When Le-Vy Nguyen belted out the lyrics to the Vietnamese song "Bien Tinh" in Little Saigon earlier in August, claps and whoops of appreciation rose up from the crowd. Nguyen is the lead singer and guitarist of hi hi hi (pronounced "hai hai hai"), a Southeast Asian American indie rock band. She was joined on stage by drummer and arranger Shaun Mejia and bassist Jon Chu.
The band hi hi hi is composed of three former coworkers at The Wing Luke Museum, endearingly referred to as "The Wing." Their multi-genre music reflects their Southeast Asian American heritage and is a conduit for bridging intergenerational chasms and authentic expression of lived experience. They're also part of a movement striving to cultivate more music venues in Little Saigon.
The band's name comes from an endearing misspelling of "hee hee hee" from an email Nguyen's mother sent years ago. Nguyen's family arrived in the United States from Vietnam the day before Saigon fell in 1975. The name hi hi hi is a nod to what can get lost (or gained) in translation among immigrant families navigating English as a second language. It also serves as an invitation. "It's warm, disarming, playful, and that reflects the type of music we can write," said Nguyen.
Nguyen grew up in one of two Vietnamese families in Longview, Washington. Now she lives in Renton, where she and her children are more connected to a larger Vietnamese community. Bassist Chu, the son of Burmese immigrants, hails from the suburbs of Fresno, California, where he didn't have a strong connection to the Asian American community, let alone his Burmese family's language and culture.
"I grew up where everything was erased and flattened until white noise," said Chu. "You don't know where things come from or where things go."
Now, Chu is a resident in Beacon Hill, where he's found a Burmese community he can relate to. He says he was inspired to connect to his roots through a Burmese American exhibit at The Wing.
Filipino American drummer, arranger, and vocalist Mejia grew up in Oʻahu, Hawaiʻi, and now lives in the Chinatown-International District (CID). Mejia, Nguyen, and Chu each recounted how working in the CID environment and at The Wing, whose mission is to uplift the voices and stories of the Asian American diaspora, sparked deeper exploration about where their families came from and inspired a desire to give back to the neighborhood.
One of their original songs is called "The Moon." The name is inspired by a karaoke bar called Moonwalk, where band members used to go on 6th and King Street.
Nguyen wrote the lyrics, inspired by the rousing buzz in the neighborhood as people gathered in after-hours meetings and attended City Hall stand-ins to speak out against Sound Transit 3. The project's plans for a new light rail station in the CID would potentially wipe out a number of small Asian immigrant businesses.
Meet me at the moon
We'll sing our requiem
You can take my hand
We will keep marching on
Don't you dare let go
"No matter the political situation or personal differences, the community comes together, and I wanted to write a song that acknowledged that," said Nguyen.
In preparing for a performance celebrating Seattle's Little Saigon earlier in August, Nguyen reached out to her parents for guidance on how to pronounce the words for the Vietnamese hit "Bien Tinh." It was her first time performing a song in Vietnamese, and Nguyen said it wasn't an easy feat when her American accent slipped through.
"[It was] really special that I could share that moment together [with my family]. It's typically pretty quiet in our house. When we're in the house together, our conversations are pretty limited," she said. When they got on Zoom and Nguyen shared her screen with the lyrics, her parents "lit up," bringing a different dynamic to their usual interactions.
In Chu's home, music has deepened conversations with his family since he began exploring Burmese music styles.
While recently spending time with his parents, Chu's father was reminded of a Burmese song when his mother pulled out some seeds for a hibiscus variant whose flowers change color through the bloom cycle.
The song his father was thinking of shared the same name as the flower — "thone pan hla." He talked about the song, its lyrics, and his favorite version.
This sent the whole family, including Chu, rifling through his father's CD collection.
When he finally found the song, "my dad burst out in glee." It was the version of the song he'd been thinking of.
Chu's parents shared the meaning and subtext of the song along with their own memories about it with him. Chu said that context wouldn't have been found online.
"Music brings something out in my family that's hard to access by other means."
This summer, hi hi hi has been playing shows in Little Saigon.
Nguyen says it's been therapeutic to perform for an audience who shares a similar background.
There are many Asian American bands bringing new music into venues in the CID and Little Saigon neighborhoods, according to Mejia.
He said the Little Saigon and CID community wants musicians in places that aren't usually meant for music at all, like coworking spaces and small businesses. Those places include venues like Little Saigon Creative, where the coffee shop Hello Em is located, and the design firm Drag & Drop Creative. These are multiuse gathering spaces that daylight as small businesses and moonlight as creative gathering spaces for activities like music events.
"People of color, Southeast Asian people, and people on the margins come to Little Saigon to connect to the community and the culture here. We want them to be here in their space," wrote Felix Tran, arts and culture specialist at Friends of Little Saigon, which runs Little Saigon Creative.
Little Saigon is looking to create larger, more flexible gathering spaces to encourage event and gathering opportunities.
These include more live music, festivals, and activities that align with neighborhood planning goals to revitalize the area.
"Music lets us step into conversations and spaces that we've historically been left out of — or pushed out of," Nguyen said. "It's a way of reclaiming space, not just physically but culturally and emotionally."
This article is published under a Seattle Human Services Department grant, “Resilience Amidst Hate,” in response to anti-Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander violence.
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