We heard snatches of Lao music throughout our stay in the country but the soft traditional sounds played in Luang Phabang restaurants didn't make much of an impression. The moment we truly became conscious of Lao music was the bus from Phonsavanh to Vientiane.
This bus left 3 hours late and arrived even later, having caught a flat en route, and stopped at every godforsaken hamlet on the outskirts of Vientiane. There was a very nervous hill tribe looking grandmother literally quaking in her seat at the front, and a delightfully neat and cheerful old man with a large assortment of tools. The seats were broken and made out of sweaty pleather but all of these discomforts paled in comparison to the music.
The driver had installed special huge karaoke speakers in the luggage rack. I was seriously considering either cutting the wires or "accidentally" spilling my water bottle over one of them. Why? Because for virtually the entire trip they blasted out music at such volume that even with iPod on full blast I could still hear it.
And what music! As Pearl described earlier, they like their cowbell in Laos. The standard song structure began with a softish intro, then a blare of synthesized accordion would ring out signalling the inevitable arrival of the cowbell. The cowbell is played four times per bar, on the beat. Without fail. After 8 bars there would be a little militaristic snare roll, another blare of accordion and then off into the cowbell again.
Sad songs, happy songs, male or female vocal, this virtually never varied. Occasionally there would be a song when the cowbell was only on the offbeat, but otherwise the formula was rigid. I speculated that there was one single solitary copy of Fruity Loops in Laos, and it was owned by a very lazy producer.
This bus wasn't the first time we had encountered this music- the first time was actually quite enjoyable. When we first got off the bus in Phonsavnh we were met by a group of men waving boards with pictures of guest rooms on them. This was a familiar experience - these guys had been in every city. Being grumpy I tried to avoid them, but Pearl chatted to them and scored us a free ride into town. The boss man was a diminutive chap called "Incey" with a curtains haircut (shades of early 90s Aaron Kwok) and a penchant for oversized white shirts. He was very friendly and organised a tour of the plain of Jars for us.
But Incey's time to shine was when he took us to the H'mong nightclub. Incey was H'mong and wanted to show us how superior H'mong culture was to Lao culture. He told us he'd been to a nightclub twice in his life, and that both times it had been this one. He also told us he ddn't like beer but he really liked Pepsi (everyone in Laos seems to love Pepsi).
The nightclub was 20 minutes outside town and consisted of a bar, a stage, a dancefloor, a bunch of sofas and a liberal sprinkling of fairy lights. It was, to be fair, a lot cleaner and nicer than the Lao nightclub we'd been to the night before (the one featuring a "Hip Hop Paty DL"). We bought Incey a Pepsi then he rushed over to talk to his 'girlfriend' - one of the hostesses.
We were a highly novel item in the club and everyone either stared fixedly at us or yammered excitedly and clinked glasses with us. Then the music started up, played by one man and his casio keyboard. It was the same synthesized cowbell, accordion and military band combo except we weren't so attuned to it yet. For each song the (exclusively male) clientele would pair up with a hostess each and slow dance.
We got up and danced with our rudimentary waltz style, spiced up with twirls et al. Wearing hiking boots. So it was not a picture of grace. However the club was agog. Incey told me I had to dance with his girlfriend later (luckily he forgot about this). Next up was Pearl singing a song. It was supposed to be Carpenters but ended up being Richard Marx. Nobody was dancing. But a white knight arrived in the form of a very muscly farmer in a singlet, who took my hand in a firm grip and we proceeded to twirl each other around the dancefloor while he did some rather disturbing hip-wiggling movements. Pearl's honour was saved!
Our final encounter with Lao music came in the form of a cabaret show in a rather down-at-heel hotel near our guesthouse in Vientiane. We were expecting a dirty show, to be honest, but got something entirely different and more charming.
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It was a shabby place full of nappy red velvet and pleather and full of far more waiters than customers. But the old man singing on the stage with his greasy-jacketed band exuded an old-world courtliness that completely transcended the seediness of the venue. We bought beers and settled down to watch the show. They had a succession of performers, singing mostly Lao songs, many of which featured the time-honoured formula (a hostess would sometimes come on stage to play the cowbell). There was one lady, very tall, very immaculately put together, who did a duet with a doddery man with an unfortunate mullet, who had an extraordinarily good voice. It seemed like she'd once had high hopes of stardom but was realizing she was now too old and was stuck with this cabaret show, but still putting her best foot forward. The man she was partnered with was a hopelessly inadequate foil for her, and she completely drowned him out. We imagined her whacking him around the head backstage, but to be honest she was far too ladylike for that.
Occasionally there would be a showcase. This took two forms - the first was that a couple would come out and whirl around the dancefloor in very professional ballroom style with all sorts of fancy moves. He: Korean looking, Chino clad and so expert a dancer that he looked half asleep while performing tricky footwork. She: tiny Lao hostess type in incredibly unflattering mini-shorts/dungaree/halterneck thing. The second was that six girls in traditional Lao garb would come out and do that opening and closing hands dance common to Lao and Thailand. These girls were clearly hostesses, but what was fantastic was that they were so modestly dressed and doing such a polite dance despite purpose of the whole thing.
We were, throughout, overwhelmed by the decorousness of it all. Despite the fact that there was probably all sorts of nastiness happening in the back rooms, in the main hall it could have been the dining room of the Titanic, albeit a budget version. Ultimately this was probably the nicest thing about Lao - whether it was the simple peasant folk in Incey's h'mong club or the old-school version of urban sophistication we encoutered in Vientiane, there was a delightful straightforwardness and politeness to the whole place. Sure it was grubby and the people somewhat lackadaisical in their attitude, but the manners on display would put the stiffest upper lips of Chipping Sodbury or the brightest dental charm of Georgia diner waitresses to shame.
