AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS

Dusdi Banomyong, 75, has lived in three countries, worked in a coal mine and was recently named a National Artist for her musical contributions to Thailand

At 75, Dusdi Banomyong magically retains her youthful vibrancy, sparkling in her compact physique and well-kept hairdo. As serious singers and vocal coaches often do, she speaks softly and constantly sips water, as to not strain her prized voice.

Dusdi is among those recently named a National Artist for 2015, recognising her contribution to Western music in Thailand as both a teacher and performer. Dusdi is a pioneer in voice training in Thailand. She is currently still a teacher, oversees the Suanplu Chorus, chairs a music-related charity project, writes articles and hosts a radio show. And she shows no signs of slowing down.

“I listened to music ever since I was in my mother’s womb. It must have left a long-lasting impact. Science today tells you that playing classical music to a foetus greatly helps expand its mind, because classical music is logical and develops in such a way that you need to stretch your mental powers to understand it. My mother played piano beautifully, and she played all the time. When I was born, my older sister also began to take up piano. So my entire life, I’ve been glued to music,” she said.

Dudsi was born to Pridi Banomyong, the late prominent political statesman, exiled prime minister and founder of the Seri Thai (Free Thai) Movement, and Thanpuying Poonsuk. She was the fifth of six children. She politely plays down the extraordinary events of her life, perhaps out of humility or the need to avoid digging deeper into the past. Her father’s political troubles — Pridi fled Thailand in 1949 after a failed coup against Field Marshal Plaek Phibunsongkhram — took her to China, London and Paris, before bringing her back to the Kingdom.

“Father was strict. He liked things to be in order. He was also very fair. He was modest. He wore the same suit for 35 years, and that was the one we buried him in,” she said.

Dusdi credited her love for music to her parents. Pridi did not play any instruments, Dusdi said, but grew up with a musician father and grandfather, implanting in him a deeply-rooted love for music.

“He encouraged us to take up music. He even sent my sister to study music abroad. It was quite progressive for the time — unheard of for a father to send his girl abroad, let alone study music. He never forced us to be anything. He didn’t care that we weren’t doctors, lawyers and all that. He just wanted us to be good people. That was what mattered the most to my parents.”

When she turned 15, Dusdi moved to China with her family. She fondly remembers her time there, as she said the Chinese government then treated her family very well. She documented her time there in a memoir Mae Yak Lao, Chewit 72 Pee Tee Pan Loei ( Mother Wants To Tell You, The 72 Years Of Her Life), published three years ago. The family lived in a nice house and had a car, but her father insisted she should live like any other young Chinese citizen, so she was sent to do communal work in the rice fields.

“I didn’t put this in my book, but father also sent me to work in a coal mine,” she said.

“I was very young then and I didn’t think much of it. I actually thought it was a lot of fun. It was just that my face and my hands turned black, and it took some cleaning up before they looked normal again.”

Dusdi continued studying music while in China. During her high school years, she didn’t take it very seriously. But while attending the Beijing Central Conservatory of Music, where she earned her bachelor’s and master’s degrees, majoring in voice and minoring in piano, she began to buckle down.

“There were only 20 of us in the voice department. My classmates were amazing. They were truly talented. I remembered being ranked 18 out of 20. It was then that I knew I needed to keep up with everyone,” she said.

Her father’s next move was to Paris. Dusdi followed him, finding work as a pianist at a music institute in Caen, a town 200km outside of Paris. She didn’t think she would be offered the job, but luckily none of her competitors turned up. She stayed at the job for two years, after which she furthered her studies at the Royal College of Music in London.

Dusdi returned to Bangkok in 1975, where she struggled to find a job as a musician or music teacher. Dr Puey Ungpakorn, the late bureaucrat and economist, helped her get a job at the French embassy.

Her first foray into teaching began when she appeared on television, playing piano and singing.

“I wasn’t that great, but there was a girl who really wanted to learn from me and she reached out. It started from there. Then more people started to come. My students came out on top when they auditioned for spots in the Thai Youth Choir, and judges began to ask where they had been taught, so that was how I got involved.”

Noted for her role in solidifying and popularising voice education in Thailand, Dusdi has taught at numerous universities, given private lessons and oversaw what is now the KPN music contest for more than 20 years. She has since given up teaching pop singing.

“A lot of pop singers who lack foundation and proper techniques are harming themselves. They seem to just yell out words, and they don’t realise that their vocal chords can eventually be ruined. My style of teaching varies depending on where I’m teaching. When I teach in universities, I am far more strict because the students need to make their grades. But for private lessons, I am more relaxed. But at the end of the day, music is about happiness and perseverance. I believe in discipline, practise and passion,” she said.

As much as she loves teaching, Dusdi refuses to teach children. She believes that a person must first enter puberty to undergo proper training. When aspiring singers start too young, she said, it can be harmful to their vocal chords, which are not yet fully developed. That can prevent them from singing altogether when they are older.

“Maybe it’s in my bloodline to be a teacher because my father was one, too. The joy of teaching is giving, and that makes me really fulfilled and happy beyond words. Having said that, teaching is not always smooth sailing. I’ve had my run-ins with students over the years. I feel hurt by some incidents with them. There have been misunderstandings, but I tell myself to live in the present, not the past.

“I can die right now. I’ve done everything I’ve ever wanted to do. But I still worry about my projects. I want them to be better than they are now so that music can be even more appreciated. Also, I want to see all my students grow and prosper,” Dusdi said.

Maybe it’s in my bloodline to be a teacher because my father was one, too. The joy of teaching is giving, and that makes me really fulfilled