Pou Vannary, the Cambodian who sang Carole King in Khmer
She came late to the Phnom Penh pop scene, in 1969, and six years later it was over. Pou Vannary accompanied herself on guitar, spoke English, and translated into Khmer the songs she picked up from American radio. What remains of her is a few recordings, a photograph taken around 1974, and no date of death.
On the Khmer rock compilations reissued over the past twenty years, one track always stands apart. Amid the fuzzed guitars and high, tight voices, a young woman sings “You've Got a Friend” in a calm, almost offhand register, accompanying herself on acoustic guitar. That is Pou Vannary, sometimes spelled Pov Vannary. It is also about all most Western listeners know of her.
Spotted singing at home
Nothing is known of her childhood beyond this: she learned tunes by heart, from the radio or from records at home. Her career began by domestic accident. The bandleader Ghhuon Chhing Eam heard her singing at her house, for her own pleasure, and invited her to join his ensemble. Her mother was firmly against it — for a young woman at the time, being a performer carried an awkward reputation.
Vannary did not break through immediately. She trained under established composers, Mok Chhuon, Nou Nhong and Mok Sivutha. She made her public debut in 1969 at the National Congress festival, with Sinn Sisamouth on the judging panel. After the 1970 coup that brought Lon Nol to power, she joined the orchestra of the Khmer Republic army's 3rd Infantry Division, as several artists of her generation did.
A guitar in a woman's hands
Two things set her apart. First the voice: relaxed, without the taut high notes that were the signature of Ros Serey Sothea or Pen Ran. Then the guitar. She accompanied herself, in the manner of the American singer-songwriters of the day, which was not common for a Cambodian woman on stage. It is sometimes written that she was the first woman to play guitar on a Cambodian stage; the claim circulates widely but rests on no solid source, and is worth treating with caution.
She spoke English, which let her do something few of her colleagues could: adapt the lyrics herself. In a 1974 interview she listed among her covers “You've Got a Friend”, “Beautiful Sunday”, “Yesterday Once More”, “Mother of Mine” and “Without You”. “You've Got a Friend” was written by Carole King; it was James Taylor's version that travelled the world, and that is the one Vannary took on, in Khmer.
Not merely an importer
Reducing Pou Vannary to her covers would be inaccurate. She kept singing the Khmer repertoire, traditional songs and romvong. In modern music she favoured slow tempos and boleros. Among her better-known recordings in that register: “យំអស់ទឹកភ្នែក” (“Cried All My Tears”) and “ទឹកហូរ” (“Flowing Water”). She also recorded original songs in a Western idiom, such as “ចម្រៀងវិស្សមកាល” (“Vacation Song”). Her records came out on Apsara, Hanuman, Pous Meas and Thas Meas.
One detail from the archives says a good deal about how seriously she worked: before a recording session she cut out salty and spicy food, peanuts and fizzy drinks, to protect her voice.
After April 1975
Her career ended on 17 April 1975, along with the entire scene. Phnom Penh was emptied, city dwellers sent to the fields, foreign music banned. Pou Vannary disappeared in the years that followed. Her exact fate is undocumented: no place, no date, no circumstances. As with most of her peers, it is assumed she did not survive, though no source allows it to be established.
Her recordings met the same fate. Little came through the regime, and what exists today comes from private copies and rare vinyl. Her version of “You've Got a Friend” appears on the soundtrack of the documentary Don't Think I've Forgotten, released in 2015; other tracks have resurfaced on the compilations Cambodia Rock Spectacular! and Cambodia Rock Intensified!, issued by Lion Productions.
The documentary team spent ten years reassembling this repertoire. They obtained access to the national archives, worked with musicologists to restore some twenty tracks from vinyl in very poor condition, and hired a detective to track down the owner of a home video. That is what it cost for one Pou Vannary song to be listenable today.
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