He never got a statue, or a street named after him. Yet among vinyl collectors around the world, one name keeps resurfacing whenever the conversation turns to Cambodian rock of the 1960s and '70s: Yol Aularong. Far from the sentimental ballads that made stars of Sinn Sisamouth or Ros Serey Sothea, this fiery artist forged a style all his own — biting, ironic, almost punk before its time. His story, largely left in the shadows, deserves to be told.
