Though self-penned and recorded in the UK the songs are inspired by the band’s experiences on two continents. Tiger Phone Card tells of a long-distance romance between Phnom Penh and New York, with the method of communication as prominent in the title as the brand of beer drunk before the calls are made. Economic necessity means it’s a situation many Phnom Penhois know well. Cambodians just can’t resist a sad song.

Mr Orange is a full-steam rocker, the sort of song that made Huoy Meas a star at the end of the 1960s. Using the unique sound of the Khmer rock-music explosion of the late 1960s and early 1970s as its template, Dengue Fever reminds us of a forgotten time and bring it back to life in the 21st century. You can almost smell the jasmine.

Who even knew there was a Cambodian rock scene flourishing in Phnom Penh during the days when the city was haven for those trying to escape the war in neighbouring Vietnam? Where singers such as Sinn Sisamouth, Ros Sereysothea and Pan Ron were as revered as Bob Dylan, Aretha Franklin or Janis Joplin and rocked as hard as Santana, Them and The Kinks. 

In 1975-9, their idyllic way of life was destroyed by Pol Pot’s Maoist government, and among those singled out for the worst treatment were the artists. Dancers and musicians were systematically eradicated, yet their spirit lived on long after the Khmer Rouge lost power. In the 1990s, when normality finally returned to the streets, people wanted to dance and sing again. All they had, however, were the old songs and their memories.

In 1997, Ethan Holtzman picked up some cassettes of the old pop hits at the central market of Phnom Penh while backpacking through Southeast Asia; thousands of miles away, in Los Angeles, his brother Zac was listening to Cambodian Rocks, a bootleg CD with many of the same songs.

Although neither had any idea what the tunes were called, what the lyrics said or who the artists were, the unique blend of what sounded like a combination of psychedelia, jazz, 1960s pop, Brazilian Tropicalia, Bollywood soundtracks and surf music soon had its hooks in them.

With good friend Paul Dreux Smith on drums, they decided they needed a vocalist who could both understand the songs and do them justice. Ethan takes up the story: “After a couple of weeks listening to the music, we wanted to see if we could put a project together to play it, so we had to find a singer. That’s one great thing about LA, it just so happens there’s a very large Cambodian community in Long Beach, in our back yard. We got lucky.” Nevertheless, it wasn’t until they met a Khmer in a pool hall that they got on the right track. He told them they should be looking in the local restaurants, where singers entertain diners before passing round the karaoke microphone.  Enter the supremely talented chanteuse, Chhom Nimol.