It may read as an unlikely development, but Los Angeles’ Dengue Fever has matured into a veteran outfit. A sextet composed of five crack instrumentalists fronted by the superb Cambodian vocalist Chhom Nimol, their latest album The Deepest Lake continues to combine Cambodian pop and tasteful psychedelia with an ever-widening pool of global flavors. It reinforces an existence eschewing pastiche, and is available now on vinyl/CD/digital via their own Tuk Tuk Records.
It bears repeating that Dengue Fever easily stand amongst recent history’s most atypically conceived units, but perhaps even more impressive than an unusual formation is how the group, which in its initial stages existed essentially as a cover band (with a heavy focus on the iconic/enigmatic Cambodian vocalist Ros Sereysothea) has lasted for well over a decade.
Instead of a starting point, Dengue Fever’s eponymous LP of 2003 registered on arrival, at least somewhat, as a culmination of interest kick-started by Cambodian Rocks, a compilation of material sourced from ‘60s and early ‘70s tapes retrieved in the country of its title by tourist Paul Wheeler and disseminated by the Parallel World label.
This isn’t to imply Dengue Fever’s emergence wasn’t a hep occurrence, but it’s also hard to deny the aura of highly meticulous tribute that largely surrounded their debut. Formed by guitarist-vocalist Zac Holtzman (formerly of San Fran-based ac Dieselhed) and his keyboardist brother Ethan, they’re filled out by bassist Senon Williams (ex-Radar Bros.), drummer Paul Smith, horn specialist David Ralicke, and most importantly Cambodian-born lead singer Chhom Nimol.
Since the release of Dengue Fever they’ve grown both stylistically and in stature; increased attention came with ‘05’s Escape from Dragon House, the band devoting energy to original compositions, and ‘08’s Venus on Earth widened the fanbase substantially. From there, ‘11’s Cannibal Courtship broadened the sonic palette and was also considerably polished; their sole disc for the Concord Group, it occasionally unfurled like a Cambodian pop B-52s.
That’s not to infer an underwhelming time, though I do slightly prefer the effervescent nature informing The Deepest Lake. It’s a quality seemingly deriving from a newfound collective freedom; hitting racks through their new label Tuk Tuk, the record evolved out of extended jams transpiring while they worked in the studio.
Opener “Tokay,” which references an Asian gecko of particular cultural importance, layers synthetic rhythms and live drums to instill a warm atmosphere enhanced by an almost Bollywood-Hindi vibe (not unfamiliar territory for Dengue Fever), this aspect decidedly prevalent in the keyboard textures. Along the way Zac’s guitar is clean and immediate, and Ralicke’s trumpet emerges slyly.
Following is “No Sudden Moves,” featuring crisp drumming, surf-spy elements (with a Morricone-esque solo) and gusts of gruff sax. However, it’s ultimately carried by an indefatigable (if unperturbed) bass line, Williams’ anchoring presence opening the cut; he steps up the intensity during Nimol’s brief and engaging flurry of Khmer rapping.
Breezily uptempo and employing tandem vocals is “Rom Say Sok,” the music an unstrained blend of sci-fi futurisms and spy/noir; imagine ample gals in go-go boots gyrating wildly in cages as a cut-rate James Bond imitator romances someone looking suspiciously like Barbarella. Durand Durand! There’s even a Vegas-style horn section and room for a big-rock solo.
Slowing down and scaling the situation back is “Ghost Voice,” the LP’s longest track. It’s more traditionally inclined overall; Nimol is excellent, the guitar lithe and vibrant, Smith’s kit-work tight and tough, and with Williams’ round bass notes constantly in the pocket. As it progresses, horns and strings deftly creep in.
The psychedelic feel blossoms significantly during “Deepest Lake on the Planet,” Smith riding his cymbals as the instrumentation promotes an air of mysteriousness. Nimol is sultry without overdoing it as Ralicke expertly intertwines with Zac’s snaky guitar passage; throughout The Deepest Lake, the whole band acquits themselves like a bunch of session aces.
As led by Nimol’s consistently appealing delivery the approximate title-track leads into the direct, perky popish region of “Cardboard Castles.” And on “Vacant Lot” synthetic rhythm motifs again mingle with Smith’s percussion, flute, and keyboard assisting in conjuring a languid, humid setting; once more, trumpet enters late to fine effect.
“Still Waters Run Deep” is succinct and speedy, the pace suggesting the pursuit of nefarious criminals by plainclothes cops, a chase utilizing gas guzzling cars, an overstuffed, squalid transit system and labyrinthine stairwells; it’s all captured on grainy film-stock, and the soundtrack employs numerous facets ensuring a non-trite environment, e.g. skronky sax blasts, a surplus of hand percussion, and dandy keyboard swells near the end.
As its title implies, “Taxi Dancer” is more than suitable (as is the majority of this platter) for the writhing of torsos, though as it unwinds there’s also a touch of melancholy about it. And Nimol indeed possesses serious range; regarding this number, for some reason I keep thinking of Blondie in crossover mode. Additionally, the touches of group-support vocalizing are quite welcome.
The slow and simmering “Golden Flute” provides a nifty exotica-flavored closer, but as stated above, it’s an ambiance lacking in kitsch or pastiche. Herein, Zac’s digits are especially deft, and even more so Ralicke’s alto flute playing. And while the self-production is solid across both sides, “Golden Flute” offers notable depth of field, some instruments distant and others in the foreground.
The cumulative weight of these ten selections infers the six-piece is at the top of their game; if not Dengue Fever’s best album, it’s certainly close. Furthermore, the smooth if not necessarily subtle cross-pollination of diverse components shows no sign of exhaustion, and their combined sense of what works and what doesn’t is as sharp as ever.
It’s worth adding that nothing is subversive (nor has there ever been) in Dengue Fever’s approach to the ‘60s-‘70s pop of Southeast Asia. Some have faulted the early stuff as skirting the ballpark of novelty (others have accused them, unconvincingly by my lights, of aural tourism), but in retrospect the methodology seems to have been getting the basics down pat (and with Nimol aboard the basics are going to sound pretty swell) before building upon it; over ten years hence, The Deepest Lake is a sturdy piece of architecture.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
