Have a glass of groovy, politicized Chanpan with us

“What a crazy-ass time we live in,” said musician Matthew Tran, standing on Valley Bar’s stage on Sept. 23.

The crowd nodded and yelled in support. They followed the lead of Tran and the rest of his bandmates, Lance Tran and Grace Dumdaw. Boos to the government. “Free Palestine” and “Fuck ICE” chants. The masses danced and sang in joy, but also protested in indignation.

This is Chanpan, a New York-based band not to be missed, not only for its enjoyable tunes, filled with danceable beats and mellow tones, but also for its clear self-awareness of what is happening around us.

Chanpan’s bandmates have deep immigrant roots. While the Tran twins are children of Vietnamese refugees, Dumdaw came to this country after escaping war-torn Myanmar. Growing up in diverse restaurant environments in America, they developed a sense of connection across different races, sexual preferences, socioeconomic backgrounds and, ultimately, through their art. After all, like Matthew Tran puts it, musicians are workers, too. 

“In the kitchens, we grew up around people from Honduras, Ecuador, El Salvador, Mexico, Vietnam, Thailand, everywhere. And when I’m on tour, I love seeing how diverse our audience is, that our music reaches and connects with people,” Matthew Tran said. “It makes me very emotional.”

And unlike those Ed Sheeran-esque musicians who shield themselves from politics to keep filling their wallets, Chanpan likes to be outspoken.

“Everything is political. Music is political. We are all influenced and shaped, whether we like it or not. So it’s not a matter of acknowledging it or not, but speaking that into existence,” Lance Tran told me after the show.

As I chatted with the band, Matthew Tran mentioned past experiences working on political campaigns, while Dumdaw has been an activist for Myanmar’s displaced Kachin people.

“The privilege of being an American carries worldwide, and I am protected to an extent, but I’m also quite aware that all of us could be political refugees at any point because we are at the mercy of the higher powers,” she said. “So when you have all that protection, how can you not take up, you know, all the fire and all the arms and be so loud? But then there is a part of me that’s afraid, and I’m an immigrant.”

The group also addressed the tendency of the music industry to “box in” Asian artists into specific categories, like K-pop or anime aesthetics. While they acknowledge these trends, they aim to resist being consumed as products of hyper-capitalism, seeking instead to use their platform to “say something real.”

“The civil rights movement, the Asian American movement… all these artists of color before us, their work was to humanize us, and that work gave us a chance to be accepted,” Lance Train said. “K-pop shifted everything and opened doors for us to exist, but that is also hyper-capitalism. It is a product. It doesn’t leave much room for them to express, be political, be human. So I hope that we take this door that opened, take this opportunity, you know, and metaphorically blow some shit apart.”

There’s some drum and bass. Perhaps some batucada and funk. Maybe some R&B. Who knows? Who cares how you define it? People dance and jump. A guy wearing a Mickey Mouse Sorcerer hat jumps up and down. Another one, his face covered in plain white makeup, stares and dances.

Music can have a message. But it can also be made for pure enjoyment. Or, even better, both. 

“We just like making songs and we like having fun and we like saying stupid shit and jumping around on stage,” Lance Tran said. “At the same time, I think that every child in the world should have the ability to do that.”