolutionary approach to garbage. 

Nguyễn Quốc Dân's exhibition at the VCCA. Photo via Hanoi Times.

You don’t need to be a full-throated convert to Tái Sinh-ism to take a trip to Dân’s workshop. He will welcome anyone, and if you go in with an open mind, you are likely to depart with a new way of thinking that will return any time you see a pile of trash on the street or left over after a museum gallery opening. At the very least, you will appreciate the genuine kindness and humble eccentricity of Dân and his marvelous works of art.

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info@saigoneer.com (Paul Christiansen. Photos by Alberto Prieto.) Music & Arts Sun, 12 Oct 2025 11:00:00 +0700
What Shipwrecks Can Teach Us About Vietnam's Centuries-Old Maritime History https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28449-what-shipwrecks-can-teach-us-about-vietnam-s-ceramic-traditions-and-maritime-history https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28449-what-shipwrecks-can-teach-us-about-vietnam-s-ceramic-traditions-and-maritime-history

Deep beneath the ocean surface, colorful ceramic fragments have been scattered and stacked upon one another for centuries. Some remain whole, others broken, many still covered with corals and ocean dust. Once precious commodities, these pieces have become time capsules, carried into the Vietnamese waters by ships that never reached their destinations. What stories might these centuries-old ceramic artifacts hold about Vietnam’s connection with surrounding kingdoms?

Map: Six ancient ships excavated in Vietnamese waters. Image via Vietnam National Museum of History.

In the 1990s, at least six shipwrecks were found and excavated in Vietnamese territorial waters — from both the Gulf of Thailand and the East Sea — through efforts by Vietnamese and international archaeologists and authorities. Hundreds of thousands of artifacts from each shipwreck were discovered, studied, preserved, and now held in different major museum collections in Vietnam as well as abroad. Today, a permanent collection of “Asian ceramics,” found from shipwrecks dating from the 9th century until the 18th centuries, are now on display at the Ho Chi Minh City Museum of History.

Installation view of permanent collection ‘Asian ceramics’ at Ho Chi Minh City Museum of History.

One of the first factors that captures a viewer’s attention in a ceramic piece, perhaps, is its colors and patterns. We begin tracing the details: who or what is depicted, where this piece might have come from, or what purpose it once served. Such questions lead us to imagine the lives of those who could afford and own these expensive-looking objects, perhaps belonging only to wealthy families or individuals in the past. 

Yet, more than just old commodities or museum displays, these shipwrecked ceramics tell us a bigger story of Vietnam in the centuries-old maritime trade, long before the arrival of the first Europeans. They revealed Vietnam’s connections with neighboring kingdoms and positioned the country within the East and Southeast Asian trade routes and beyond, offering a broader perspective of Vietnam as a part of both art history and global trade history.

Installation view of permanent collection ‘Asian ceramics’ at Ho Chi Minh City Museum of History.

Beginning with artifacts from Vietnam itself, a collection of high-quality Chu Đậu ceramics was found from the 15th-century Chàm island shipwreck in Quảng Nam. It includes an estimated total of 240,000 artifacts, including ceramics of foreign origins, excavated over three years from 1997 to 2000. Chàm Island (Cù Lao Chàm), which belongs to Hội An, occupied a significant position along the Southeast Asian trade routes. Originally produced in Hải Dương, Chu Đậu ceramics flourished in the 15th century and are renowned for their fine lines and decorative motifs of flora, animals, landscapes, and folk-inspired themes. The pieces found in the Chàm island shipwreck were primarily blue-and-white wares: housewares, containers, utensils for eating and drinking, and items used for religious ceremonies. Designed specifically for the overseas market, the ceramic pieces highlight both the kingdom’s development of export ceramics and participation in international trade.

Plates. Polychrome-glazed stoneware. Chu Đậu ceramics. Vietnam, 15th century.

Details of Chu Đậu ceramics. Vietnam, 15th century.

An important collection from the shipwreck features “Chăm pottery,” as described by the museum text: glazed ceramic crafted by the Chăm people or using Chăm techniques within the Champa kingdom (present-day Central Vietnam), dating from 2nd to 17th centuries. These objects seem to have been overlooked in Chăm history, compared to the more prominent religious statues in museum collections. The artifacts on display include brown-glazed, green-glazed stoneware dishes, bowls, and ewers. Highlights on display is a large dish decorated with Chăm script along its edges, alongside large jars with floral motifs.

Plate. “Cham pottery”. Vietnam, 15th century.

“Cham pottery” from the permanent collection of Ho Chi Minh City Museum of History.

Champa’s pottery production and maritime trade have flourished since the 10th century, maintaining strong networks with the Philippines and other Southeast Asian kingdoms. Although production declined significantly due to the fall of Vijaya state and the invasion by the northern kingdom of Đại Việt in 1471 (during the Later Lê dynasty), the Champa kingdom played a significant role as a destination and waypoint by merchant boats from surrounding kingdoms in Southeast Asia and beyond, even serving as intermediaries between Đại Việt and the Malay Archipelago within the Muslim trade networks.

Details of “Cham pottery” from the permanent collection of Ho Chi Minh City Museum of History.

Off the southwest coast, towards the Gulf of Thailand, the maritime trade with the Ayutthaya Kingdom (present-day Thailand) is evident in the Hòn Dầm Island shipwreck in Kiên Giang in the 15th century. A large quantity of Thai ceramics, including celadon stoneware and brown-glazed pieces, was produced by kilns in Sawankhalok and Sukhothai. On display are celadon stoneware of patterned dishes, elephant-shaped lamp stands, as well as an elephant figurine with soldiers, partially attached with coral remains. In addition, iron-brown and white-glazed stoneware includes Kinnari and elephant-shaped ewers, covered jars with patterns, and bowls decorated with lotus and chrysanthemum motifs, with petals spreading elegantly across the surfaces.

Bowls. Iron-brown and white-glazed stoneware. Thailand, 15th century.

Covered jar. Iron-brown and white-glazed stoneware. Thailand, 15th century.

 Kinnari-shaped ewer (left) and Elephant-shaped ewer (right). Iron-brown and white-glazed stoneware. Thailand, 15th century.

Elephant-shaped lamp stand (left) and War elephant figurine (right). Celadon stoneware. Thailand, 15th century.

Details of a stemmed dish. Celadon stoneware. Thailand, 15th century.

Continuing along the timeline, the largest quantity of 18th-century Chinese porcelain was found from the Cà Mau shipwreck, dating to the Yongzheng reign (1723–1735) of the Qing Dynasty and excavated between 1998 and 1999. Most of the pieces were blue-and-white and multi-color wares produced at Jingdezhen kilns in Jiangxi and many from Guangdong. Their decorations commonly depict Chinese landscapes and human figures, and the assemblage includes plates, bowls, teapots, tea cups, kendi, snuff bottles, etc.

Chinese blue-and-white porcelain. Qing China, Yongzheng era (1723–1735).

In addition, many pieces feature European motifs. A notable example is a plate decorated along the edge with sea wave patterns, with images of two men and another man walking with a buffalo. According to Nguyễn Đình Chiến’s article “Đồ gốm sứ trong các con tàu đắm ở vùng biển Việt Nam” (Ceramics from the shipwrecks off the coast of Vietnam), the plate depicts a landscape of a fisherman village in Deshima — an artificial island served as a Dutch trading post in Nagasaki, Japan in the early mid mid-17th century — showing a sand hill, with a lighthouse, a church, and houses by the fishing boats appearing behind. This indicates that similar wares, including milk bottles and wine jugs, were made to fill the demand from the European market at the time.

Plate. Chinese blue-and-white porcelain. Qing China, Yongzheng era (1723–1735).

One standout piece from this shipwreck is an artifact composed of stacked Chinese blue-and-white tea cups, referred to by the museum as the 18th-century “Sea sculpture.” Despite its small size, it embodies both fragility and endurance, surviving against the underwater pressure and through layers of time. Its mass of wrecked and broken remains fused together. The positioning of the cups suggests how such wares may have been packed within containers during their journey across the sea. Although the ship’s routes and destinations remain unknown, the shipwreck’s location in Cà Mau waters suggests that it may have been heading south from China towards the Malay Archipelago, before continuing across the oceans to other continents.

‘Sea sculpture.’ Chinese blue-and-white porcelain. Qing China, Yongzheng era (1723–1735).

Despite the tragic fate of these ships and the commodities they carried, their remains serve as significant evidence for archeologists and historians studying Vietnam’s maritime trade since the dynastic periods, which is often overlooked nowadays in the overall history. Ceramic artifacts, once part of the expensive global products, carry aesthetic values, traces of life across continents. Shipwrecked ceramics offer an alternative lens of understanding interconnectedness between art and other socio-political dynamics and trade histories. They move beyond land-centric narratives and highlight Vietnam’s strategic location between East and Southeast Asia within the global trade, even amid social and political upheavals, and the rise and fall of kingdoms.

The permanent collection “Asian Ceramics” is on view at Ho Chi Minh City Museum of History. More information can be found on the museum’s official website.

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info@saigoneer.com (An Trần. Photos by An Trần.) Music & Arts Sun, 05 Oct 2025 21:00:00 +0700
Local Designers Create Entire Family of Mascots for Vietnam's 63 Provinces, Cities https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28437-local-designers-create-entire-family-of-mascots-for-vietnam-s-63-provinces,-cities https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28437-local-designers-create-entire-family-of-mascots-for-vietnam-s-63-provinces,-cities

If given the opportunity, what would each of Vietnam's provinces select as a mascot?

Saigoneer has pondered this question before and discussed the fact Vietnam doesn't have an active mascot tradition similar to Japan's. While this is not yet a reality, art agency Monstio has just given vision to our dream in the form of a mascot stamp collection project that assigns a unique character to each of the pre-merger provinces. To attract attention to their brand identity and project label work, the team has released the Mát-xờ-cốt 63 project on their Facebook page.

Based on the team's research and exploration, each mascot nods to a well-known element of the province. Inspiration comes from culinary items, such as Cà Mau's crabs, Bình Thuận's dragonfruit and Bắc Giang's lychee as well as architectural images including Kon Tum's ethnic minority homes and Kiếp Bạc Temple in Hải Dương. Referenced cultural activities include Đờn ca tài tử in Bạc Liêu and Bình Định's unique martial arts. Some of the province mascots are illustrated via their natural features, flora and fauna including Cao Bằng waterfalls, Lào Cai's famed mountain peak, Bình Dương's cherished sao trees and Đồng Tháp's lotus. A few historical events are also referenced, such as military victories in Điện Biên and Quảng Trị.

While not available as actual stamps, they are a beautiful digital collection that allows us to reflect on the vibrant diversity of the nation. Moreover, in their cataloguing of many now-merged provinces, they represent a time capsule of sort that can engender nostalgia as we become accustomed to new boundaries and names.

Have a full look at the collection below:

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info@saigoneer.com (Saigoneer.) Music & Arts Mon, 29 Sep 2025 10:00:00 +0700
Wartime Sketches, Stamps, Typography Transcending Time in ‘Collection+’ https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28421-wartime-sketches,-stamps,-typography-transcending-time-in-‘collection-’ https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28421-wartime-sketches,-stamps,-typography-transcending-time-in-‘collection-’

Fragments of history, whether through imagery or text, often feel distant in time, yet so familiar when encountered visually. Combat sketches, postage stamps, and typography from propaganda posters invite viewers to ask: how do they speak to today’s generation, living half a century after the war, and what do they reveal about our collective memory of Vietnam today?

Known for its extensive collection of wartime propaganda art, Dogma Collection has launched Collection+, a new initiative that invites members of the arts community to engage with its archive alongside their own collection. For the debut exhibition, running until November 2, 2025, combat sketches, postage stamps and typographic materials are selected and presented by Thanh Uy Art Gallery (Hanoi), Bưu Hoa (Saigon) and Lưu Chữ (Saigon). The collaboration doesn’t simply put historical materials on view, but repositions these fragments from the past in a contemporary setting, holding a dialogue with today’s viewers. In doing so, the past that seems far away is now reframed through the familiarity of Vietnamese collective memory, reminding viewers how deeply wartime visual culture continues to shape the present.

Installation view of “Collection+” at Dogma Collection.

The combat sketches, presented by Hanoi-based Thanh Uy Art Gallery, open the exhibition by offering viewers a glimpse of life on and off the battlefield. Gallery founder Đức Thanh Uy selected works created between 1960 and 1972 — the most intense period of the American War in Vietnam — highlighting women as central figures in the long revolution towards independence. Scenes of militia women and guerrillas marching, guarding the sea, or practicing their aim appear alongside depictions of daily activities and bonding moments, emphasizing a strong sense of community and collectivity. Seen today, the sketches are regarded as precious artworks that reveal a more humane and intimate side of wartime life, while also confronting viewers with the difficulty of imagining what it meant to live under constant threat of war.

Installation view of “Collection+” at Dogma Collection.

Bưu Hoa, a virtual archive dedicated to Vietnam’s lost postage stamps established by art director and illustrator Đức Lương (Luongdoo) in 2017, presents its first in-person exhibition in collaboration with Dogma’s collection, featuring stamps produced between 1958 and 1967. The display highlights the significance of postage stamps in Vietnam’s historical and political context since the era of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam. The most striking aspect is the meticulously hand-painted detail, depicting animals, plants, battlefields, industrial development, and the diverse communities of Vietnam. Despite their small scale and original communication purpose, these stamps carry immense historical and political weight, and their imagery conveys a sense of “richness” — of natural resources, cultural values, and collective achievements — affirming national identity even in times of war, scarcity, and the long process of nation-building.

Installation view of “Collection+” at Dogma Collection.

If paintings and stamps offer certain visual imagery of life, typography in propaganda and daily use captures viewers’ attention differently, evoking emotions and shaping perceptions through the written Vietnamese language. For this exhibition, Saigon-based independent graphic design collective Lưu Chữ selected propaganda posters according to their color palettes, compositions, iconography, and typography. As the exhibition text notes, their interest lies in how messages are conveyed through style and form. The display brings together photographs of typefaces from present-day street slogans and banners, archival newspaper print, lettering sketches, resistance-era propaganda posters, and a video documenting the production process, accompanied by publications on Vietnamese propaganda art for those seeking deeper knowledge. With bright, colorful palettes and bold, condensed letterforms, the works show how propaganda once functioned as a call to action that lifted collective spirits. What appears nostalgic or purely aesthetic to contemporary viewers today carried a sense of urgency and immediacy for previous generations.

Installation view of “Collection+” at Dogma Collection.

Sketches, stamps, and typography — the three main elements of the exhibition — were originally created for visual documentation and communication, and perhaps even as acts of survival, with their creators uncertain if the paintings would endure through the war, or the postage stamps would reach their destinations. Although the war already ended 50 years ago, these materials feel surprisingly familiar to our current generation, even though we have never lived through wartime or post-war periods. Perhaps, it is our daily exposure to state media and street propaganda that makes them feel immediate. They reflect cultural values and show how our aesthetics have evolved, shaping the collective memory and national identity we inhabit today. It is more than just about preserving the past, as they mirror our present, and reflect on where we come from and how far we have come as a nation.

Installation view of “Collection+” at Dogma Collection.

Photos courtesy of Mắt Bét and Dogma Collection.

“Collection+” is now on view at Dogma Collection until November 2, 2025. More information on the exhibition and opening hours can be found on this Facebook page.

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info@saigoneer.com (An Trần.) Music & Arts Wed, 17 Sep 2025 16:00:00 +0700
Destruction, Rebirth Enmeshed in Ngô Đình Bảo Châu’s Exhibition 'Projecting a Thought' https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28390-destruction,-rebirth-enmeshed-in-ngô-đình-bảo-châu’s-exhibition-projecting-a-thought https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28390-destruction,-rebirth-enmeshed-in-ngô-đình-bảo-châu’s-exhibition-projecting-a-thought

Darkness fills the space and a flame fiercely burns on the large screen, while dim lights and floating fabric linger behind. Ngô Đình Bảo Châu transforms domestic and bodily forms into works that explore the interconnectedness between the human body and the surrounding environment within this evolving world — in between destruction and rebirth.

In this first-ever collaboration between Galerie Quynh and Gallery Medium, “projecting a thought” is a solo exhibition by Ngô Đình Bảo Châu and curated by Thái Hà, featuring a new body of work comprising video installation, sculptures, monumental fiber works and large-scale paintings. Taking place at TDX Ice Factory, the exhibition explores how the vastness of the world is reflected in the body, and how the body projects itself onto the world. The curatorial essay reads: “In an exhibition that wholly collapses the demarcations between the internal and external, the body emerges not as container but as assemblage, where ash, earth, and plant fibre co-constitute with human flesh a hybrid ecology, always in process, always in relation.”

Installation view of “projecting a thought” at TDX Ice Factory.

In ‘a burn’ (2024), a cardboard kitchen is set on fire. Spectators, whether through the camera lens or in person, can do nothing but witness its destruction. The flames slowly devour every block until the structure collapses into scattered embers under the pastel sky. The cardboard kitchen, originally created for Ngô Đình Bảo Châu’s solo exhibition “Towards Realist Socialization” at Galerie Quynh in 2020, was modeled after the Frankfurt Kitchen (1926) by Austrian architect Margarete Schütte-Lihotzky. Designed to reduce the burden of housework, it was celebrated as a symbol of progress. Yet beneath the guise of a “labor of love,” it reinforced women’s confinement to unpaid domestic labour and exploitation. The flames in the video may not express direct frustration towards the unfairness, but they carry a sense of liberation. Here, destruction feels necessary: what remains in the ruins gestures toward the possibility of renewal, even rebirth.

“a burn”, 2024. Video installation with sound. Duration: Until the last sunbeam retreats into silence.

Building on the exploration of destruction and renewal, ‘and the ashes become fireflies’ (2025) continues the dialogue between the debris and the world. The ruins of the burned kitchen are gathered and placed into motorized lightboxes set upon cracked soil. In this darkness, the ashes have not reached the end of their life but are given new vitality: fragments kept in constant motion by currents of air. Rather than remaining as ruins of the past, the artist revives them in the present — bright against the dark, still moving, still alive. They can always be reconstructed, remaining inseparable from the world.

‘and the ashes become fireflies,’ 2025. Ash collected from the burning of ‘Everything falls down, the flames go up – Twin Kitchens’ (cardboard box), glass, mica, LED light strip, PC cooling fan, foam beads, red clay, and electrical components. Dimensions variable.

If flames and ashes liberated bodies and all matters back into the earth with rebirth, then ‘organs of the infinite’ (2019) releases the body from its earlier tensions and allows it to reclaim itself. The work evokes a world of moss spread across fabric-skins, as though the cellular growth within our bodies — organs multiplying and clustering — has been projected onto vast textile surfaces. Made with trúc chỉ and materials such as paper pulp, silk, cornsilk, duckweed, and bamboo, the fabric-skins hang from the ceiling, floating and ascending freely. Light filters through their thin and vulnerable layers, transforming the fabric into skin and cells that are, according to the exhibition text, “no longer a protective barrier but a permeable, receptive one.”

‘organs of the infinite,’ in collaboration with Việt Nam Trúc Chỉ Art, 2019. Trucchigraphy on silk dimensions variable.

Moving from darkness into the light behind the curtains, a series of hyperbolic paintings gives viewers the sense of looking at the world through a telescope. Elements of the body and surrounding landscapes — both internal and external — gradually emerge as one moves through the space. Fragments merge: flames become buds of white flowers, ashes turn into petals or raindrops, the black sun absorbs everything, eyes and strands of DNA appear. Surreal imagery with distorted forms dominate the paintings and the viewer’s gaze, creating a dreamlike experience.

‘the eye that grows roots,’ 2025. Oil on canvas. 200 × 150 cm.

‘the stillness folds,’ 2025. Oil on canvas. 280 × 200 cm.

Time keeps passing, yet humans and our bodies remain, subject to decay and the possibility of rebirth. To experience the large-scale oil paintings, viewers can either walk around, slowly immersing themselves in the “universe” within the body and its perceptions, or remain at ‘eye of the moment’ (2025), a sculpture positioned at the center of the space surrounded by the paintings, to stay present and grounded.

(In the middle) ‘eye of the moment,’ 2025. HDF and polyurethane paint approx. Dimensions: 45 × Ø 600 cm.

There exists a powerful energy within the softness and fluidity of the works, yet, at the same time, it erupts fiercely like a flame, then calms into the dim glow of fireflies in the dark. The world is then magnified through cells on fabric-skin, then becomes surreal as the inner life existing within a human body merges with nature. From the decay and rebirth emerging in darkness, light gradually appears, and viewers find themselves in this vibrant “universe” interconnected within the body, the earth, and its elements. The body, as a living medium expressing its own perception, imagination and consciousness of what lies within and beyond, becomes a projection of the world — and the world, in turn, is a projection of the body itself.

Installation view of “projecting a thought” at TDX Ice Factory.

Photos courtesy of Galerie Quynh and Gallery Medium.

“Projecting a thought” by Ngô Đình Bảo Châu is now on view at TDX Ice Factory until September 10, 2025. More information on the exhibition and opening hours can be found on this Facebook page.

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info@saigoneer.com (An Trần.) Music & Arts Sat, 06 Sep 2025 20:00:00 +0700
‘129BPM’ Carries the Contemporary Hip-Hop Heartbeat From Vietnam to Malaysia https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28366-‘129bpm’-carries-the-contemporary-hip-hop-heartbeat-from-vietnam-to-malaysia https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28366-‘129bpm’-carries-the-contemporary-hip-hop-heartbeat-from-vietnam-to-malaysia

Under the shared heartbeat of “129BPM,” the dancers channeled their emotions through movement, navigating between individuality and collectivity both on and off stage. Extending beyond Vietnamese audiences, the piece has now been presented on an international platform at George Town Festival 2025 in Penang, Malaysia, marking a significant milestone for Vietnamese contemporary hip-hop performance on the international stage.

After two successful performance nights in Saigon and Hanoi, the performers of H2Q Dance Company brought “129BPM” — a contemporary hip-hop dance theater work — to George Town Festival 2025 (GTF 2025) in Penang, Malaysia. Originally titled as “129BPM: Động Phách Tách Kén” and co-produced with the Goethe-Institut Hồ Chí Minh City in 2024, the new touring production took place at the historic Dewan Sri Pinang theater from August 4 to 5 2025, presented and managed by MORUA, with travel sponsored by AirAsia and partial support from Đối South. Directed and choreographed by Bùi Ngọc Quân, the performance featured dancers Nguyễn Duy Thành, Lâm Duy Phương (Kim), Lương Thái Sơn (Sơn Lương), Nguyễn Ngọc (Mini Phantom), Bùi Quang Huy (Snoop Gee), Nguyễn Đỗ Quốc Khanh (Nega), and Vũ Tiến Thọ (Joong), alongside stage design by Mara-Madeleine Pieler, and live music by Tiny Giant (LinhHafornow and Tomes) and Nguyễn Đan Dương.

“129BPM” performance at Dewan Sri Pinang. Photos courtesy of George Town Festival.

The journey of “129BPM” to Penang began when Producer Red Nguyễn Hải Yến attended a forum for stage producers in Asia through GTF 2024, which highlighted the dialogue between heritage spaces and contemporary performance practices. Recognizing the potential of staging works in Penang’s historic buildings, old alleyways, and theaters — an atmosphere unique to the festival — she decided to submit the 129BPM project to the festival organizers, and received an official invitation to perform at the festival.

“129BPM refers not only to the rhythm of music, but it’s also a heartbeat — a palpitating heartbeat that shows our body in agitation, anxiety, as well as in thrill and fervor,” shared  Choreographer Assistant and Stage Manager Lyon Nguyễn. Setting against the backdrop of rapid social changes that Vietnamese youths are facing, this raises a central question on self-identity: “Who are we in the middle of these changes with regard to our past and heritage?” Using hip-hop dance as a shared “language,” performers from backgrounds came together to create a collective voice while maintaining their own uniqueness, and move under one beat of 129BPM.

“129BPM” performance at Dewan Sri Pinang. Photos courtesy of George Town Festival.

Hip-hop is often associated with dance battles, where dancers only have limited time to showcase their skills and charisma. However, “129BPM” shifted the audience’s focus to the raw emotions and vulnerability of dancers on stage, expressed with their strongest movements and synchronization with one another. Developed and performed over the span of 75 minutes, this work challenges the dancers’ endurance, physically and emotionally. Dancers are placed in conditions where they must let their inner feelings surface: from joy to pain, from happiness to sorrow. At the same time, this framework also opens up new opportunities for experimentation: expressing emotions through movements, and navigating between one’s self identity and collective creation. While audience reactions to “129BPM” are diverse in Vietnam, in Penang the response was especially vibrant, with the audience spontaneously joining the performers in a post-show cypher — a hip-hop term for the circle dancers form, taking turns stepping into the center to dance — which embodied the spirit of creating unity and shared rhythm across differences.

“129BPM” performance at Dewan Sri Pinang. Photos courtesy of George Town Festival.

“Puzzles” workshop, led by the performers under the guidance of Director and Choreographer Bùi Ngọc Quân and Lyon Nguyễn, took place a few days before the live performances. Designed as a guided jam session, it invited local participants to explore improvisation, physical storytelling, and collective rhythm. Extending beyond the collective work among the performers themselves, the workshop opened up to a wider community, bringing together participants from adolescent to 75 years old, both experienced dancers and beginners. More than just a workshop, it became a space for cultural exchange, interaction, also community building — the very spirit that 129BPM hoped to share.

“Puzzles” workshop in Penang, Malaysia (30 July 2025). Photos courtesy of Tilda61 Media.

Bùi Ngọc Quân, who returned to Vietnam after more than 25 years with Les Ballets C de la B in Belgium, “129BPM” did not look to direct references to Vietnamese heritage through sound or imagery. Instead, its identity emerges from the lived experience of being in Vietnam: working closely with the dancers, understanding their desires, and allowing individuality and creativity to shape the process. As he notes, the work carries a distinctly Vietnamese sensibility “because all of us are allowed to comfortably be Vietnamese.” This perspective highlights the significance not only of what appears on stage, but also of the collaborative process that unfolds behind the scenes.

Director and Choreographer Bùi Ngọc Quân at “Puzzles” workshop. Photo courtesy of Tilda61 Media.

All team members of 129BPM at George Town Festival 2025.

“For independent theater works without government funding or access to costly infrastructures for ticketed performances, participating in festivals has become a key strategy to sustain the life of the work, while also serving as an entry point to introduce new hip-hop performances and Vietnamese theater to the world,” Producer Red Nguyễn Hải Yến told Saigoneer in Vietnamese, when asked about the significance of presenting an independent Vietnamese piece on an festival stage to new audiences in a country with different social and political contexts. “Sustaining the practice of independent artist collectives plays an essential role in shaping and developing a nation’s theatrical landscape.”

“129BPM” performance at Dewan Sri Pinang. Photos courtesy of George Town Festival.

 

More information and recap of “129BPM” performance at George Town Festival 2025 (Penang, Malaysia) can be found here on this Facebook page.

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info@saigoneer.com (An Trần.) Music & Arts Sun, 24 Aug 2025 10:00:00 +0700
In 1920s–1940s Paris, Vietnamese Artists Painted Through the Interwar Period as the 'Others' https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28325-in-1920s–1940s-paris,-vietnamese-artists-painted-through-the-interwar-period-as-the-others https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28325-in-1920s–1940s-paris,-vietnamese-artists-painted-through-the-interwar-period-as-the-others

How did Vietnamese artists navigate the complex tides of social and political changes, and mark their own position in the art world as the “Others” during interwar Paris — which was celebrated as the “City of Lights,” yet also a stage for both colonial propaganda and a ground for anti-colonial resistance?

In the 1920s-1940s, despite the looming threats of war and the rise of fascism, Paris remained as the world capital of art. Artists from across the globe flocked into the city in search for recognition with breakthroughs in their careers. Vietnamese artists were no exception, as they also arrived in the city with hope and ambition. Today, romanticized Vietnamese scenes painted in silk or oil by artists trained from École des Beaux-Arts de l’Indochine (EBAI) are widely recognized among the Vietnamese public, especially as such works increasingly appear in international auction houses at record prices. Yet, their stories, artistic contributions and positions within the peak of the French colonial empire were often overlooked in the broader narrative of global art histories.

Works by notable Vietnamese artists, along other renowned Asian artists, are presented in “City of Others: Asian Artists in Paris, 1920s-1940s” at National Gallery Singapore; this is the first major exhibition in Southeast Asia to feature Asian artists, their artistic contributions and influences as the center of focus within the vibrant Parisian art scene during the interwar period. Other than highlighting how artists navigated through the western art world while incorporating their own cultural identities into their art, the exhibition also offers a critical view towards Paris, not only as a vibrant hub of artistic innovation, but also the heart of the French colonial empire. In the case of Vietnamese artists, their arrival and exposure in France were the result of the colonial system and hierarchy, which shaped their experiences differently from their Japanese or Chinese counterparts at the time.

Installation view of “Theatre of the Colonies” in “City of Others: Asian Artists in Paris, 1920s-1940s”, National Gallery Singapore.

The exhibition features works by the first Vietnamese artists who built their careers in Paris in the 1930s: Lê Phổ (1907–2001), Mai Trung Thứ (1906–1980) and Vũ Cao Đàm (1908–2000), alongside a rare work by Lê Thị Lựu (1911–1988). Together, they were regarded as the pioneers of Vietnamese modern art abroad. Also included are works by other EBAI graduates, such as Phạm Hậu (1905–1994), Nguyễn Phan Chánh (1892–1984), Tô Ngọc Vân (1906–1954), Lê Văn Đệ (1906–1966), etc. Importantly, the exhibition expands its narratives beyond well-known artists by featuring unnamed and uncredited Vietnamese artisans and lacquer workers in Paris by the 1930s, whose contributions have been overshadowed in art historical records.

Preface

The “Preface” of the exhibition opens with a series of self-portraits by Asian artists, including works by Mai Trung Thứ and Lê Phổ. Mai Trung Thứ lights a cigarette and gazes directly at the viewer, while Lê Phổ returns the same direct stare, though in a more formal manner. Albeit not a dominant genre in Vietnamese art at the time, self-portraiture offered a rare expression of self-awareness and artistic assertion. Rendered with watercolor on Asian silk and pencil sketches on paper, the two portraits employ fine brushwork in a western realist style. These mediums and techniques reflect the cultural hybridity shaped by the EBAI, which introduced French academic training while embracing Vietnamese local traditions. Although personal in appearance, these portraits subtly project the reality of colonial intervention, shaped by an institution under the French administration, and hint at the layered identities formed under the colonial system.

Left: Mai Trung Thứ. Autoportrait à la cigarette (Self Portrait with Cigarette), 1940. Colors on silk. Collection of Mai Lan Phuong.
Right: Lê Phổ. Sketch for a Self Portrait, 1938. Pencil on paper. Collection of Alain le Kim.

Workshop to the World

In Paris, the taste for Asian art was already well established before the 1920s. Lacquer was considered a luxurious material, prized for its refined surface despite its demanding and labor-intensive production process. The rise of Art Déco in the 1920s — a modern, streamlined and popular aesthetic in art and design — further fueled French interest in the “exotic” imagined visions of Asia. This appetite shaped the way Asian art was received, consumed, and displayed in the west. Lacquer work ‘Paysage tonkinois’ (Tonkinese Landscape, c. 1930) by Lê Phổ, which is rarely seen today as he is better known for his silk paintings; and ‘Family in a Forest’ (c. 1940) by Phạm Hậu, whose compositions often feature meticulously rendered details in gold leaf, reflect the mutual influence between the Art Déco movement in Paris and the emerging modern lacquer movement in Vietnam.

Left: Lê Phổ. Paysage tonkinois (Tonkinese Landscape), c. 1930. Lacquer on wood, 5 hinged panel screen; mounted on wooden panel with gold leaf design (likely later). Private American collection
Middle: Historical records of Vietnamese artisans who worked at Jean Dunand’s studio (up until 1930).
Right: Phạm Hậu. Family in a Forest, c. 1940. Lacquer on wood; 3 panels. Collection of Sunseal Asia Limited.

The exhibition also brings attention to uncredited Vietnamese artisans and lacquer workers living in Paris up until the 1930s, many of whom worked in the studio of renowned Art Deco designer Jean Dunand (1877–1942). During this time, several lacquerers were placed under surveillance due to suspected political activity. A list documenting these artisans — including their names, places of origin, and Parisian addresses — were found in the Archives nationales d’outre-mer (the French national archives concerning the colonies), which oversaw the migrants from French colonies, offering rare insight into the overlooked lives and labor behind the flourishing lacquer demand in Paris.

Jean Dunand. La forêt (Forest), 1930. Gold and silver lacquer and hinges; 12 panels, total 300 x 600 cm. Collection of Mobilier National. Image courtesy of Mobilier National; photo by Isabelle Bideau, GME-7196-000.

Theatre of the Colonies

“Theatre of the Colonies” further highlights Vietnamese artists’ first exposure to the art world during the 1931 International Colonial Exposition, where an enormous replica of Angkor Wat was constructed and pavilions were built for the French empire to showcase its achievements and benefits from the colonies at that time. Works by Vietnamese artists, mostly graduates from the EBAI, were exhibited at the pavilions.

Installation view of “Theatre of the Colonies” at “City of Others: Asian Artists in Paris, 1920s-1940s”, National Gallery Singapore.

The works were highly regarded during the Colonial Exposition and other exhibitions in France at the time, and they were not painted in a deliberately “exotic” manner to serve the aesthetic demands for an “Asian” taste. Instead, we see refined depictions of daily life in earthy color tones, of women and villagers in their everyday activities through Nguyễn Phan Chánh’s works, which were rooted in his own rural upbringing, capturing the essence of the Vietnamese countryside. Meanwhile, Lê Phổ’s ‘L'Âge heureux’ (The Happy Age, 1930) suggests a nostalgia for a “golden age” of the Vietnamese past, showing children and women by the riverbank, most with their eyes cast downward, except for one young woman who stares directly at the viewer with an enigmatic gaze.

Lê Phổ. L'Âge heureux (The Happy Age), 1930. Oil on canvas, 126 x 177 cm. Private American collection.

Silk paintings by Nguyễn Phan Chánh and Nguyễn Khang.

France was at the peak of its empire with colonial propaganda in the early 20th century, but it was also a ground for anti-colonial movements and revolutionaries. The exhibition includes materials from this resistance, such as cartoon sketches by Nguyễn Ái Quốc (Hồ Chí Minh), produced during his time working with the Parti communiste français (PCF, French Communist Party), which exposed the exploitative and oppressive realities of colonialism. These are shown alongside anti-colonial slogans, protest leaflets, and newspaper headlines, including one that reads: “Do not visit the Colonial Exposition.” According to the exhibition text, artists from the Surrealist group collaborated with the PCF to organize a counter-exhibition titled “The truth about the colonies,” although it attracted only around 4,000 visitors — a small number compared to the 8 million who attended the official Colonial Exposition.

Cartoon sketches, slogans, protest leaflets, and newspaper headlines by anti-colonial activists, including Nguyễn Ái Quốc (Hồ Chí Minh) at “City of Others: Asian Artists in Paris, 1920s-1940s.”

Sites of Exhibition

“Sites of Exhibition” explores the career peaks by Asian artists, in which they were seeking critical exposure and career advancement. Through time, artists adapted into the mainstream culture and continued developing their distinctive styles, while navigating expectations from both institutions and the market. A highlight is Lê Văn Đệ’s ‘L'Intérieur familial au Tonkin’ (The Family Interior in Tonkin, 1933), a post-impressionist portrayal of a traditional Vietnamese household rendered in a dreamy yet rustic tone. The painting was a success and later acquired by the French state. 

Lê Văn Đệ. L'Intérieur familial au Tonkin (The Family Interior in Tonkin), 1933. Oil on canvas.

Vũ Cao Đàm’s double-sided painting: one side is the silk painting ‘The Mandarin’ (1946), a formal ancestral portrait of an unidentified scholar; on the reverse, the gouache-on-paper painting ‘A Study of Two Young Women’ (1946) with contrasting image. This reveals his working process of reusing a previous sketch on paper for backing support of the silk painting.

Vũ Cao Đàm. Le Mandarin (The Mandarin), 1946. Ink and colour on silk. Private American collection.

Vũ Cao Đàm. A study of two young women, 1946. Gouache on paper. Private American collection.

Also on view are Lê Phổ’s luminous watercolor-on-silk paintings, including ‘Harmony in Green: The Two Sisters’ (1938). Compared to earlier works from the 1931 Colonial Exposition, these later pieces still depict daily life but carry a more romanticized tone, featuring idealized images of Vietnam through the main subjects of women and flowers. While it's difficult to confirm whether this shift was deliberate, it prompts reflection on how these artists negotiated personal expression and cultural identity under the pressure of a western market drawn to the “exotic.”

Lê Phổ. Harmony in Green: The Two Sisters, 1938. Ink and gouache on silk, 54 x 45 cm. Collection of National Gallery Singapore. Image courtesy of National Heritage Board, Singapore.

Aftermaths

In the “Aftermaths” section, the timeline moves toward the end of World War II and beyond, as France grappled with the trauma of war while anti-colonial and independence movements were sweeping across the world. Mai Trung Thứ’s film Documentaire sur la Conférence de Fontainebleau (Documentary of the Fontainebleau Conference, 1946), which documents Hồ Chí Minh’s visit to France that year when came to support the Vietnamese delegation negotiating for independence, prior to the outbreak of the First Indochina War. During his visit, Hồ Chí Minh met with many Vietnamese emigrants, including artists, some of whom were later viewed with suspicion because of their association with him.

Installation view of “Aftermaths” in “City of Others: Asian Artists in Paris, 1920s-1940s”, National Gallery Singapore.

Mai Trung Thứ. Documentaire sur la Conférence de Fontainebleau (Documentary of the Fontainebleau Conference), 1946. Film, transferred to digitised video, single-channel, black-and-white, 7 min 48 sec excerpt. Original, 42 min. Collection of Mai Lan Phuong.

Amidst an exhibition largely centered on works from the 1920s to 1940s, two contemporary pieces by Thảo Nguyên Phan engage in a quiet dialogue with the past. ‘Magical Bows (Lacquered Time),’ made in 2019, appears throughout the galleries, paying homage to the Vietnamese workers brought to France during World War I to lacquer airplane propellers for combat. Her other video work, ‘Reincarnations of Shadows (moving-image-poem),’ created in 2023 and still ongoing, is placed at the conclusion of the exhibition. It features Vietnamese sculptor Điềm Phùng Thị (1920–2002), who migrated to France in 1948 and later built her artistic career in the 1960s. The piece reflects on the migrant experience — not only the anxiety of arrival, but also, as the exhibition text notes, “the agonising complexity of return.”

Thảo Nguyên Phan & Đinh Văn Sơn (Lacquerer). Magical Bows (Lacquered Time), 2019. Lacquer, gold and silver leaf, eggshell and mother-of-pearl on wood. Collection of National Gallery Singapore.

Thảo Nguyên Phan. Reincarnations of Shadows (moving-image-poem), 2023-ongoing. Video, three-channels, each aspect ratio: 9:16, colour and sound (stereo), 16 min 50 sec. Collection of the artist. Courtesy of Galerie Zink.

After 1945, artists continued to migrate to Paris, though the city no longer held the same prestige it once did. For many Vietnamese and other Asian artists who remained, life was marked by displacement; caught between a distant homeland they could not easily return to and an environment where they faced marginalization and financial hardship. Being the “Others” in the so-called glamorous “City of Lights” came at the cost of uncertainty: a shifting sense of identity and belonging amid changing social and political tides. Yet their efforts and artistic contributions left a lasting imprint on the Parisian art scene and continue to shape a more interconnected global art history.

Photos courtesy of National Gallery Singapore.

“City of Others: Asian Artists in Paris, 1920s-1940s” is now on view until August 17, 2025 at Level 3, City Hall Wing of National Gallery Singapore. More information on the exhibition and admission can be found on this website.

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info@saigoneer.com (An Trần.) Music & Arts Fri, 01 Aug 2025 11:00:00 +0700
Vietnam's Colonial Histories Reimagined as Fictional Adventure Tale in ‘The Year Is XXXX’ https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28300-vietnam-s-colonial-histories-reimagined-as-fictional-adventure-tale-in-‘the-year-is-xxxx’ https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28300-vietnam-s-colonial-histories-reimagined-as-fictional-adventure-tale-in-‘the-year-is-xxxx’

We often encounter adventure tales in books and through adaptations of films or television. But what if a newly imagined adventure tale can also be written as an exhibition — one that maps strange-yet-familiar landscapes with a colonial history of exploration and exploitation?

Organized by Nguyen Art Foundation and curated by Thái Hà, “The year is XXXX” is an exhibition featuring works by Quỳnh Đồng, Nguyễn Phương Linh, Thảo Nguyên Phan and Danh Võ. Taking place at EMASI Nam Long and EMASI Vạn Phúc as two sequences of a curatorial narrative, the exhibition essay was written in the form of an adventure tale that follows a girl’s journey as she navigates different realities each time she wakes and sleeps. The audience steps into this imaginary adventure, through the lens of travel writings by missionaries and explorers in colonial Indochina, where places that we once thought were familiar become almost unrecognizable today.

According to the curatorial text, the exhibition “explores how adventure is used to invent fantastical fictions of foreign lands, but also as a strategy of escape from colonial subjugation.” Every six weeks, EMASI Vạn Phúc venue features rotating curations by different guest curators and guest artists, offering new alternative realities of the evolving curatorial narrative of the exhibition.

Installation view of “The year is XXXX” at Nguyen Art Foundation: EMASI Nam Long (left) and EMASI Vạn Phúc (right).

Upon arrival at EMASI Nam Long, audiences will encounter the first section titled Trùng mù (Endless, sightless), where Nguyễn Phương Linh’s single-channel video ‘Memory of the blind elephant’ (2016) appears under the dim red light, with black rubber mats laid down on the floor for the audience to sit on. Shifting the camera’s point of view between the perspectives of a human, animal, or machine, her work offers different views of the landscape and former colonial rubber plantation in Central Vietnam — a region that has been, and still continues to be, exploited.

The artist retraced the colonial-era travels of bacteriologist and explorer Alexandre Yersin (1863–1943), whose writings documented his expedition to the Central Highlands and his introduction of rubber plantations in Indochina. Elephants, culturally significant to daily life in Central Highlands, are believed to be colorblind, and the blindness mentioned here acts as a metaphor for the blindness to the destructive consequences of rapid urbanization and industrialization.

Nguyễn Phương Linh. Memory of the blind elephant, 2016. Single-channel video, color, sound. 00:14:00, loop.

Meanwhile, under the piercing brightness that cuts through our vision in a different room, ‘The Last Ride’ (2017) resembles the deconstructed elephant saddle in a minimalist form, made of industrial materials such as aluminium and steel. Here, the elephant was considered as a commodity, a mode of transportation, and a subject of exploitation that carried the weight of colonial ambition.

Nguyễn Phương Linh. The Last Ride, 2017. Aluminium pieces, plastic perspex, lights, glass and MDF pedestal. Installation dimensions variable.

Thảo Nguyên Phan’s ‘Voyages de Rhodes’ (2014–2017) presents a series of watercolor paintings attached to the wall by a single edge, allowing them to stand outwards in space. The artist painted directly over ancient pages of a 17th-century text by Alexandre de Rhodes (1591–1660) on his 35 years of travel and missionary work, including in Indochina. At first glance, the images first appear to be from a colorful tropical paradise, with innocent children wearing school uniforms playing together, and their dreamy eyes remain half-opened.

Thảo Nguyên Phan. Voyages de Rhodes, 2014-2017. Watercolor on found book pages. Dimensions variable.

However, upon closer observation, the child's play starts turning into horror scenes: children playing “jump rope” over another child’s lifeless body, disembodied heads stuck on floating drums, a child standing on top of a ladder next to a tree while his head detached, etc. As the line between fiction and reality begins to blur, what appears as a dream of childhood innocence slowly reveals itself as something haunting, while the French text lying underneath remains obscure. This also prompts the question: are these beautifully fluid brushstrokes, yet disturbing images, meant to simply reflect the foreign gaze towards Vietnamese subjects, or to critique the cruelty of colonialism? De Rhodes’ writings resemble some remnants echoing from the past, while Thảo Nguyên Phan’s works unfold like some haunting fictional tales of colonial histories, ones that feel both long forgotten and completely detached from the histories that we were taught and our realities in the present.

Thảo Nguyên Phan. Voyages de Rhodes, 2014-2017. Watercolor on found book pages. Dimensions variable.

Towards the end of the first venue, visitors encounter Nguyễn Phương Linh’s work once again. ‘The Light’ (2018) is made of wooden fragments that appear to float, each carrying the dim lights in a dense fog filling up the room. The fragmented woods were collected from a Catholic church in Northern Vietnam; these physical remains and memories of a sacred place have turned into a new form and narrative. According to the exhibition text, these wooden panels have crossed continents before arriving at this exhibition, which traces “the routes once taken by missionaries whose journeys ended in martyrdom on this land.”

Nguyễn Phương Linh. The Light, 2018. Lights, wood panelling from a Catholic church in Northern Vietnam, smoke, clear perspex. Dimensions variable.

Danh Võ’s ‘2.2.1861’ (2009) stands quietly at the end of a corridor. The work itself is a handwritten letter, repeatedly written by the artist’s father Phụng Võ, several times a week. Despite not being fluent in French, he meticulously copied out the heartfelt farewell letter from Saint Jean-Théophane Vénard (1829–1861), a French catholic martyr, to his own father. The original letter was penned during Vénard’s final days before his execution in Northern Vietnam in 1861, under Emperor Tự Đức’s harsh campaign of anti-Christian persecution. One of the last lines reads: “Father and son will meet again in heaven. I, a small transient being, aim to leave first. Farewell.” The act of copying and repeating words through calligraphy in a language that he was not familiar with had become a form of prayer and a personal expression of commitment between the father and son.

Danh Võ. 2.2.1861, 2009. Handwritten letter by Phụng Võ. 29.85 x 20.96 cm.

Moving on to the exhibition venue at EMASI Vạn Phúc, we enter the next part of the adventure titled Gently Floating Away (Nhẹ nhàng trôi đi), into the utopia of hyper-real video works by Quỳnh Đồng. The artist borrowed from the art of painters trained from the l’École des Beaux-Arts de l’Indochine (Indochina School of Fine Arts), and projected them onto large-scale moving images. The lotus is often regarded as Vietnam’s national flower and is deeply embedded in folklore and visual culture. However, in ‘Lotus pond’ (2017), the lotuses now appear in oversized and independent entities, standing still under the rain and its soundscape, where time and space have become an infinite loop.

Quỳnh Đồng. Lotus pond, 2017. 3-channel video installation, 1920 x 1080 HD, color, sound. 00:50:00, loop.

Visitors will find themselves immersed in another landscape — this time, beneath the surface of dark water — through ‘Black sea and gold fish’ (2021). The work takes direct reference from Phạm Hậu’s lacquer painting ‘Nine carps in the Water’ (1939), with images and its practice deeply rooted in local tradition, yet formalized through a colonial gaze. In Quỳnh Đồng’s reimagined work, the fish and sea waves are no longer decorative motifs, but are now turned into bodies of Butoh dancers whose strange movements navigate through the darkness. Originating in post-war Japan, Butoh emerged as a rebellion against westernized ideals of performance. Here, the human figure is not considered as ornamental, but as a resistant presence.

Quỳnh Đồng. Black sea and gold fish, 2021. 3-channel video installation, 1920 x 1080 HD, color, sound. 00:08:13, loop.

As this is an evolving exhibition, there are rotating curations by guest curators and guest artists to be revealed every six weeks, until November 2025. Previously, the first one to be featured was Diane Severin Nguyen’s video installation ‘Tyrant Star’ (2019), curated by Bill Nguyễn. The work reflects on the construction of Vietnamese identity across past and present, shifting through the landscapes of the Southwest and Hồ Chí Minh City metropolitan with echoing folk verses (ca dao), the digital realm of a Vietnamese YouTuber singing ‘The Sound of Silence,’ to images of children in an orphanage.

Diane Severin Nguyen. Tyrant Star, 2019. Single-channel video, color, sound. 00:15:00, loop.

Meanwhile, the ongoing curation ‘Letters to the Cadres,’ curated by Joud Al-Tamimi, features photography works by Võ An Khánh, paintings by Trương Công Tùng, and installation by Tuấn Mami. Under the purple light, the space evokes an imagined “laboratory” — where soil, substances from a defunct military pharmaceutical factory, cactus, tree saps, micro-organisms, and human bodies converge. Here, the land bears witness to everyday resistance and war remnants, holding within it memories and unfinished stories shaped by colonial legacies and the enduring presence of the dead.

Installation view of “Letters to the Cadres” in “The year is XXXX” at Nguyen Art Foundation.

When one reads the exhibition title, perhaps the first questions that come to mind are “What year was XXXX?” and “What exactly happened?”. The unrevealed year might seem ambiguous, yet it opens up multiple possibilities of historical events and fictional stories that extend beyond the constraints of a certain chronological order. The exhibition text is presented in different paper stacks placed on the floor, which includes a timeline of Vietnamese history spanning from the year of 1640 to 1925, marking significant events from the imperial to colonial periods, many of which are reflected in the works on view.

Installation view of “The year is XXXX” at Nguyen Art Foundation.

Two parallel exhibition spaces: one is elusive, mysterious, and filled with ghostly presence; the other is where creatures are immediately present and ready to overwhelm and prey on any traveler who enters. Within realms that we once believed to be familiar, a deep sense of unfamiliarity emerges. Through language barriers, the distance between the past events and present-day realities, between the colonial gaze and cultural memory arrives. Histories that once seemed close now appear strange, distant and somehow forgotten in a newly imagined form of an adventure tale.

Photos courtesy of Nguyen Art Foundation.

“The year is XXXX” is now on view until November 2025 at Nguyen Art Foundation’s two venues EMASI Van Phuc and EMASI Nam Long. More information about the exhibition, opening hours and public programs can be found on the website.

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info@saigoneer.com (An Trần.) Music & Arts Sun, 27 Jul 2025 10:00:00 +0700
Contemporary Hip-Hop Dance '129BPM' to Perform at Art Festival in Malaysia in August https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28299-contemporary-hip-hop-dance-129bpm-to-perform-at-art-festival-in-malaysia-in-august https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28299-contemporary-hip-hop-dance-129bpm-to-perform-at-art-festival-in-malaysia-in-august

After two successful nights in Saigon last year, a mesmerizing contemporary hip-hop dance performance is bringing its raw energy abroad.

In December last year, H2Q Dance Company performed “129BPM: Động Phách Tách Kén” at the Southern Military Theatre, making choreographer Bùi Ngọc Quân’s first (proper) independent production in Vietnam after over two decades with Les Ballets C de la B in Belgium, one of Europe’s most renowned dance companies.

The show blended dynamic live music by the duo Tiny Giant and drummer Đan Dương, evocative stage design by German artist Mara Madeleine Pieler, and captivating choreography performed by eight talented street dancers. 

The official poster of the performance.

This year, the creative collaboration is bringing “129BPM” abroad to Malaysia as part of the George Town Festival 2025, the first time that a performance art piece from Vietnam is included in the Malaysian art event. Viewers will be able to enjoy “129BPM” for two nights on August 4 and 5 at the historic Dewan Sri Pinang concert hall in George Town, Penang.

First created in 2010, George Town Festival is an annual art festival held in Penang, Malaysia to commemorate the UNESCO World Heritage Site status of the island town, awarded in 2008. Throughout the event, programs are often organized at different historic venues across George Town, from heritage buildings, amphitheaters to quaint alleys.

“‘129BPM: Động Phách Tách Kén’ is not your usual hip-hop breakdance battle, but a contemporary dance performance combining live music with Vietnamese folk elements. It is a journey that requires your full presence and attention to appreciate its fleeting and transformative moments,” writes An Trần in Saigoneer’s review of last year's show. Read the full piece here.

In 2024, “129BPM” was co-produced by H2Q Dance Company and the Hồ Chí Minh City Goethe-Institut. In 2025, the performances at George Town Festival 2025 are presented and run by MORUA Co. Ltd with transportation partner AirAsia.

Images courtesy of H2Q Dance Company.

Visit the official “129BPM” page on the George Town Festival website for more information and ticket booking.

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info@saigoneer.com (Saigoneer.) Music & Arts Thu, 24 Jul 2025 12:00:00 +0700
In 'Vietnam Retropunk,' a Young Illustrator Dreams of a Cyberpunk Hanoi https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/27159-in-vietnam-retropunk,-a-young-illustrator-dreams-of-a-cyberpunk-hanoi https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/27159-in-vietnam-retropunk,-a-young-illustrator-dreams-of-a-cyberpunk-hanoi

To Đặng Thái Tuấn, the talent behind illustration project “Vietnam Retropunk,” whimsical depictions of robots and animatronics sprouting out from everyday objects and activities embody the space in between the ancient and the futuristic.

If Vietnam had advanced significantly in machinery and technology since the 1970s, what would it look like? Tuấn explores this question in “Vietnam Retropunk,” an ongoing series consisting of 16 total illustrations making up two books (so far). Woven throughout the series is a sense of nostalgia for Vietnam’s recent past, including important historical episodes like the subsidy era in Hanoi.

Everyday scenes with just a little sprinkle of cyberpunk.

Using a bright color palette and blending pop art, pen art, vintage, and futuristic style elements, Tuấn depicts quintessential Vietnamese everyday objects and activities such as bánh chưng, xe xích lô, street vendors, and mothers on a groceries run, with the addition of robots and animatronics: a cheeky little girl sits eagerly awaiting her robot to stuff, wrap, cook, assemble, and steam her bánh chưng; a mother with grey-streaked hair in floral pajamas is carried by a diligent cart-robot hybrid on the way to get groceries. “I love and wish to depict things that seem simple yet, upon closer observation, express unique stories and qualities of Vietnam,” Tuấn tells me in Vietnamese during our virtual chat.

The North-South Express reimagined as a robotic dragon.

The series is heavily imaginative. Tuấn calls upon childhood through commonplace motifs that are sure to resonate with many Vietnamese readers: toys, traditional food, street snacks, daily commute vehicles, and female figures — the mother, the aunt, the student in áo dài. “I hope that the motifs used evoke in audiences both feelings of familiarity and novelty,” Tuấn explains. “Most of what I depict, the everyday subject matter, feels familiar, but here and there, certain aspects feel altered or standout in a way that may surprise and make audiences think.”

Our childhood toys in mecha form.

In ‘Cảnh Phố’ or ‘Random Streets,’ for example, Tuấn points out how it might seem like your average train on first glances, but the precise inspiration is Hanoi's “tàu điện leng keng,” a network of old tramway criss-crossing in the capital from 1901 to 1991. This is one example of an element of a time Tuấn, having been born in 2000, barely experienced. “These images and way of life mainly exist through stories told to me by my parents and other adults in repetition, [details] that I relish on online archives such as Ảnh Hà Nội Xưa,” says Tuấn. This balance between familiarity and novelty, doused with imagination and recollection, encourages audiences to hold dear the smaller things that make up the Vietnamese way of life in past decades.

New ways to đi chợ!

“Vietnam Retropunk” is therefore a blend of classic (retro) and futuristic (punk) — the punkness here is from cyberpunk, a subgenre of science fiction in a dystopian futuristic setting. Art that is cyberpunk often uses a combination of lowlife and high tech juxtaposed with societal collapse to highlight the detrimental impact of drug culture, technology, and the sexual revolution. Tuấn cited Akira from Katsuhiro Otomo, Ghost in the Shell by Masamune Shirow, Cyberpunk 2077, The Blade Runner franchise, and Akira Toriyama as inspirations and personal heroes.

I also offered The Matrix trilogy, to which he agreed. We realized that there was a universality to the cyberpunk subgenre, especially its aesthetics — the doubtful yet eager reception of industrialization and technological revolution in the face of tradition and normalcy. Yet unlike most referenced cyberpunk inspirations, Tuấn’s work is anything but gloomy or nihilistic. With “Vietnam Retropunk” specifically, he wanted to connect with his roots — Hanoi specifically, and Vietnam at large — and embrace his love for where he came from in a way that was authentic to him.

Get your gas the futuristic way.

Given his current high demand, as seen in a thriving freelance portfolio encompassing well-known names such as TiredCity and Uniqlo, one would not have guessed that Tuấn recently graduated with a degree in IT. His journey to illustration has not been linear. “Having always had a knack for design, I had applied to design school at the end of my secondary years, failed short of that, made a pivot, only to find my way back through part time design jobs," Tuấn both bashfully and blissfully recalls.

He went through a period of assembling an amateurish CV and portfolio sparse with nothing but hobby-based drawings and secondary school projects, and getting rejected by all part-time positions except one, a graphic designer job at Memolas, a yearbook design and manufacturing company. It was here where the idea for ‘Bánh Chưng’ or ‘Banh Chung Making Machine,’ the first of “Vietnam Retropunk”’s illustrations, was conceived and realized on a shabby, off-brand tablet bought off of Shopee. As his designs gained traction, Tuấn rewarded himself with a second-hand iPad where the rest of “Vietnam Retropunk” came to be.

The first-ever illustration that started it all.

Having graduated from the simplistic short stories, Tuấn’s portfolio now boasts mesmerizingly detailed, larger-scale illustrations like ‘Hà Nội Rong’ or ‘Moving Hanoi’ that won him a design competition hosted by TiredCity. Looking forward, Tuấn plans to continue with “Vietnam Retropunk” and freelance commissions. He is slowly but steadily working on the first illustration for Book 3 of “Vietnam Retropunk,” as he believes there is still more ground to be covered with the series’ purpose, message, and central themes.

Tuấn's award-winning entry.

For now, through Vietnam Retropunk 1 and 2, Tuấn inspires his audience to not only remember but appreciate and hold dear the slower-paced, analogous way of life that is so enjoyably Vietnamese in this age of rapid technologization; to maintain focus on the small things of value; and to use advanced technology to serve the things that matter.

This article was originally published in 2024.

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info@saigoneer.com (Phạm Thục Khuê. Illustrations by Đặng Thái Tuấn. Top graphic by Trường Dĩ.) Music & Arts Tue, 15 Jul 2025 13:00:00 +0700
Enter the Dreamy Tales Told by the Works of Young Illustrator Thố Đầu • Hổ Vĩ https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28222-enter-the-dreamy-tales-told-by-the-works-of-young-illustrator-thố-đầu-•-hổ-vĩ https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28222-enter-the-dreamy-tales-told-by-the-works-of-young-illustrator-thố-đầu-•-hổ-vĩ

Being born at the cusp of the Year of the Rabbit (cat) and the Year of the Tiger offers the literal meaning for Hoàng Phúc's artist name, thố đầu • hổ vĩ, but he hopes it carries a metaphorical one, as well: “a humble beginning but a positive end,” he explained to Saigoneer. thố đầu • hổ vĩ’s origins may be humble — he started seriously focusing on illustrations just four years ago when he started university — but he has already reached remarkable achievements, as evidenced by three projects he shared with us.

‘Chapter 4: Chaos’ from the “Trăm hoa đua sắc” project.

“Vô công,” “Hội,” and “Trăm hoa đua sắc” each reveal Hoàng Phúc’s unique style that blends cultural materials, images, and indigenous symbols from Vietnam and East Asia to tell contemporary stories concerned with existential issues, including freedom, loneliness, and feelings of uselessness. Notably, he concerns himself with multi-piece projects as opposed to one-off illustrations, due to his belief that artwork operates best when several images come together to tell a concise, if not always obvious, story. Whether his own work or that of others, he explained: “Many single paintings with the same concept that complete a story together satisfy me more.”

‘Chapter 1: Leisured’ from the “Trăm hoa đua sắc” project.

“Trăm hoa đua sắc,” (100 Blooming Flowers), for example, is a 2023 project that captures his experience of visiting art exhibitions and museums. He observed that other patrons were not there to enjoy the art, but rather to take photos and videos of themselves for social media, with the artwork simply serving as a trendy backdrop.

‘Chapter 2: Wandering’ (left) and ‘Chapter 3: Witnessing’ (right) from “Trăm hoa đua sắc.”

He proceeded to his experiences with visual references from Vietnamese paintings, photography, architecture and traditional crafts. The small details, such as stone lion statues, lacquer textures, and rounded railing pillars, all connect the works with cherished traditions of visual identity. However, the characters, seen posing and playing but never admiring the work, offer criticism about the younger generation and its relationship to art. “Trăm hoa đua sắc,” was released in 2023, and Phúc said that, on further reflection, he believed “maybe it is a different form of experience for them. They are not really interested in exhibitions, but are spending time to care about themselves in an art space.”

A work from the “Hội” project.

Meanwhile, a newer project takes a more lighthearted tone, underscoring his thematic versatility. “Hội” concerns ítself with moments of childhood play and nostalgic merriments. Vibrant colors and bold lines complement the begone fashions and festival activities.

Two untitled pieces from “Hội.”

In addition to the children occupied with carefree games, “Hội” contains striking depictions of slightly surreal roosters. While not overtly addressing the project’s theme, within the context, the bird’s throat feathers call to mind exuberant confetti or firecrackers, while the looping legs tipped by graceful talons suggest the sleek seriousness of play. But this is just the way it makes me feel. Such room for interpretation is intentional. As thố đầu • hổ vĩ explained: “I often use metaphors and metonymies to develop a story. A second layer of meaning lies beneath the stories, the eye-catching images will always be a gift to me every time I watch and create works.”

Texture, color and details flirt with metaphors in this work from “Hội.”

“Hội” suggests a sense of lurking danger amidst the play.

Select teaser images from Hội have been appearing on his social media alongside some from “Vô Công” (No Work), another project set for release soon. The series of illustrations seeks to capture the feeling of helplessness and emptiness a person feels when unemployed, when the world’s economy is struggling or more broadly when a person simply feels useless in their lives, the artist explains.

Modern emotional states acquire traditional aesthetics in “Vô Công.”

Taken side-by-side, these sister images from “Vô Công” reveal Thọ đầu Hổ Vĩ's interest in textures and patterns.

This story, perhaps immediate and relatable to many people in 2025, borrows imagery from the past. Ceramic pots, imperial-era headware, a pagoda, and a quang gánh carrying an individual remind viewers that ennui is a timeless element of the human experience. One of thố đầu • hổ vĩ's favorite works to date, it serves as a good introduction to his work and his overarching interest in works that contain “a realistic theme expressed in a romantic form.”

Internal turmoil seems to create a setting of celestial lastitude.

thố đầu • hổ vĩ. Photo courtesy of the artist.

Only 26 years old, Phúc likely has a long career ahead that will be filled with surprising developments and beautiful fascinations. Pressed about his future plans, he told us: “Right now I'm interested in telling a long stories with concepts (courage, love, adulthood, etc.) and specific, touching stories the way [a] mangaka does; not exactly manga-like artwork, but maybe a more narrative and long-term project.” Regardless of what lies ahead, his work will be very worth keeping an eye on.

Altered colors and textures for the same images result in radically different moods.

Perhaps there is jubilation to be felt in the absence of work.

To view more artworks by Phúc, visit his Instagram account @thodauhovi.

[Top image: An untitled work from “Hội”]

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info@saigoneer.com (Paul Christiansen.) Music & Arts Wed, 02 Jul 2025 09:00:00 +0700
New Tarot Deck Uses Traditional Motifs, Legends and Folk Wisdom to 'Speak Vietnamese' https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28189-new-tarot-deck-uses-traditional-motifs,-legends-and-folk-wisdom-to-speak-vietnamese https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28189-new-tarot-deck-uses-traditional-motifs,-legends-and-folk-wisdom-to-speak-vietnamese

Tarot decks can feel written in a foreign language.

The cards’ images, typically drawing from Renaissance Europe, Christian mysticism, and Greco-Roman allegories, can feel alien, even to those of us who speak the symbols fluently. U Linh Tarot was the first time I saw cards that could “speak Vietnamese.”

Illustrated by artist Trần Nguyễn Anh Minh, also known as Chú Mèo Kì Diệu, U Linh is a Tarot deck rooted in Vietnamese folk spirituality, inspired by motifs as varied as Đông Hồ woodcuts, Việt Điện U Linh Tập, imperial robes, and village legends. For Anh Minh, the deck is more than a passion project.

Trần Nguyễn Anh Minh, also known as Chú Mèo Kì Diệu.

“From 2009 to 2021, there wasn’t a single Tarot deck from Vietnam. We kept using foreign decks, and it felt disheartening. Vietnam doesn’t lack culture, so why don’t we have our own voice in the Tarot world?” Anh Minh explained when I interviewed him at his home last month. That question became the seed for U Linh Tarot. And from that seed bloomed a vivid cosmology: one that’s not only Vietnamese in content but Vietnamese in structure, rhythm, and soul. 

Before U Linh, there was Thiên Địa Nhân. Anh Minh’s first deck, his undergraduate thesis at Văn Lang University, was a travel-inspired journey through Vietnam’s landscapes and temples. While Thiên Địa Nhân celebrated beauty rooted in the physical world and specific places, Anh Minh was drawn to portraying beings of the spirit realm.

Thiên Địa Nhân, Anh Minh's first deck. Photo via Comicola

“U Linh actually came first, as an idea,” he confessed. “But it had a harder birth. Thiên Địa Nhân was like the strong older brother while U Linh is the little sibling that needed protection.” 

The delay was strategic. He needed time. And he needed help, especially from his university friend, an Lang Hoàng Thủ Thư, whom he credited as indispensable: “Without her, there wouldn’t be this deck. She’s the one who helped me connect with culture, spirituality, and our roots.” 

That collaboration allowed U Linh to become one of collective resonance. The U Linh Tarot is not a literal translation of the popular Rider-Waite deck from 1909. Instead, Anh Minh treats each card as a question: “What is this card’s soul? And where in Vietnamese culture does that soul live?”

In traditional Western decks, the Three of Pentacles card is often illustrated through the building of a cathedral, symbolizing cooperation and shared vision. In U Linh, this concept is reimagined through the Đông Hồ painting Hứng Dừa (Catching Coconuts), where three figures embody the essence of teamwork: one climbs the tree, another catches the coconuts, and a third stabilizes the base. Their coordinated effort becomes a living metaphor for harmony and mutual support in any collaboration.

The Three of Pentacles card (left) and the Nine of Cups (right). Photos via Anh Minh.

Known as the “wish card,” the Nine of Cups represents emotional satisfaction and fulfilled desires. U Linh interprets this archetype through the joyful figure of Ông Địa, the Southern guardian deity in Vietnamese folk tradition. With his cheerful demeanor and round belly, Ông Địa symbolizes abundance, ease, and benevolence. People often pray to him for the return of lost items or blessings, making him a natural embodiment of the card’s spirit: relaxed joy and the quiet confidence that good things will come.

Meanwhile, The Star card traditionally represents spiritual clarity, guidance, and a sense of renewed purpose. To design his version of it, Anh Minh faced the challenge of finding a Vietnamese symbol that captured this radiance, as five-pointed stars are not commonly used in traditional sacred imagery. The turning point came with the discovery of embroidered star motifs on the ceremonial robes of the Nguyễn dynasty. Drawing from this imperial heritage, U Linh’s Star card shines with cultural depth, affirming the deck’s ability to bridge past and present with luminous hope.

Anh Minh chose images with ritual care. The Tower is reimagined through a culturally resonant symbol: a coconut tree struck by lightning. Rather than depicting a European-style tower crumbling in chaos, the image evokes a distinctly Vietnamese belief that lightning is a form of divine punishment, striking down where evil resides. Here, the Tower becomes Thiên Ách, or "Heaven's Judgment." When it appears, the card speaks not just of sudden upheaval, but of spiritual reckoning. It may signal a necessary and forceful intervention – an act of justice, sweeping away hidden corruption or false foundations.

The Star card (left), Tower card (center) and Three of Swords (right). Photos via Anh Minh.

Even the Three of Swords, a card synonymous with heartbreak, was reinterpreted for the deck. Rather than focusing solely on emotional pain, this version emphasizes reason triumphing over emotion. A sword pierces a book, not a heart, signaling the clarity that comes from difficult but necessary decisions. It reflects the kind of heartbreak that stems from doing what is right, such as leaving a harmful relationship or letting go of an illusion. The card honors the quiet strength it takes to choose wisdom over attachment, even when it hurts.

Though spiritually inspired, U Linh required relentless design discipline. Anh Minh drew all 78 cards between Tết and April; just over three months. “My iPad didn’t have any games. When it ran out of battery, I slept. When it was full, I got up and drew. If I didn’t finish two cards a day, I wouldn’t let myself sleep.”

Matching this maniacal pace was a near-obsessive attention to symbolic structure. As a trained designer, he approached each Tarot card not as an illustration, but as semiotics. “Tarot isn’t just illustration; it’s language. Why is the hand raised instead of lowered? Why hold a cup and not a wand? Everything must have a reason.”

Anh Minh consulted Lang Hoàng Thủ Thư, sketched, rejected, revised, and repeated. Along the way, he introduced extra cards and alternate versions of traditional archetypes to reflect Vietnamese dualities. The Fool, which marks the beginning of the Tarot journey – a symbol of innocence, freedom, and stepping into the unknown – appears in two forms: Cậu Ấm and Cô Chiêu, representing parallel masculine and feminine paths.

The Cậu Ấm card (left) and the Cô Chiêu card (right). Photos via Anh Minh.

At the journey’s end is The World, the final chapter in the Fool’s arc, symbolizing fulfillment, integration, and wholeness. Anh Minh offers two interpretations: one depicts Cậu Ấm transformed into a grounded farmer: mature, self-reliant, and committed to the labor of everyday life after completing his quest. The other portrays Cô Chiêu as a radiant goddess having completed her inner journey of healing and self-realization and now embodying spiritual harmony and grace.

The Cô Chiêu World card (left) and the Cậu Ấm World card (right) Photos via Anh Minh.

“This deck strays a bit from the standard, but that’s the Vietnamese yin-yang philosophy. If there’s a man, there must be a woman. If there’s a path of reason, there must be one of spirit.”

Many assume U Linh concerns itself with nostalgic touchpoints, but that’s not accurate. It is interested in metaphysics. “This isn’t memory,” Anh Minh said. “These are spirits who haven’t yet reincarnated. We call it memory only because we can’t see them.”

To him, the deck is not a memory book but a channel. It reveals how Vietnamese ancestors encoded ethics and cosmology in stories, and how they interpreted suffering as imbalance and harmony as sacred. In his words: “Tarot is a philosophical book. It may have only 78 cards, but each card is a chapter on human nature.”

Though the first print run sold out quickly, Anh Minh is already preparing a reprint and a companion website, where he plans to elaborate on symbols too controversial or complex for the booklet included with the deck. He’s also mentoring new artists working on folk-inspired decks, collaborating on projects like Sông Núi Nước Nam, and joining group exhibitions that present Vietnamese spiritual art in contemporary formats.

“We must know who we are,” he told me at the end. “U Linh is an excuse to explore Vietnamese culture for those who don’t know it yet, who’ve never heard of it.”

As a reader, a Vietnamese, and a seeker, I know this deck is not merely about fortune. It is about becoming fluent in our own sacred language.

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info@saigoneer.com (Ý Mai. Photos by Nguyễn Hữu Đức Huy. ) Music & Arts Sun, 15 Jun 2025 09:49:00 +0700
'Đây Ngồi Ráp Việt' Pixel Art Project Turns Vietnam's 63 Provinces, Cities Into Model Kits https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28182-đây-ngồi-ráp-việt-pixel-art-project-turns-vietnam-s-63-provinces,-cities-into-model-kits https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28182-đây-ngồi-ráp-việt-pixel-art-project-turns-vietnam-s-63-provinces,-cities-into-model-kits

How many of us can identify all 63 localities in the current administrative map of Vietnam? Who has been to all of them? Who can name all the 54 ethnicities of Vietnamese across the country? These are all surprisingly hard things to do considering the average citizen doesn’t travel to other provinces often, and if they do, few actually stray from popular tourist destinations.

Đây Ngồi Ráp Việt,” a new art project by local artist Callmebu, might be a small but whimsical starting point to get Vietnamese to learn more about the culture, history, and culinary wealth of all corners of the nation. Each of the 63 provinces and cities is portrayed in pixel art as a model kit featuring its geographical boundary and a few standout landmarks, cultural entities, and local delicacies for which it is best known.

Hồ Chí Minh City, for example, is depicted with bánh mì and cà phê bệt and the Notre-Dame Cathedral, while the Hanoi kit comes with phở, the Old Quarter, and Hoàn Kiếm Lake. The hometown of the author, whose real name is Hồng Hải Đăng, is Bến Tre in the Mekong Delta, so it’s a no-brainer that he has to highlight the coconut tree and its most iconic confectionery kẹo dừa as representatives. “When my friends hear that I’m from Bến Tre, their first reaction would be ‘Are you visiting home? Please bring back some coconut candies!’ That should show how much the coconut is linked with Bến Tre,” he told Saigoneer.

There is a certain vintage nostalgia to the pixelated figures that Đăng created to illustrate the regional treats and cultural activities, from Huế’s nhã nhạc performance to Hưng Yên’s Đông Tảo chicken. They evoke the charming games on older consoles like SNES, or modern pixel art titles like Terraria or Stardew Valley. “I picked pixel art because in my eyes, each province and city is like a ‘pixel’ in the bigger artwork of Vietnam,” Đăng shared. “The idea to turn them into model kits simply comes from my personal interest in Gundam figurines and jigsaw sets.”

Đăng’s passion for drawing manifested very early on during his childhood, and right when he was in secondary school, he already knew that he would pursue a career path related to art or creativity. Despite graduating university with a degree in architecture, he decided to work on illustrations and the arts. “Đây Ngồi Ráp Việt” was entirely completed during his free time in the evening after getting off from work, so it took about three months to take shape — from finalizing ideas, researching, drawing the demos to arriving at the finished versions. On average, each locality takes one day to be done.

The research is an aspect of “Đây Ngồi Ráp Việt” that makes the project both challenging and intellectually intriguing to Đăng. For one, within the set boundaries of the model kit design, only three cultural representatives are featured for each province, so how does one go about choosing from the diverse range of unique snacks and iconic landscapes? According to the author, the selection criteria can involve a number of pillars like food, nature, architecture, history, and spirituality, but at times it’s simpler: just what impresses him the most about the places.

Which leads to the many examples that made this process of constant learning exciting, such as finally putting the name on the face of a dish that he’s enjoyed numerous times before or discovering that two seemingly isolated snacks from two separate provinces are actually more similar than previously thought, like Cao Bằng’s bánh khảo and Huế’s bánh in. Which province to attribute phở to was also a difficult decision, as there are theories and sources pointing the soup’s origin to both Hanoi and Nam Định.

Ultimately, delving deeper into the regional cultures of Vietnam was the one guiding purpose of “Đây Ngồi Ráp Việt,” for both its creator and netizens who enjoy tiny cultural discoveries. “When I eventually completed the artworks, I felt quite emotional, as if I’d finally assembled Vietnam in my own way,” he admitted. “It started at first as a personal project, but once I shared it online and saw how people recognize their hometown in each pixel, it made me happy.”

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info@saigoneer.com (Khôi Phạm. Illustrations by Callmebu.) Music & Arts Wed, 11 Jun 2025 11:00:00 +0700
Between Motion and Stillness, Huỳnh Công Nhớ Explores Memory and Belief in ‘Mắt Nhớ' https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28183-between-motion-and-stillness,-huỳnh-công-nhớ-explores-memory-and-belief-in-‘mắt-nhớ https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28183-between-motion-and-stillness,-huỳnh-công-nhớ-explores-memory-and-belief-in-‘mắt-nhớ

Drawing on themes of childhood memories, human beliefs and spirituality, filmmaker and painter Huỳnh Công Nhớ moves between the worlds of cinema and painting, inviting viewers on a journey in search for the quiet beauty in life’s simplest moments.

“Mắt Nhớ” (The Gaze That Remembers) marks the first-ever solo exhibition in Vietnam by Đà Nẵng-based filmmaker and painter Huỳnh Công Nhớ. A special collaboration between Gallery Medium (Hồ Chí Minh City) and Galerie BAO (Paris), the exhibition features paintings created from 2022, in which the artist explores the intersection between his cinematic sensibility and the stillness of painting. Through bright colors and gentle brushstrokes, his paintings evoke a quiet sense of motion and feeling, like paused frames from a slow film, playfully and calmly translating the language of cinema onto canvas.

Installation view of “Mắt Nhớ” (The Gaze That Remembers) at Gallery Medium.

Huỳnh Công Nhớ entered the art world through cinema and was trained under the mentorship of acclaimed filmmaker Trần Anh Hùng in the Autumn Meeting program — a renowned workshop for promising young international filmmakers. In 2022, he expanded his visual storytelling by making a transition into painting. Well known for a rustic approach in filmmaking that carries emotional depth, his works focus on human experiences within Vietnam’s socio-political context, opening up endless possibilities for storytelling while reminding us of the importance of human connection and the power of stories told through various materials.

When asked about the shift into painting, Huỳnh Công Nhớ shared with Gallery Medium that it began with simple sketches made during the filmmaking process, and he began using acrylic paint to sketch out ideas for bigger film projects, as a way to channel his restless energy. Over time, painting became not only a form of artistic expression but also a return to the innocence of childhood.

Installation view of “Mắt Nhớ” (The Gaze That Remembers) at Gallery Medium.

When one gazes at Huỳnh Công Nhớ’s works, the first impression is often the profound interconnection between humans, their beliefs, and spirituality. Faceless characters appear in various states of motion against vast landscapes, each crowned with a halo, symbolizing faith, hope, and potential. Although the artist himself is not Catholic, being raised by nuns in the Catholic church has deeply influenced both his life and his art. This spiritual undercurrent, combined with his filmmaking background, is evident in the way he “frames” his landscapes and subjects, echoing the language of cinema within his paintings.

Nguyện Cầu #07 (2023), acrylic on canvas, 60 x 90 cm. Image courtesy of the artist.

Through still life paintings, the artist’s approach captures the beauty and simplicity of everyday objects with playful, colorful brushstrokes that also evoke peace. His dreamlike works depict real-life scenes — bonsai trees, toy animals, fruits cracked open, and food on the table — which blur the line between reality and imagination. These scenes emerge from his daily observations and childhood memories, shaped by a quiet belief in an invisible force residing within the ordinary. In doing so, his works invite viewers to pause and consider the quiet magic of everyday life.

Tĩnh Vật (2022), acrylic on canvas, 60 x 80 cm. Image courtesy of the artist.

Installation view of “Mắt Nhớ” (The Gaze That Remembers) at Gallery Medium.

Like a slow film made up of many different frames, his paintings recreate slices of moments unfolding on a moving screen by transforming the medium of moving images onto the canvas. Though still paintings, they convey a dynamic sense of emotions, drawing viewers into the emotions embedded in each piece. Childhood memories, whether joyful or sorrowful, profoundly shape the way a person perceives life, makes decisions and chooses what to hold onto their mind. Interestingly, neither the artist nor his work is bound by any specific religious belief, and his works express a broader theme that many human beings constantly search for: something to believe in and a sense of healing. This is where childhood memories intertwine with beliefs, shaped through an innocent and naive gaze.

Giao Thông #01 (2022), acrylic on canvas, 50 x 75 cm. Image courtesy of the artist.

Installation view of “Mắt Nhớ” (The Gaze That Remembers) at Gallery Medium.

Huỳnh Công Nhớ’s artistic journey, exploring various mediums, has profoundly shaped the themes in his work. His art resonates with the audience, whether religious or not, offering a universal human experience. “Mắt Nhớ” takes viewers from cinematic frames to intimate painting, expanding storytelling possibilities and inviting reflection on the search for peace, happiness, and genuine faith. The beauty and joy of everyday life exist alongside the chaos of the outside world, revealing the many layers of our experience. For the artist, painting became a vital way to capture his ideas and emotions amid the challenges of filmmaking, as a meaningful method of choosing what and how to remember.

Installation view of “Mắt Nhớ” (The Gaze That Remembers) at Gallery Medium.

“Mắt Nhớ” (The Gaze That Remembers) is now on view at Gallery Medium until June 15, 2025. More information on the exhibition can be found on this Facebook page.

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info@saigoneer.com (An Trần. Photos courtesy of Gallery Medium.) Music & Arts Tue, 10 Jun 2025 10:00:00 +0700
A Brief History of Hanoi Rock City, a Bastion of the Indie Spirit https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/26021-on-its-12th-birthday,-a-brief-history-of-hanoi-rock-city,-a-bastion-of-the-indie-spirit https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/26021-on-its-12th-birthday,-a-brief-history-of-hanoi-rock-city,-a-bastion-of-the-indie-spirit

Hanoi Rock City (HRC) is more than a household name for the youth of Hanoi, especially anyone who’s fond of the “Rock n Roll” culture. Nearly 15 years after its founding, HRC has become a special cultural realm, one that brings musicians and fans closer to one another on its storied stage.

The universe of sounds in “the city of rock”

A live performance at HRC.

The earliest inkling of Hanoi Rock City started when its co-founder Võ Đức Anh and his friends were studying in the United Kingdom. They jammed together often, organized charity concerts for the Vietnamese Student Association in the UK, and were regulars at indie nights where amateur musicians could let their music fly.

“Each city in the UK has hundreds of such venues, creating a welcoming scene for artists that are just starting out. Many of them later found fame thanks to these cozy spaces. When we returned to Vietnam, our group was determined to open a similar venue together like what we experienced in the UK. We were very inspired by Nottingham Rock City, so we chose the name Hanoi Rock City,” Đức Anh reminisces.

Võ Đức Anh, one of HRC’s four founders.

The word “rock” in the name might evoke the corresponding music genre, but it’s not complete. What the founders wanted to foster is the Rock n Roll spirit, building a home for diversity, everyone, and every genre.

During HRC’s launch years ago, they encountered some roadblocks as rock and indie culture in Vietnam was still in its infant stages. At that time, there weren’t many local independent artists with distinct sounds and strong foundations, so it was a challenge for HRC to find performers.

“The first five years we mostly lived on shows by our foreign friends living in Hanoi, or international bands that were touring in the region, but our goal was still to give Vietnamese audiences a more varied, more seasoned, more dynamic market,” he says.

Left: Hà Lê. Right: Mèow Lạc.

Until now, HRC has more or less accomplished that earliest promise when there are gradually more Vietnamese groups in the scene who can confidently showcase their musical personality. From the cradle that is HRC, a number of “first-generation” artists were born, including Nu Voltage, Gỗ Lim and Mimetals, who have managed to carve for themselves a space to perform and bond with kindred listeners. An honorable mention is Mèow Lạc — an indie group that had their start at HRC and has since thrived and found success on the national stage of reality TV competition Rock Việt.

“Our advantage lies in the unwavering assistance and support from everyone towards HRC. We receive help from many people, from artists and embassies to cultural funds, but most importantly, from the audience. Everyone lends a hand to build Hanoi Rock City,” Đức Anh shares.

“No Phone Show” by The Cassette.

The mecca of rock culture and a community creative hub

Elaborating on the future of Hanoi Rock City, Đức Anh promises that the venue is trying its best to promote the culture of rock to a wider audience and to attract international music acts to Hanoi to perform and create music together. Most recently, HRC spearheaded a new concept called No Phone Shows, described as simply concerts that have: “No recording! No photography! No taking down evidence! The show only exists through verbal descriptions.”

The premise means audience members and artists are requested to leave their phones firmly in their pockets for the entirety of the set. This format was fashioned with the aim to help listeners most wholeheartedly immerse in the atmosphere of a music night during an era when electronic devices have invaded every civil space.

Still, the introduction of No Phone Shows has spawned many humorous incidents like some concert-goers mistaking that their phones would be confiscated like in schools. Đức Anh could only laugh and respond: “Everything runs on the spirit of self-discipline. Everyone sticks to the rules and enjoys a complete show. Musicians are more passionate too because they feel safe to let their hair down to feel the bond with the audience, via the singing along, or the swaying arms in the air, instead of looking down just to see a ‘forest’ of phones directed towards them.”

“The Red Room”: A room not only for playing music, and listening to music, but also a community space for hanging out with friends or sipping on a beer or two.

It’s not a stretch to claim that Hanoi Rock City has contributed an indispensable part in the growth of rock culture in Hanoi and Vietnam. Formed based on the foundation of nurturing, and encouraging artists to “just start writing,” “just start composing,” HRC can provide a small stage for budding artists to express themselves to a small-but-enough crowd of listeners. It’s that “just enough”-ness that propelled young Vietnamese to be more confident in themselves and feel the freedom to bare their musical talents.

Over their years in operation, HRC has championed many new performing acts to enrich the concert experience in Hanoi and Vietnam. Some recent musicians that have left their memorable marks on this stage include Ngọt, Cá Hồi Hoang, Chillies, Vũ., Hà Lê, The Flob, The Cassette while from the previous generation, one could count Gỗ Lim, Quái Vật Tí Hon among friends of HRC. Until now, HRC has always made efforts to further that “independent spirit” by being on the lookout for new artists.

Hanoi Rock City — where gutsy musicians face off with gutsy listeners.

To N., a Hanoian who’s a regular at HRC, the one thing that glues them to this community is the distinctive “wildness” of Rock n Roll.

“I love music so I want to experience as many different genres of music as possible. Other venues would invite famous bands and they would sing songs that I might have heard many times on the street, but at HRC, it would be brand-new artists, singing new songs. The feeling when you’re among the first people to know of something makes me happy, that’s why I always want to be part of HRC,” N. shares.

Đức Anh expresses his happiness on the occasion of HRC's 12th birthday in 2023: “HRC’s birthday is always an emotional musical feast. [...] It’s the best thing ever because, looking back at each year, we realize we made many friends, even though they’re still young and full of future aspirations; HRC will always be here to encourage them to write and compose because we’re here to create opportunities for you to keep your fire going. Most importantly, it’s the audience that counts; they are always ready to welcome newness with an open mind, ushering in a talented new generation of Vietnamese music.”

This article was originally published in 2023.

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info@saigoneer.com (Lê Vy. Photos courtesy of Võ Đức Anh and Hanoi Rock City.) Music & Arts Tue, 27 May 2025 10:00:00 +0700
In an Ever-Changing Saigon, Street Artisans Hold Fast to Dying Crafts https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/18889-in-an-ever-changing-saigon,-street-artisans-hold-fast-to-dying-crafts https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/18889-in-an-ever-changing-saigon,-street-artisans-hold-fast-to-dying-crafts

We delve into the lives of Saigon’s artisans — an animal coconut leaf folder, a woodcarver embracing modern influences, an accomplished street corner calligrapher, and an itinerant craftsman to see what they’re doing to keep their art alive.

On a normal drive down Saigon's vibrant streets, one might find themselves stopping at a traffic light where a veteran of the arts works alluringly, with the craft laid out neatly on the pavement nearby. Just a few years ago, this would have been a common Saigon experience, however, for many Saigoneers, our loss is a slow and unnoticed disappearance. 

With an increasing number of small food stalls and restaurants, as well as global brands popping up all around Saigon, the city's streets seem busier and more dynamic than ever.

Nonetheless, with globalization changing the once-quaint landscape of Saigon's past, its personality as 'the Pearl of the Far East' has also been altered majorly, reducing the presence of xích lô drivers, children’s DIY kites floating in the skies, and the once-popular and easily recognizable Vietnamese entertainment of cải lương musical drama and hát bội classical opera. For today's young Saigoneers, these previously defining traits are gradually becoming just marks in the country’s rich heritage.

Despite this, and with true Saigon resilience, a crop of artisans are still trying to keep the city’s heritage alive. Amongst them are the true street artists who live and breath the passion of Saigon’s heroic past.

Saigon's Coconut Leaf-Folding "Peter Pan"

As a true "Peter Pan" of Saigon, Le Minh — a retired artist-turned street artist — spends his days surrounded by the magic of his folded animals made of coconut leaves, an art form that has roots in his childhood.

“I never sell in one place because I want to spread the joy and the nostalgic memories of my childhood to as many people as possible,” he tells me in Vietnamese. Minh used to be a painter, however, as old age blurred his vision, he resolved to spend his time remastering the art of coconut leaf folding that he once knew and loved. 

As a child, he spent time with his teacher, helping him fold leaf animals. However, as he grew up, he started working as a painter and trying out other better-paid art forms in order to support his family.

Since his retirement eight years ago, Minh has mastered folding 31 different types of animals. Of these, he claims that he can fold the most common ones, like grasshoppers and fish, in only five minutes, whereas more complex animals like dragons, peacocks, or phoenixes can take him up to one hour. Despite the varied complexities of his product range, Minh sells each for VND20,000. However, he shared that he sometimes sells them for even less, as his main aim is to raise awareness of this beautiful traditional art form.

Despite the joy he gets from his art, Minh would not be able to spread his passion for coconut leaf folding without the support of his family. Even with the fame he’s found through coverage from the Vietnamese media over the past few years, he says that he would have struggled to support himself without them. Thanks to passionate coconut leaf folders like Minh, many young Vietnamese like myself still know about this traditional art and culture.

The Woodcarver Embracing Modern Influences

While some artists have been holding onto the traditions of the past, others have adopted modern influences to bring their art forms into contemporary Saigon life.

A decade ago, one could find an array of wood-carving shops on Pasteur Street, north of its junction with Le Loi Boulevard. However, after years of bad business and increasing rent prices, many of the woodcarvers left and the buildings were torn down to make way for the 18-story Liberty Central Hotel. Now, all that remains of this past is hidden in a dark alley leading to a building behind Pham Minh tailors.

Quang, with 40 years of experience in his profession, is a talented woodcarver. Originally majoring in carpentry at the Ho Chi Minh University of Arts, he uses his experience to lead a team of six carpenters and combine a whole array of wood varieties — including rosewood, ebony and parasol wood — in his art. Not only does he create the signboards which can be seen while driving past his business, but he also creates wooden art pieces, like a giant carved image of “The Last Supper,” menu holders for restaurants, cardholders for businesses and many other wooden items. 

Situated in one of the most touristy areas of the city, the business’ main customers are normally foreigners or tourists who are attracted by the curious, yet alluring, wood art. This makes the retail side of the business more seasonal, increasing over Tet and Christmas when there are more tourists in Saigon.

Meanwhile, the wholesale side of the business is mostly constant year-round. This, according to Quang, is a product of the curiosity of foreigners for the skilled woodwork and the array of wood variety that his products display.

Despite his continued efforts, it is only Quang’s experience and connections that help him secure his small spot on Pasteur. With none of his six-man team of hired part-time woodcarvers interested in continuing his legacy, it looks like Quang will be one of the last to carry on this specific tradition of woodcarving, which used to dominate this section of the busy road.

The Professional Calligraphers

From fantastic coconut leaf folded beasts to Mickey Mouse-themed wooden toilet boards, nothing screams Vietnam more than thư pháp artwork.

With thư pháp’s modern reputation of appearing mainly as entertainment during Tet or at special traditional Vietnamese festivals, one of the last places you’d imagine to find these fluid brush lines is on the humble Truong Dinh-Dien Bien Phu intersection, on the wall of the Department of Science and Technology of Ho Chi Minh City.

At around 8am each day, a husband and wife can be seen putting up calligraphy art on a small opening on the foliage-covered crumbling wall of the department. Nhat Minh, the sole calligrapher of the two, with 12 years of experience in the profession, lends his name to the branding of their small enterprise. 

Originally from Dong Thap Province, he told me that he left his hometown to learn his craft, an endeavor which took him a year to master fully. Since then, he has created pre-made and made-to-order calligraphy art for the people of Saigon. Most of his customers, he says, are regulars who have known him for a long time. They come to him with orders for themselves or as gifts for their friends and family. For his efforts, he charges around VND200,000 for smaller artworks, and VND500,000 for larger pieces, although his prices differ depending on the request. 

With calligraphy now something that only big businesses generally do on a large scale, a life spent selling homemade calligraphy on the streets is not an easy task. For Minh and his wife, calligraphy is their only life-line, though thanks to the continued appreciation of Saigoneers for this art, he can continue to keep this tradition alive as a street artist in Saigon’s modern landscape.

The Hát Bội Classical Opera Masks Creator

Finally, a once-popular form of entertainment which is now disappearing and becoming a niche interest, hát bội classical opera has for many years been a rapidly fading tradition. 

A true guardian of his art, for nearly 30 years, itinerant craftsman Nguyen Van Bay has been cycling around Saigon with a display of hát bội classical opera masks on his ramshackle bicycle. He sells his art to people on the street, as well as museums, tourists or cafes and villas for decoration. 

With hát bội classical opera having an abundant number of characters, “chú Bảy” — as people know him — claims he knows the details of over 1,000 opera characters. For anyone interested in these characters, he sells his products in sets of 13, 21 or 33 masks. However, he shared that he once sold a whole bike full of masks to a very enthusiastic foreigner for around VND20 million, which he estimated to be way over 33 different character masks.

Although in the original hát bội classical operas the actors painted their faces instead of using masks, chú Bảy uses the image of the fully painted actors’ faces to create masks to capture the essence of the art.

Hearing chú Bảy talk about his work, and seeing the detail he puts into every mask, shows how much of a perfectionist he is. His smallest masks take around six hours to create. This process includes creating a separate clay mold for each mask depending on different characters' faces, then creating a plaster mold combined with silicon and stone powder as a base, and finally painting over the base with oil paint to reveal the distinct traits of each character. A similar process is used to create the larger masks, which take several days to finish.

Looking at most of his masks, all of them have one thing in common — the vibrant colors of red, white and black. Talking to chú Bảy, he explains that these are the main shades of hát bội classical opera, each signifying a different meaning. Nonetheless, he also chooses to portray a majority of characters with these colors because they stand out compared to characters with less eye-catching designs, thus attracting more customers.

Chú Bảy identifies as a big fan of hát bội and has childhood memories of the traveling classical opera group which would stop by his village. According to him, the 1960s were the golden age of the genre, but now it is a dying art form. 

As the creator of hát bội masks as a means to preserve the art he loves, and being the sole street artist dedicated to hát bội in the whole of Vietnam, chú Bảy is trying to spread his passion to Saigon’s younger generation. He said that, in the past, he has tried to pass on his trade to other people, however, he is yet to find anyone who has even a small amount of the commitment and passion that he has for his art. Despite this, he says he will try to continue to work and spread his passion for hát bội until the day he dies.

Like many who still see a mirage of Saigon's past, when writing this article, I believed I could simply drive around the city to find a variety of street artists. I couldn't have been more wrong, as I spent hours scouring the streets before I found even one artist, by accident, on my way home. Although these are hardly the only street artists in Saigon’s modern landscape, the sad fact is that every type of art is struggling to survive. 

Though these four street artists come from different areas of the arts, when interviewed, they all had one common thing to say, which was that they had barely been able to sell anything in the past few months due to the pandemic and that they are still struggling now in its aftermath.  

By meeting these four incredible people and learning about their stories, it is hard not to see the pure passion which drives them to maintain this almost-sacred Saigon heritage, and the sacrifices that they make to preserve their art forms. The only question now is whether or not Saigon will still be home to a new generation of street artists maintaining tradition, or embracing modern life in the future. Only time will tell…

This article was originally published in 2020.

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info@saigoneer.com (Juliet Doling. Photos by Alberto Prieto.) Music & Arts Thu, 15 May 2025 15:00:00 +0700
Mèow Lạc on Growing up in Hanoi Rock City and Giving Voice to Cats https://saigoneer.com/quang-8-octave/20850-mèow-lạc-on-growing-up-in-hanoi-rock-city-and-giving-voice-to-cats https://saigoneer.com/quang-8-octave/20850-mèow-lạc-on-growing-up-in-hanoi-rock-city-and-giving-voice-to-cats

Having just finished recording their new album, Mèow Lạc is temporarily taking time apart to focus on individual development so that, when they regroup, fresh ideas can come through.

Mèow Lạc consists of four members: keyboardist Hoàng Phương, Tô Ra on drums, Nguyên Lê the frontman, and Nguyên Vũ on bass. They revealed to Saigoneer that Mèow Lạc is currently a passion project, and to support this passion project, all of the members are working various side-jobs. While Tô Ra teaches drums and Nguyên Vũ teaches bass, Nguyên Lê works his magic behind the scenes at Hanoi Rock City as a sound technician.

“Mèow Lạc” translates to “Lost Cat.” When asked how that came to be, Nguyên Lê and the band's manager, Hoàng, who have stuck with the band the longest, both laughed as they reminisced about how it took two months for them to finalize something. They share: “Mèow just means cat, everyone here likes cats. But Lạc can be broken into three meanings.” The first definition is being lost: “I feel like our music often gets lost from one universe to another in the same song, or even the same verse,” Nguyên Lê explains.

The second meaning came from the Sino-Vietnamese word “lạc quan,” which means happy. This perfectly encapsulates the band's musical personality: playful and optimistic.

Lastly, “lạc” also means peanut. Though it isn't necessarily deep, this one feels like their personal favorite. “‘Peanut’ works very well when we want to design a poster or a logo. We can just draw a cat hugging a peanut and that will make Mèow Lạc. It’s a terrible pun, but it works!” they assure.

Music of boundless creativity

Mèow Lạc’s music is youthful, fun, and disruptive. Never committing to a solidly defined genre, they envision an endless creative boundary. “The coolest thing about our music is that it is a mixture of so many genres and influences. While I am heavily influenced by Twenty One Pilots, Nguyên Vũ gears towards funk and fusion; Tô Ra plays all kinds of genres because she has a very strong foundation in music. Lastly, Hoàng Phương fan-boys Jisoo from Blackpink!” Nguyên Lê cheekily shares. In their latest single, 'Hikikomori,' bits of jazz, alternative, and funk were effortlessly combined to portray a buoyant life in quarantine. The lyrics read: “Life is great when you get to be yourself, not having to worry about anybody judging. Life is great when you get to be alone, away from all the drama and flattery.”

Left to right: Tô Ra, Nguyên Vũ, Nguyên Lê, Hoàng Phương

Switching scenes, Mèow Lạc experiments with heavy electronica in ‘Nhất quỷ, nhì ma, thứ ba lũ quạ,’ a whimsical satire on school life. On the other hand, the romantic, keyboard-heavy track ‘Mưa bóng mây’ tells the story of a guy being head over heels about a girl. “Our main musical elements are creativity and explosivity. All of our individual influences can be seen in Mèow Lạc's music. Sometimes it may feel like chaos because every instrument seems to be on a different track. But they somehow come together to form the colors of Mèow Lạc. Only these four kids with these four brains can create something like that,” Nguyên Vũ adds.

In storytelling, there are three standard points of view: first-, second-, and third-person. When Nguyên Lê writes music for Mèow Lạc, he always imagines himself in the perspective of a cat. If one looks at the lyrics to each of their songs, every story that Mèow Lạc tells, every adventure that their character embarks on, fits perfectly with the experience of a lost cat. The cat sees “lũ quạ” (the crows), “mưa bóng mây” (the summer rain), and two people dancing under the living room lights. It is both personal and objective at the same time. “I borrow the eyes of a cat to tell objective stories,” says Nguyên Lê.

A nest at the rock city

Every band has a “headquarters” — a place where they practice, bond, and find their creative energy. For Mèow Lạc, that is Hanoi Rock City (HRC). Võ Đức Anh, aka chú Đa, the founder of this art & performing space, in particular, has been an important mentor for the band since day one. “If we were asked how the band became what it is today, we would proudly say we grew up at HRC. We have performed on that stage more than anywhere else. We practiced there, ate there, slept there and our album was also recorded in that room. We will forever be in debt to HRC and chú Đa because, without them, there wouldn't be Mèow Lạc,” they share.

“When I first started singing at HRC in 2018, chú Đa gave me a piece of advice that has stuck with me ever since. He told me that my singing seems superficial and that I lacked conviction in my lyrics. He said that when I sing, I have to really sing as I mean it, and really sing instead of just performing. There is no such thing as ‘fake it til you make it’ here. The audience can really tell when a performer is not putting their soul into the performance or expressing all of their feelings,” Nguyên Lê adds, “after receiving that advice, I realized that if this was my dream, I need to put 100% of myself into this; and to really sing every note with conviction.”

Beyond the stage, but the four friends always have each other's back in real life, too. To them, finding one another and forming a band was easy, but being able to stick with each other and develop chemistry is the real luck of fate. They began as simply as any other band, making calls, inviting each other to jam sessions, getting iced tea after practices, and giving each other relationship advice. “We all have a common trait: our short temper. So when one of us gets mad, the other three will have to comfort that person. Thus, we take turns being mad,” they laugh.

Telling stories with music

On why they make music, the band opens up: “We write music to say things that are difficult to say. You know the feeling when you have a lot to express but you somehow cannot put it into concise sentences? We chose to express it through music instead. Our music speaks what our words can't. Being able to tell these stories on stage is an indescribable experience; we can't explain how that kind of adrenaline can be so addictive.”

When I asked what makes Mèow Lạc stand out at a time when there are so many up-and-coming bands, their answer came as a surprise: “We are just nerds who sit at home making music, then performing what we have created for an audience. We are just simply taking it easy that way, and that is also how we view music. I find it cool because the things we create can’t be found in other bands, but we never think of ourselves in the midst of other people, but rather view ourselves as an individual band that does things they love. Just as simple as that. To really analyze what makes us stand out from other bands is so difficult. The musical world is too wide. Hence, we never liked this question because every time we answer it in the most textbook manner, it leaves us feeling unsettled. A thousand bands can claim that they are unique, but in actuality, they don’t know what it’s like to look at their work objectively. So we are here simply trying to make good music in our own way.”

Next up for Mèow Lạc is the release of their first album, the name of which will soon be revealed. The theme for it is urban spaces and cities viewed through the eyes of a cat, relatable yet quite refreshing. A stray cat will see people strolling on the streets of a summer day, people pondering under the light of their apartment; it will witness a robbery, etc. The musical elements will also be a mixture of what they consider urban cultural influences: pop, jazz, hip hop, rock, and electro.

In the end, Mèow Lạc summarizes their motto as “creating youthful music; music that young people can enjoy, music for young people to dance to, music that puts a smile on your face.” They cannot wait to get back on the stage, to feel the exhilarating energy as the audience chants their name. But most importantly, “simply to have fun with what we do.”

This article was originally published in 2022.

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info@saigoneer.com (Phương Phạm. Photos courtesy of Mèow Lạc.) Quãng 8 Fri, 09 May 2025 10:00:00 +0700
How Music Transcended Political Divides: The Stories of 5 Timeless Wartime Songs https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28125-how-music-transcended-political-divides-the-stories-of-5-timeless-wartime-songs https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28125-how-music-transcended-political-divides-the-stories-of-5-timeless-wartime-songs

Vietnamese musicians created a musical bridge across political divides, transforming the pain of a fractured nation into melodies that still resonate with both homeland and diasporic Vietnamese 50 years after the war's end.

Two years ago, I was on an airplane bound for Canada to pursue my doctoral studies and, potentially, begin a new life. Though I had traveled abroad before, this journey was different. In the past 50 years, millions of Vietnamese have left their homeland seeking new beginnings in North America through various means. Many of these journeys were far from easy. Thousands perished along the way. As the course of history unfolded and living conditions improved, my own departure came with relative comfort: a 30-hour journey rather than the days or months many before me endured.

Looking out the window as we departed, tears welled in my eyes. Everything I loved, lived for, and would probably die for grew smaller until it became merely a speck of light on the horizon. Hanoi, where I was born, raised, and had spent most of my life with my family, seemed insignificant against the vast expanse of earth below. I couldn't help but wonder: how did they feel when they left home decades ago, whether from Saigon, Hải Phòng, or elsewhere? It couldn't have been pleasant.

Before arriving in Canada, my knowledge of the Vietnamese diaspora was limited to fragmented exchanges in online comment sections, either beneath contentious political Facebook posts or nostalgic nhạc vàng YouTube videos. In Toronto, I've befriended several Vietnamese Canadians of my generation or slightly older; people I've come to love and admire. We share remarkable commonalities. We grew up not with the sounds of Kalashnikovs and B-52s, but with internet memes. We all laugh when passing the Thuý Nga music store on Dundas Street because it evokes memories of wedding music or our parents' karaoke sessions. And of course, we share memories of cold weather, echoed in our parents' voices as they built careers beneath the snows of Toronto or Prague. The conversation only grows complicated when we discuss our grandparents, whose willingness to die for their respective causes stood in fundamental opposition.

‘Hai Người Lính’ (The Two Soldiers). Photo by Chu Chí Thành.

But after 50 years, does it really matter anymore? Today, their grandchildren watch the same Netflix shows, receive similar education, and navigate the liminal spaces between empires. We've all come to recognize globalization as quite bittersweet: older generations dying either for or against global capitalism, while younger generations question their identity within its remnants. What shared narratives can we, young Vietnamese, tell each other to foster understanding, healing, and to rebuild a world after older generations spent their lives at each other's throats?

In previous articles for Saigoneer, I've mentioned growing up with both nhạc đỏ and nhạc vàng, though I never truly appreciated them until I was far from home. These songs have become companions during my late-night study sessions these days. The more I listen and learn about their composers, the more I've come to question the rigid distinction between nhạc đỏ and nhạc vàng. I'm increasingly skeptical of the common belief that during wartime, North and South Vietnam represented two entirely separate cultural entities. The history of Vietnamese tân nhạc is remarkably unique: we sing about everything, from grand national ideals to the most intimate corners of the human soul. We sing despite political hardships. These songs are so nuanced. They capture human experiences that political narratives often flatten or erase.

In this piece, I wish to explore some of these nuances in Vietnamese music through the works of Phạm Duy, Phạm Đình Chương, Trịnh Công Sơn, and Trần Quang Lộc — musicians whose art transcended rigid political boundaries. Many of these compositions began as poems written by communist writers like Hữu Loan or Quang Dũng before being adapted into songs by artists from the Republic of Vietnam, creating an inadvertent artistic dialogue across the divide.

‘Bà Mẹ Gio Linh’ | Phạm Duy

‘Bà Mẹ Gio Linh’ (The Mother of Gio Linh) stands as one of Phạm Duy’s greatest compositions. It captures the grief and resilience of Vietnamese mothers during the First Indochina War. Composed in 1949, the song was inspired by a harrowing real-life event in Gio Linh, Quảng Trị province, where two local men, commune head Nguyễn Đức Kỳ and teacher Nguyễn Phi, were executed by French Union forces. Their severed heads were displayed publicly to intimidate villagers supporting the Việt Minh resistance. Phạm Duy (1921–2013), then a member of the Việt Minh’s cultural cadre, was deeply moved by the stoic dignity of one bereaved mother, whose silent sorrow became the emotional core of the song.

Choked with emotion, she says not a word
Packs her bundle to retrieve the head

According to American musicologist Jason Gibbs, the song notably avoids hatred and vengeance, even though it has a clear enemy. Instead, it focuses on the mother's humane and brave act of retrieving her son’s remains without uttering a word of resentment. Phạm Duy’s lyrical restraint gave the song its emotional resonance. As one admirer and former Việt Minh member put it, “anyone who listens must cry.” But these tears weren’t ones of surrender; rather, they were tears of empathy, solidarity, and motivation. Despite its popularity, the Việt Minh criticized the original lyrics as “negative” because they lacked overt revolutionary zeal. To ensure the song aligned with the movement’s ideological goals, changes were made to insert themes of struggle and class solidarity.

Thái Thanh's recording of ‘Bà Mẹ Gio Linh.’ Video via Diễm Xưa Productions YouTube page

Phạm Duy’s trajectory mirrors the complex relationship between art and politics in wartime Vietnam. A former Việt Minh cultural cadre, in 1951, he left the resistance in disillusionment over its censorship of creative expression. He moved to Saigon and became a central figure in South Vietnam’s musical renaissance.

Phạm Duy reflects in his memoirs that when he later abandoned Việt Minh and returned to Hanoi, he had to write a new version titled ‘Bà Mẹ Nuôi’ to avoid political persecution. The original lyrics, if sung in French-controlled territories at that time, could have led to his imprisonment. Yet, he remained deeply proud of the melody, inspired by Central Vietnamese folk music, and considered ‘Bà Mẹ Gio Linh’ one of the most glorious achievements of his life.

Phạm Duy (left) and his wife, Thái Hằng (right).

In the later years of his life, after decades in exile, Phạm Duy made the momentous decision to return to Vietnam. This homecoming in 2005 was not merely personal. It signaled a quiet healing, bridging North and South, revolution and exile, past and present. Having once been blacklisted by the Vietnamese government due to his defection and the politically sensitive nature of his work, his return was made possible through gradual cultural thawing and increasing appreciation for his artistic legacy. Upon his return, Phạm Duy resumed public life and continued to engage with younger generations, reinforcing his enduring influence on Vietnamese music and cultural identity. ‘Bà Mẹ Gio Linh’ was one of Phạm Duy’s earliest works to be officially licensed for circulation in communist Vietnam on July 21, 2005.

‘Đôi Mắt Người Sơn Tây’ | Phạm Đình Chương, Quang Dũng

‘Đôi Mắt Người Sơn Tây’ (Eyes of the Sơn Tây Woman) stands as one of the most profoundly moving romantic compositions in Vietnamese tân nhạc. It was crystallized from two renowned poems by the communist writer Quang Dũng (1921–1988): ‘Đôi Bờ’ (Two Shores) and ‘Mắt Người Sơn Tây’ (Eyes of the Sơn Tây Woman). Set to music by the great composer Phạm Đình Chương (1929–1991) in South Vietnam in 1970, the song isn't merely a nostalgic love ballad. Transcending both poetry and music, it depicts the longing for homeland and the yearning for peace.

Hà Thanh's recording of ‘Đôi Mắt Người Sơn Tây.’ Video via YouTube

The poems ‘Đôi Bờ’ and ‘Mắt Người Sơn Tây’ were written by Quang Dũng around 1948–1949, during the First Indochina War. Both pieces were dedicated to a young woman named Nhật, nicknamed Akimi, whom he had encountered in Sơn Tây. This fleeting yet incredible romance left an indelible mark on the poet's soul. It became the wellspring for his emotionally charged verses. The song's first four lines are extracted from ‘Đôi Bờ’ while the remainder comes from ‘Mắt Người Sơn Tây,’ creating a musical piece that is both cohesive and emotionally multidimensional:

Longing, oh longing, for whom do I yearn?
The distant river veiled by layers of endless rain
Your eyes, oh your eyes from days past, did they hold the sorrow of loneliness?
When autumn first arrived, when autumn first arrived one early morning

During the Nhân Văn–Giai Phẩm crackdown, however, these poems faced criticism for being petty bourgeois, overly sentimental, and inconsistent with revolutionary ideals. Quang Dũng, along with many other artists and writers, endured censorship and creative restrictions. Nevertheless, his work endured in the hearts of the public, particularly in South Vietnam, where ‘Đôi Mắt Người Sơn Tây’ received an enthusiastic reception.

A portrait of Quang Dũng.

In Saigon, the song quickly became a musical phenomenon, with Phạm Đình Chương (performing as Hoài Bắc) and vocalists Thái Thanh and Duy Trác establishing it as one of the era's most beloved compositions. ‘Đôi Mắt Người Sơn Tây’ is a symbol of love for homeland, longing, and the aspiration for peace. Despite weathering numerous historical upheavals, the song has preserved its artistic value and emotional resonance, becoming an essential piece in the treasury of Vietnamese music.

‘Áo Anh Sứt Chỉ Đường Tà’ | Phạm Duy, Hữu Loan

‘Áo Anh Sứt Chỉ Đường Tà’ (Your Shirt Is Torn at the Hem’s Seam), composed by Phạm Duy in 1971, is a poignant musical adaptation of the communist poet Hữu Loan’s 1949 poem ‘Màu Tím Hoa Sim’ (The Purple Color of Myrtle Flowers).

Hữu Loan (1916–2010) wrote the poem in 1949, during Vietnam’s anti-colonial war against France. Then a member of Việt Minh, Hữu Loan drew inspiration from the tragic death of his first wife, Lê Đỗ Thị Ninh, shortly after their marriage. The poem, written to mourn her loss, is a deeply personal elegy. Like Quang Dũng's ‘Mắt Người Sơn Tây,’ it focuses on the intimate sorrow of a soldier rather than glorifying the collective resistance.

I returned but did not find her
Mother sits beside the golden grave
The flower vase from our wedding day
Has become an incense holder

The poem’s initial circulation was informal, passed among friends and soldiers, as its personal tone clashed with Việt Minh’s preference for propaganda. Its publication was delayed until 1990, when it was included in the poet's only poetry collection ever published. The poem’s emphasis on individual emotion over political ideology made it a subtle act of resistance. It aligned with Hữu Loan’s later involvement in cultural dissent. In 1956, the poet joined Nhân Văn–Giai Phẩm. The movement’s suppression cast a long shadow over Hữu Loan’s career, but his work gained renewed appreciation after cultural reforms in 1986, when his name was quietly rehabilitated.

Elvis Phương's performance of ‘Áo Anh Sứt Chỉ Đường Tà.’ Video via Phuong Nam Phim YouTube page

Phạm Duy adapted the piece into ‘Áo Anh Sứt Chỉ Đường Tà’ in 1971, two decades after meeting Hữu Loan in a war zone. His composition blends multiple musical elements to capture both tragedy and heroism, closely following the poem's emotional depth. First performed by Thái Thanh in 1971 for the “Shotguns 25” album, followed by Elvis Phương in “Shotguns 26,” the song became a cultural phenomenon in South Vietnam. Its popularity among youth and intellectuals stemmed from its universal themes of love and loss, offering solace in a war-weary society.

A Portrait of the Poet Hữu Loan.

The performance of ‘Áo Anh Sứt Chỉ Đường Tà’ varies significantly between Vietnam and the Vietnamese diaspora, reflecting differing political sensitivities. In Vietnam, the song is often performed with its original lyrics, including terms like “bộ đội” (North Vietnamese soldiers) and “kháng chiến” (resistance war). These terms anchor the song in its historical context, referencing the anti-colonial struggle and the soldier’s life depicted in the poem.

In the diaspora, particularly among communities that left Vietnam after reunification, performances often adapt the lyrics to avoid associations with the communist regime. For example, “bộ đội” is replaced with “quân đội” (a general term for military), and “kháng chiến” is replaced with “chiến đấu” (fighting). A notable instance is Elvis Phương’s 1993 performance on Paris by Night 19; the rendition is often praised for its emotional delivery and subtle lyric adjustments to suit diasporic audiences. These changes reflect the complex sentiments of Vietnamese abroad, many of whom harbor reservations about communism.

‘Người Con Gái Việt Nam Da Vàng’ | Trịnh Công Sơn

‘Người Con Gái Việt Nam Da Vàng’ (The Yellow-Skinned Vietnamese Girl), composed by Trịnh Công Sơn (1939–2001), is a poignant anti-war song published in the late 1960s, during the height of the war agains the US. It depicts the suffering and resilience of Vietnamese women during wartime.

A young Trịnh Công Sơn.

The song appeared in Trịnh Công Sơn’s collection “Ca Khúc Da Vàng” (Golden Skin Songs), a series of anti-war compositions. Its release coincided with escalating violence, including events like the 1968 Tết Offensive, making it a resonant cry against the war’s brutality. Frequently performed at university campuses in southern Vietnam, it faced censorship from the Republic of Vietnam for its pacifist message, which authorities viewed as subversive. Despite this, its emotional depth and universal appeal, amplified by Khánh Ly’s soulful renditions, made it a cultural touchstone.

Trịnh Công Sơn's recording of ‘Người Con Gái Việt Nam Da Vàng.’  Video via JM JM YouTube channel.

The lyrics portray a young woman who loves her homeland deeply, likened to “đồng lúa chín” (ripe rice fields), yet is burdened by sorrow, with “nước mắt lưng dòng” (tears streaming down) and a heart filled with “resentment” due to the war's devastation:

She's never known a peaceful homeland
She's never seen Vietnam as it once was
She's never sung folk songs even once
She only has a heart filled with resentment and anger

Trịnh Công Sơn, Vietnam’s most celebrated songwriter, began his career with the 1958 hit ‘Ướt Mi’ (Teary Lashes), but his anti-war songs, including ‘Người Con Gái Việt Nam Da Vàng’ and ‘Gia Tài Của Mẹ’ defined his legacy. Despite censorship from both South and post-1975 Socialist Vietnam, his music, performed by artists like Khánh Ly and later Hồng Nhung, gained widespread acclaim. His melancholic songs about love and postwar reconciliation, such as ‘Nối Vòng Tay Lớn’ (Joining Hands), sung on Saigon radio on April 30, 1975 to mark reunification from his own perspective. 

‘Về Đây Nghe Em’ | Trần Quang Lộc

‘Về Đây Nghe Em’ (Come Back To Me), composed by Trần Quang Lộc (1949–2020), was crafted in the early 1970s in Saigon. Trần Quang Lộc, a young musician in his early twenties, was deeply moved by A Khuê’s poem from the 1970 collection “Vàng Bay.” Living in wartime Saigon, he earned a living playing music in tea rooms and bars, where he witnessed the stark contrast between traditional Vietnamese simplicity and the westernized urban culture. This societal shift, coupled with the poem’s evocative imagery, inspired him to set the words to music one sleepless night, creating a melody that captured both nostalgia and a yearning for cultural reconnection.

Tuấn Ngọc's performance of ‘Về Đây Nghe Em.’ Video via Thuy Nhan YouTube page.

The song’s lyrics paint a nostalgic picture of rural Vietnam. It includes images of traditional attire like áo the (a long tunic), wooden clogs, and simple staples like corn and potatoes. It urges listeners to reconnect with their heritage through “ca dao” (folk poetry), “hạt lúa mới" (newly harvested rice), and the innocence of childhood songs. The refrain “Về đây nghe em” is a heartfelt plea for cultural authenticity. It reflects a desire to preserve “Vietnam-ness” in a time of upheaval. The song’s humanistic message like “Để hận thù người người lắng xuống” (let hatred subside), resonates with a universal longing for understanding.

A portrait of Trần Quang Lộc.

Come back to me, come back to me
Come back and stand crying by the sorrowful river
Carrying people's hearts back to their homeland
Carrying souls into the cool stream
Carrying honesty into deception
And gathering flowers to express gratitude
All becomes desolate when we've finally met

While it was not explicitly a protest song, the song's call for returning to simpler, more traditional values can be seen as a subtle critique of the war’s disruption and the western cultural influences flooding Saigon. Its significance during the war lies in its ability to offer solace and a sense of identity to those grappling with loss and change.

In closing

The songs featured in this article transcend political divides and carrying the soul of Vietnam across generations and continents. They speak to universal experiences of love, loss, and longing for peace. For reconciliation to be possible, I believe we must accept that truth itself is multi-faceted. Belonging to a later generation, I wasn't born into the hatred and tragedy of the past. How should I regard the legacy of the generations before me, after years of conflict and bloodshed?

Today, as young Vietnamese from both homeland and diaspora connect through shared cultural touchstones, we inhabit this space together. These compositions aren't relics of division but bridges to understanding. I believe they are our legacy to the end of history, some of the finest sounds humanity has ever created.

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info@saigoneer.com (Vũ Hoàng Long. Graphic by Ngàn Mai.) Music & Arts Mon, 28 Apr 2025 10:00:00 +0700
Reframing War Memories via the Western-Vietnamese Photographic Perspectives https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28115-reframing-war-memories-via-the-western-vietnamese-photographic-perspectives https://saigoneer.com/saigon-music-art/28115-reframing-war-memories-via-the-western-vietnamese-photographic-perspectives

War photographs, often viewed as windows into the past tragedies, are believed to offer an immediate representation of reality. But what lies beyond the frame? What purpose did these images serve, and who were they meant for?

Most of us, especially those who grew up in Vietnam, at some point, have encountered countless black-and-white photographs and video footage of the American War — intense battlefields and the sounds of explosions broadcast through historical movies and documentaries. Although the war ended decades ago, these images still carry a powerful impact and somehow continue to haunt our minds today. For some, images of war can trigger emotional responses and become overwhelming. It can be difficult to remain conscious enough to comprehend and engage on a deeper level with the context beyond the frame. In those moments, the surrounding histories seem to fade, as if only the “truth” presented in front of us is what matters.

Installation view of ‘A Radial System’ at Dogma Collection.

Dogma Collection’s latest exhibition, “A Radial System,” brings together a series of photographs taken during the American War by foreign and Vietnamese journalists in the 1960s and 1970s, highlighting how photojournalists from both sides captured scenes of the battlefields, and how the images were deployed and circulated by the media, and consumed by the public at the time. Placed in dialogues with the historical photographs are works by contemporary artists Nguyễn Trinh Thi, Nguyễn Phương Linh and An-My Lê, from the collection of Nguyen Art Foundation. The exhibition offers the audience another perspective of how such images are consumed in today’s mass media, often shaped by particular agendas, and how we position ourselves when viewing and reinterpreting these images in the present day. The exhibition was held in partnership with the “Sensing Photography: Vietnam & Vectors of Global Histories” symposium (February 21–28, 2025), organized by Trâm Lương (Fulbright University Vietnam) and Jacqueline Hoàng Nguyễn (Konstfack & KTH Royal Institute of Technology).

Installation view of ‘A Radial System’ at Dogma Collection.

The exhibition title takes art critic John Berger’s essay ‘Uses of Photography’ as a point of departure. In his essay, Berger challenges the notion of photography as a linear medium that simply captures a moment or presents a single argument. He argues that photographs should reflect how memory works — radially. In other words, an image should be perceived and considered from personal, political, economic, dramatic, everyday, and historic perspectives. In the curatorial text, curator Minh Nguyễn states: “One approach is to present them (the images) ‘radially,’ alongside juxtaposing images and by opposing viewpoints, to break through their familiarity.” Throughout the exhibitions, photographs taken by western journalists are placed next to those by Vietnamese journalists, offering the audience the contrasting approaches in terms of composition, the vantage point of where the photos were taken, and how the photographs capture and portray human experience on battlefields.

Installation view of ‘A Radial System’ at Dogma Collection.

Photos taken by foreign and western journalists predominantly focused on American soldiers in action on the battlefield, also capturing their facial expressions of fear and exhaustion. When Vietnamese soldiers and ordinary civilians appeared in the frame, their images were frequently dehumanized, shown as victims of war or defeated figures, with an emphasis on suffering and devastation. These photographs were typically taken on the American side of the battlefield and centering on US military operations, including ground-level combat scenes, bombing raids, soldiers parachuting from helicopters, aerial views of towns and battlefields shot from aircrafts.

Henri Huet (1927–1971). ‘US Paratrooper, War Zone D’. May 14, 1966.

Installation view of ‘A Radial System’ at Dogma Collection.

In contrast, photographs taken by Vietnamese first-generation photojournalists — most of whom were employed by the state-run Vietnam News Agency (VNA) — offered a completely different visual narrative. These images focused on the daily lives of soldiers and ordinary people, presenting a more humanizing and intimate portrayal of life during wartime, while also promoting the beauty and vision of a socialist revolution. They conveyed a strong sense of community, resilience, and solidarity, highlighting the strength and spirit of people supporting one another through hardship, with an unwavering belief in eventual victory. The photographs featured in this exhibition were captured close to the ground, depicting deep forest camps, makeshift battlefield hospitals, rural villages, trucks traveling along the Hồ Chí Minh Trail, and moments of enemy aircraft being shot down.

Left: Võ An Khánh (1936–2023). ‘A performing arts class held by the Propaganda Department of the Southwest Region in the midst of U Minh Forest during enemy’s attacks’ (1971).
Right: Tim Page (1944–2022). ‘Widow and KIA husband evacuated to Quang Ngai airstrip’ (April 1965).

Unlike western photojournalists, who had access to high-quality cameras, high-speed films suited for low-light conditions, and the freedom to move in and out of war zones, Vietnamese photojournalists received limited technical training in analog photography and were often separated from their families for years while both reporting and supporting military operations. Developing their images involved long, dangerous journeys under the constant threat of airstrikes, with photo processing carried out in makeshift darkrooms set up in air-raid shelters. Meanwhile, large amounts of battlefield photographs and footage captured by western photojournalists were transported daily to professional labs via commercial flights.

Installation view of ‘A Radial System’ at Dogma Collection.

The differences in technical resources and political agenda on each side explain the contrasting approaches to newspaper headlines and the images circulated by respective news outlets. As showcased in the exhibition, while images of graphic violence and destruction were widely circulated in magazines such as LIFE, with headlines like “Saigon: Explosion by a Brazen Enemy” portraying the soldiers and civilians’ struggle against terrorist attacks, photographs published in Vietnamese news bulletins — such as those by the Central Workshop for Propaganda — were accompanied by headlines like “New Spirit of Construction” or “The Heroic North Defeating the US on the Transportation Front,” emphasising resilience and the will towards victory.

Nguyễn Trinh Thi. ‘Landscape Series #1’ (2013). Collection of Nguyen Art Foundation.

Works by Nguyễn Trinh Thi, Nguyễn Phương Linh and An-My Lê were set in dialogue with the war photographs throughout the exhibition, supporting the curatorial narrative and bridging the past and present. In ‘Landscape Series’ (2013), Nguyễn Trinh Thi recontextualizes photographs from online Vietnamese newspapers, each depicting a person pointing at something from a past event, a location, or something that is missing. Nguyễn Phương Linh’s ‘Sanctified Cloud’ (2013) evokes a multi-channel newsroom setup, with soft, blue, and cloud-like ethereal forms — which in fact, are photographs of bomb explosions. By detaching the original photographs and removing context from their original narratives, the works demonstrate how visual information can be manipulated to serve specific agendas, and how mass media can transform destruction and violence into abstraction, which is then consumed by the public. Towards the end of the exhibition, An-My Lê’s large-format black-and-white photographs ‘Tiger Cage’ — from “Small Wars” series (1999–2002) — document the staged performances by war re-enactment hobbyists in the forest of the American South. Resembling the nature of war photography, her works raise the questions regarding the purpose of war reenactment, whether it “represents morbid fascination or serves as catharsis, a way to process traumatic history.” 

Nguyễn Phương Linh. ‘Sanctified Cloud’ (2013). 195 UV-digital print on handmade ceramic sheets. Collection of Nguyen Art Foundation.

An-My Lê. ‘Tiger Cage’, from Small Wars (1999 - 2002). Collection of Nguyen Art Foundation.

This April marks the 50th anniversary of Vietnam’s Reunification Day (April 30, 1975). Across the city center, roads are being closed and stages are built in front of Dinh Độc Lập (the Independence Palace), making way for parades and preparations for this historic national celebration. Against this backdrop, and in alignment with this significant milestone, the exhibition reflects on how our country has been shaped and deeply defined by a long history of turbulence, warfare, and revolutions spanning centuries, where countless lives were sacrificed for the peaceful time we experience today.

Installation view of ‘A Radial System’ at Dogma Collection.

Yet, the exhibition is not about war photographs themselves, but about questioning the real purpose of real-time photography through “battlefield lenses.” In a world where history seems to echo through contemporary conflicts — and where those images are rapidly circulated on digital platforms today — these historical war photographs continue to hold a dialogue between the past, present and future, shaping our collective memory, national identity and ways of seeing. Perhaps, at this moment, it becomes more important to ask ourselves: how do we remember, what do we choose to remember, and how do we move forward from here?

Photos by Dương Gia Hiếu courtesy of Dogma Collection.

“A Radial System” is now on view at Dogma Collection until June 12, 2025. More exhibition info can be found on the website and Facebook page. 

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info@saigoneer.com (An Trần.) Music & Arts Fri, 18 Apr 2025 13:00:00 +0700