You probably know To Van Cao as resident DJ at Rinse France or, more recently, as a member of the duo Otto Diva. It's as a producer, and singer, that the artist decides to take the next step in her trajectory in the music industry. She recently began learning the Đàn bầu, a traditional Vietnamese instrument, which enables her to forge a link with her heritage, and then integrate it into her electronic work. We wanted to find out more about this journey, his creative epiphanies, and the focus of his hybrid DJ set for the Girls Don't Cry festival taking place in Toulouse from November 24th to 26th.
mana: Hello To Van! You've recently started learning the Đàn bầu. What sparked your interest in this traditional Vietnamese instrument?
To Van Cao: I became interested in Vietnamese music during the pandemic and with the desire to affirm my origins following the prejudices that arose on the Asian community in relation to the disease and I did some research to educate myself. I came across a compilation by Pham Duc Thanh , who is a specialist in Đàn bầu. It blew my mind, especially a track that translates as "Music from my homeland". The melody made me want to cry. There's something really visceral about my reaction to Đàn bầu. It's an instrument that imitates the inflections of the human voice. It reproduces intonations in the language
And how did you come to play the Đàn bầu yourself?
I wanted to learn this instrument, except for the fact that it's very rarely taught in France. That's not very surprising. But I found a conservatory that gives access to rarer instruments from India, for example. It was my teacher at the conservatory, whose contact I got from a Vietnamese friend in London, who found me my instrument.
You got out of your comfort zone to learn this instrument, which doesn't seem to be easy to get to. I also understand that it's more of a male instrument. Did that motivate you to embark on the journey?
Today, anyone can play it. It no longer has any connotations.
Legend has it that it was a woman who was looking for her husband, who had gone off to war. She had everything stolen and was even blinded. In fact, it was played for a long time by blind people in Vietnam, to earn a living. A fairy is said to have given her the Đàn bầu. So it all started with a woman. Then it was exclusive to men. I don't know from when, but it was very much discouraged for women to hear or play it, thereafter. It's a charming instrument! In any case, there's a lot to be dug up on this subject, its historical evolution, the place of women as musicians in Vietnam, and so on.
I understand you've launched initiatives to invite people of Asian origin to create more inclusive spaces.
In our scene, there aren't many artists of Asian descent. But I've connected with people who are, based in London, Norway, or even a friend Kim who's in Rotterdam, there's also Poinçon du Fata Morgana. There's something to do in Paris. Often, when I say that there aren't many Asian artists who are known in electronic music, people say "Yeah, there's Peggy Gou". That's often the argument we give to racialized people: we take an example and say it's good, but we need more Peggy Gou. In London, I think they're really good. There are the Eastern Margins parties for example, which are packed. I'd love to launch some parties, but I'm not a programmer specifically and I'd like to concentrate on my career as an artist for the moment.
I'm going to be playing for the Vietnamese collective Nhạc Gãy at Point Ephémère on November 24, and I'm really excited because I think it's the first time there'll be a line-up made up entirely of Vietnamese artists.
Speaking of careers, you recently took the microphone in Otto Diva, an electro-punk duo. Did you decide to take this direction naturally, or did you feel a certain weariness or restriction when it came to mixing?
When I was just a DJ, I used to tell myself that you had to have Mariah Carey's voice to sing, otherwise it's dead. You have to know how to sing and hit notes. Then, one day we did a B2B with Dom, who was more into electro. We thought it was cool. Then he shared with me that he'd been wanting to set up a band with someone who sings for a while. I told him I didn't sing, even though it was something I wanted to do, and he said "give it a try". So I gave it a try and it was like an epiphany. I'd put up a barrier because I thought it wouldn't work. But then I realized that my voice was my instrument too, so I started using it.
I wasn't necessarily conscious of empowerment. I just realized that using words could also convey intentions and emotions. It was also at this point that I started writing texts, which I thought were the preserve of academic poets. This step enabled me to break down certain barriers I'd set myself.
So you had entered a phase of change?
That's exactly it. It's a bit of an extension of a self-discovery, even if DJing electronic music has been going on for longer. But really, I've only been exploring this creative artistic side of things for two years now.
You just have to try it. I didn't dare use Ableton, I thought it was a geek thing, not for me. Maths wasn't for me either. There's this very masculine aura around production. But you have to get into it. It's an apprenticeship.
Do you think your relationship with electronic music has changed since you started playing an acoustic instrument and singing?
Well, it's funny because I used to play tracks with vocals. I mean, in my sets, I always have a moment where I use vocals. I really like doing that. But I'm exploring more now. Typically, for the Girls Don't Cry Festival, I'm going to make my own prods and take my mic to do a hybrid DJ set where I'm going to mix lots of genres (electro, techno, grime...). So maybe it's an extension of that practice.
How has your approach to electronic music evolved?
This won't make me any younger, but I must have started mixing just over ten years ago. It was a hobby, and I certainly didn't want to make a career out of it. Well, it's been a year now, and I've quit my job. So there you go. Back then, there was no insta. You go out, you meet people like that. On the other hand, there was already Soundcloud Mixcloud. Finally, your image was you. Today, that work is just on the Internet. But you also had to do social work.
I remember back then, I used to dress all in black. But I was in super-simple black t-shirt mode, because I didn't want anyone to think that I was there because I was a chick. I felt very alone. Nowadays, with networks, you can see who's who.
Have you ever been prejudiced by the fact that you play with your image, that you like fashion, that you play with these codes?
What's really hard with this kind of prejudice is that it's never "in your face". I don't think it's easy to know what people think of you, because people don't necessarily say what they think about you. But one time a woman said to me "ah yes, you must think sometimes, yes it's because I'm sexy that I get bookings". I got confused, because for me it's so impossible for that to be the case.
I once made a playlist based on a photo of me in my knickers in the bathroom, and a fifty-year-old wrote to me. I complained about it, saying that just because I take that kind of photo doesn't mean it's an invitation, and I lost a lot of followers at the time...
You're not safe at all. Men aren’t the ones who usually get this kind of message.
No, but I'm shocked by the self-service attitude that men can have towards women. There's a strange relationship to image. I tell myself that it's not necessarily necessary to make a career: you've got people who succeed without taking part in all that, like Skee Mask, Object DJ Bus Replacement, there are some, but they have concepts.
In any case, I was brought up to think that a chick has to be pretty. I mean, it's your looks, it's an integral part of you. There's pressure to be presentable. And to be sweet, presentable, lovable. And when you don't fit into that pattern, it's conflictual.
When I talk to men about it, they say, "What kind of pressure are you talking about? Everyone's free to do what they want. But what they don't understand is that when you're a woman, people are much more likely to judge you and be demanding with you on a lot of subjects they don't even have to face: whether it's music or social issues.
My last question: "Girls don't Cry", is it true?
No, but I cry all the time. For me, it's really one of my ways of expressing myself. It soothes me. I know I used to cry a lot when I was little, and I got a lot of criticism for it. It was hard to deal with.
Crying is courageous, just like the festival's program, which puts us in the spotlight.
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You can follow To Van Kao here.
Tickets for Girls Don't Cry Festival are available here.
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