An aging opera diva in Phnom Penh, a rap group from the rough side of Lowell,

Massachusetts, and a selection of ancient instruments immortalized in Angkor's

temple carvings. An odd mix, but not as strange as you might think.

Yim Saing, perhaps the best woodwind player in Cambodia, was working as a mobile barber in Phnom Penh when Arn found him.

They

may seem unrelated, but these are just some of the elements the Cambodian Master

Performers Program (CMPP), which records the country's forgotten musical

masters, has included in its projects both here and abroad.

CMPP is

best-known for its efforts to track down the old practitioners of Cambodian

music and opera and record their songs. These musical legends are also employed

to teach selected groups of students to ensure their knowledge of songs and

styles lives on after them.

Cambodian-American Arn Chorn-Pond, the

creative force behind CMPP, has tracked down ten masters in the US and eight in

Cambodia. CMPP currently has an archive of more than 200 songs.

"We've

probably got the biggest collection of traditional Cambodian music in the world

- all performed by masters," he says. The age of many makes it a race against

time.

"Ninety percent of the artists were killed [during the Khmer Rouge

regime]," he says. "Of the survivors about 7 percent are still in Cambodia; the

rest ended up in other countries as refugees."

CMPP had its beginnings

when Arn visited Cambodia to find his family whom he had not seen since

1975.

"My father owned a famous opera company in Battambang," says Arn.

"He had four wives - all were actresses."

Chek March, one-time celebrated opera diva, found this record cover in which she stars...

Arn had 12 siblings and many

half-brothers and sisters, but when he located his family in 1991 he found very

few had survived.

"I met my mother and she told me about my family. Most

of them died because they were artists," he says. "I thought, 'My God what

happened to our culture?' She told me about my father: he was supposed to train

me to continue the tradition, but I was too young [to learn] before the Khmer

Rouge took over. He died and that's a waste, but he accomplished a

lot."

Arn says this gave him a strong feeling that he should carry on the

tradition. The idea to seek out the old masters crystallized a year later when

he found his old music teacher, Yoeun Mek. It was an emotional reunion. The two

had last seen each other at Wat Alk, near Battambang.

"The Khmer Rouge

put me in Wat Alk where I was forced to watch a lot of killings," he says. "I

was ten years old. Then the Khmer Rouge decided to have a revolutionary music

and dance troupe. We had not had food for two or three weeks, so I put up my

hand to be a musician."

The children selected were given more food, which

Arn believes saved his life. Yoeun Mek was one of two teachers brought from a

nearby cooperative. The first teacher was killed after only five days.

"I

didn't even ask his name," says Arn. "I'm lucky they didn't make me kill him

- the KR played games like that."

Arn Chorn-Pond, creative force behind the Cambodian Master Performers Program.

Arn's instrument was the khim, similar

to a harp but struck with bamboo sticks. He says music saved his life and his

sanity.

"They allowed me to practice at night. That's the reason they

didn't kill me, because I played for them," he says. "I learned to play in the

dark and my mind would go off somewhere. Back then the sound of the khim made me

feel like heaven."

When Arn found his former teacher in 1992, Yoeun Mek

was a barber in Battambang.

"Mek hugged me. He was crying uncontrollably,

and he's a very tough guy. He said 'I thought you were dead. I feel like this is

a message. I know you have something for me to do'."

Arn paid for Mek's

customers who were waiting to have their hair cut and asked Mek to spend the day

playing for him. People began to gather round and listen. It was then that Arn

decided to search for and record the surviving old masters to ensure their

skills and talent were not forgotten.

The concept is reminiscent of the

Buena Vista Social Club, in which US musician Ry Cooder tracks down the old,

forgotten musical legends of Cuba. At that time, though, Arn had not seen the

film.

"I thought I was the only one in the world who had the idea," he

says wryly. "Then I saw the Buena Vista Social Club. They did good. It should be

everywhere [not just Cuba or Cambodia]. It's not necessary for any culture or

society to forget the old people."

While his dedication to the old

masters continues, Arn has recently been working with a hip-hop group called

Seasia, whose three rappers are former gang members from Lowell,

Massachusetts.

Lowell has the second-biggest Cambodian population in the

US, and many of the Cambodian-American youth are involved in gangs. Arn

encountered Seasia while working as a youth worker.

"Those guys were

making trouble," he says. "They were the leaders. If I wanted to talk to the

younger ones, I had to go through them first otherwise I could get

shot."

Although initially suspicious of him, they eventually forged a

relationship through their common bond of music. To teach the gang members how

to play the khim, Arn brought in Bin Phan, one of the old masters he had

discovered in Lowell.

"He was so happy to play again and to teach them,"

he says. "At first they were not interested because they liked rap. I told them

that two or three thousand years of traditional music was going down the tubes."

Arn told the gang members about the old masters he had found living on

the streets of Cambodia, or in slums eking out a living: Chek March, the great

Bassac opera diva, had been selling charcoal and cigarettes; Yim Saing, who Arn

dubs 'the best woodwind player in Cambodia', was working as a mobile barber.

Their talents and skills were overlooked, their glory days all but

forgotten.

"So [Seasia] said to me, 'Why don't we incorporate the

traditional music into our hip-hop and popularize it again?'."

That was a

year ago. Seasia has since recorded a track with the sounds of the Khmer flute

and the charpey, a two-stringed guitar. The band toured Cambodia at the end of

last year and plans to return and build a studio where local youth can record

modern music infused with traditional Khmer sounds.

CMPP's efforts to

revive traditional music extend beyond mixing it with rap and recording

forgotten stars. Another project in Siem Reap teaches students traditional songs

and music using instruments of ancient design.

The project was set up by

Wat Bo's senior monk, Pin Sem, well-known for his efforts to preserve Khmer

culture. He was concerned about the encroaching Thai and Chinese influence not

only on Cambodian music, but on the instruments themselves. He started a

collection of what he regards as 100 percent Cambodian instruments, many of them

several hundred years old.

"You don't see these instruments anywhere

else. Some of them we had to get custom-made," says Sem.

CMPP became

involved with the project when Arn visited Wat Bo last year. The organization

tracked down a master to teach the kseideo, perhaps the oldest and rarest

instrument in the country. He was living in Takeo, but now teaches at Wat

Bo.

Pin Sem says he doesn't want the music to die before he

does.

"These musical instruments are carved in the temples [of Angkor]. I

don't want them to be forgotten," he says. "Nowadays most people in Cambodia

don't even know the [true Khmer] music. If they hear it they will ask, 'What

kind of music is that?' It's up to these students to keep the music alive,

because they are the last ones to learn."