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2. The Sound of Burmese Pop Songs

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Burma's Pop Music Industry
This chapter is in the book Burma's Pop Music Industry
Chapter TwoThe Sound of Burmese Pop SongsOn February 16, 2008, I was among thousands of excited people attending an Iron Cross concert at Kandawgyi Park in Yangon. For the uninitiated (and this would exclude virtually every citizen of Burma), Iron Cross—or IC, as they are usually called—is the most famous and successful of contemporary Burmese rock bands. The group has sold many thousands of albums. The quickest way to mark IC’s success is to point out that the band has toured outside of Burma. In 2004, for example, they played dates in Japan and the United States.1 How-ever, like the handful of other Burmese acts who have performed abroad, IC remains virtually unknown to the outside world. Its only audience is Burmese, at home and in the diaspora. That night, the excitement was palpable: the members of Iron Cross are veritable stars, almost heroic fi gures to their fans. Scalpers on the street hawked tickets for 5,000 kyat (or $5), a markup of 500 kyat from the offi cial price.My two companions and I abandoned our taxi at the gate, realizing that the crush of people would prevent us from advancing by car. As concert-goers surged past me, I noted that most seemed to be under thirty years of age; that men outnumbered women by about fi ve to one; and that virtually no one was wearing a longyi (the traditional Burmese unisex skirt). Blue jeans were the uniform of the evening. And the slogans on t-shirts affi rmed the wearers’ affi nity for international youth culture: I saw numerous shirts celebrating David Beckham, Che Guevara, the FBI, and the US Army, and a few young men sported defi ant slogans such as “F**K the Revolution” and “God Made Grass.” But I was most interested to see many people wear-ing the logos and names of pop bands. All of the groups represented were American and British bands; the misspelled Likin [Linkin] Park t-shirt was the most popular. There were no t-shirts representing any Burmese bands—even Iron Cross.Arriving at the natural amphitheater where the stage was set up, we were enveloped by the crowd. There were no seats (as there had been for another concert I attended in the same venue a month earlier), and everyone was forced to stand. The luckiest were high up on the hills or very close to the stage. The dense crush of bodies in the darkness gave rise to the feeling of being in some different, out-of-the-norm place and time. And this was rein-forced by the behavior of my friends, a man and a woman who were hugging—hugging!—each other in public. (I was amused to realize how shocked I was by this; clearly, after only a few weeks in Yangon, I had begun to absorb the mores MacLachlan.indd46MacLachlan.indd 469/27/20119:53:05PM9/27/2011 9:53:05 PM
© 2011, Boydell and Brewer

Chapter TwoThe Sound of Burmese Pop SongsOn February 16, 2008, I was among thousands of excited people attending an Iron Cross concert at Kandawgyi Park in Yangon. For the uninitiated (and this would exclude virtually every citizen of Burma), Iron Cross—or IC, as they are usually called—is the most famous and successful of contemporary Burmese rock bands. The group has sold many thousands of albums. The quickest way to mark IC’s success is to point out that the band has toured outside of Burma. In 2004, for example, they played dates in Japan and the United States.1 How-ever, like the handful of other Burmese acts who have performed abroad, IC remains virtually unknown to the outside world. Its only audience is Burmese, at home and in the diaspora. That night, the excitement was palpable: the members of Iron Cross are veritable stars, almost heroic fi gures to their fans. Scalpers on the street hawked tickets for 5,000 kyat (or $5), a markup of 500 kyat from the offi cial price.My two companions and I abandoned our taxi at the gate, realizing that the crush of people would prevent us from advancing by car. As concert-goers surged past me, I noted that most seemed to be under thirty years of age; that men outnumbered women by about fi ve to one; and that virtually no one was wearing a longyi (the traditional Burmese unisex skirt). Blue jeans were the uniform of the evening. And the slogans on t-shirts affi rmed the wearers’ affi nity for international youth culture: I saw numerous shirts celebrating David Beckham, Che Guevara, the FBI, and the US Army, and a few young men sported defi ant slogans such as “F**K the Revolution” and “God Made Grass.” But I was most interested to see many people wear-ing the logos and names of pop bands. All of the groups represented were American and British bands; the misspelled Likin [Linkin] Park t-shirt was the most popular. There were no t-shirts representing any Burmese bands—even Iron Cross.Arriving at the natural amphitheater where the stage was set up, we were enveloped by the crowd. There were no seats (as there had been for another concert I attended in the same venue a month earlier), and everyone was forced to stand. The luckiest were high up on the hills or very close to the stage. The dense crush of bodies in the darkness gave rise to the feeling of being in some different, out-of-the-norm place and time. And this was rein-forced by the behavior of my friends, a man and a woman who were hugging—hugging!—each other in public. (I was amused to realize how shocked I was by this; clearly, after only a few weeks in Yangon, I had begun to absorb the mores MacLachlan.indd46MacLachlan.indd 469/27/20119:53:05PM9/27/2011 9:53:05 PM
© 2011, Boydell and Brewer
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