Michelle Lord is the author of the award-winning books Little Sap and Monsieur Rodin, illustrated by Felicia Hoshino (Lee & Low, 2006) and A Song for Cambodia, illustrated by Shino Arihara (Lee & Low, 2008). She lives in Texas, US, with her husband and their three children,

Music is one of the oldest and most meaningful forms of communication. Taking on an important role in many situations, such as entertainment, mourning, celebration, worship, tradition, therapy, and more, music plays an important role in the everyday lives of people of all cultures.

Music was a meaningful part of my own childhood. My parents loved listening to country music on the radio and Mom always had the latest Loretta Lynn, Willie Nelson or Conway Twitty album! My sisters took piano lessons and I learned to play the clarinet. I have very fond memories of listening to my favorite carols, O Come All Ye Faithful and Hark! The Herald Angels Sing in church on Christmas Eve. Holidays and family gatherings were never complete without my uncle busting out a few tunes such as Anchors Aweigh on his accordion, to the embarrassment of my cousins, my sisters, and me!

Later on, as a teenager, I traveled to Botucatu, Brazil as an exchange student for one year. I did not speak any Portuguese except for the word obrigado, which means thank you. The language barrier made my first months away from home difficult until I gradually met people and made friends. My Portuguese improved, but I did not truly feel at home until Carnaval. The Brazilian Carnival celebration is a mixture of Native, African and European elements of music, dancing and costume that can last for days. Dancing all night to the expressive drums, tambourines, shakers and whistles of Samba music together with my new friends made me feel like I belonged. It did not matter where I came from; we all reveled in the same joyous music.

My interest in other cultures grew over the years. I traveled to Nepal to help with a medical mission in a remote mountain community, and attended local Native American Indian Powwows. I first became interested in Cambodia when my husband and I chose to adopt a Cambodian child. Our long journey to meet our daughter (definitely worth the four long flights, the twelve-hour layover at Seoul airport and the bumpy ride down a washboard dirt road to the orphanage) led us to Phnom Penh, Cambodia's busy capital. The city had a song of its own: honking horns, bicycle bells, growling motorcycle engines, mingled with the chatter of busy people going about their daily business: and the music didn't stop there.

When we saw our daughter for the first time, she was lying in a woven basket suspended from the ceiling by colorful nylon ropes. The nannies kept the little ones happy by swinging the baskets and singing to them. These songs were unfamiliar to me, but I could feel their comforting tone.

Over the years I have tried to keep my daughter’s culture alive for her. Anything Cambodian catches my eye. So, one day while looking on the internet, I came across some sketches of Cambodian dancers. Upon further inspection, I found that these drawings were created by the famous French artist Auguste Rodin, in 1906, when he had been invited to a performance of the dancers and musicians of the Royal Cambodian Ballet at the Colonial Exhibition in France. From these findings came the beginnings of my book, Little Sap and Monsieur Rodin.

Rodin would have been used to the grand symphonies and operas common in Europe at the time, not the rich, serpentine sounds of the Cambodian court musicians. “I draw them with a pencil in my hand and the paper on my knees, enchanted by the beauty and character of their choric dances. The friezes of Angkor were coming to life before my very eyes... I loved these Cambodian girls so much that I didn't know how to express my gratitude for the royal honor they had shown me in dancing and posing for me.” Rodin's reaction to this experience conveys the universal power of music and dance to cross cultural boundaries and inspire.

More recently, music became a life-line for a Cambodian musician called Arn Chorn-Pond. I first heard about him in a documentary called “The Flute Player”, from which I learned about his childhood in Cambodia during the Khmer Rouge regime. The film inspired me to write about Arn Chorn-Pond and the importance music played in his survival.

In 1975 the Khmer Rouge under the leadership of Pol Pot, took over the country of Cambodia. Families were forced from their homes with only what they could carry, and separated into work camps for men, women, and children. They then had to work in the excruciating heat from sunup to sundown, with only watery gruel to eat. Soldiers burned books, artworks and musical instruments. Music essentially disappeared, except for the propaganda songs used to motivate the soldiers.

As a youngster in the children’s camp, Arn had to work hard all day, until the daylight disappeared. One day, soldiers chose him, along with five other boys, to learn to play the dulcimer-like instrument called the Khim. In the end, only the two best players survived: Arn was one of them.

My picture book, A Song for Cambodia, is the story of how music enabled Arn to survive the suffering and starvation of genocide through music. Arn had to play for the soldiers, but music helped Arn too. As he himself has said: “Music saved my life.”

90% of Cambodia’s artists did not survive the four years under the control of the Khmer Rouge; nor did centuries of tradition, art and music. Traditionally, compositions were not written down. Instead, music had been passed from fathers to their children and from musical masters to their students. Now much of it has been lost forever.

By the time the Khmer Rouge was overthrown in 1979, Arn was living in a refugee camp, his family gone. Eventually he was adopted by a minister, who brought him to America and found him a Cambodian instrument to play. Gradually, by playing music again and speaking about the horrors he had lived through, Arn not only began to heal himself, but also showed other at-risk youth how to express themselves through music instead of violence. Even though these kids didn’t all share the same cultural backgrounds, they could all feel the power of music.

Posted August 2009