With ears comfortable to the sounds of the hums of quê hương, or quê nhà, my parents listened to an evoked past that reverberated well into the present. Whether in an open space or behind closed doors, it was not difficult to observe the looks of resignation and years of suppressed historical fatigue on our parents’ stilled faces as they carefully listened to each nốt nhạc. But when we listened to the music’s flow, it always fluctuated between connotations and ambiance, inevitably creating tension and instability in our family where only one type of music defined our parents’ life. The textures of those sounds-sometimes dramatic, sometimes hopeful-created a metrical combination of dichotomous words. ![]() Nhạc Việt Nam occupied a large space in our house with its gentle yet purposeful slow vibrations of chordophones or the breezy wooden flute sounds serving as overtures in an otherwise quietly guarded home. Relistening to nhạc Việt Nam always brings me back to a time when my parents, particularly my mother, culturally maintained my siblings and me by regulating what types of music we could listen to. ![]() ![]() Tình đẹp là tình bơ vơ Beautiful love is lonelyĬhờ người đến bao giờ…? How long can a person wait?
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |