Amid the busy rhythm of Vietnamese life in Atlanta, there are still those who quietly preserve a corner of deep, graceful Vietnamese music for themselves. Architect Hùng Ngô is one of them.
Behind his calm, thoughtful demeanor as an architect lies the heart of an artist. He has played guitar, harmonica, and pan flute since his youth and once led the student band at Van Lang University in Saigon during its early years.
After nearly twenty years in the U.S., Hùng quickly adapted to his new life, working with several major architecture firms. Though his profession keeps him busy, he always reserves a quiet corner for music. Late in the afternoons, he often finds peace with his acoustic guitar, letting each note carry him back to his younger days in Saigon.
He no longer performs in an official band, but music remains an inseparable part of him. He enjoys connecting with others, bringing his gentle guitar sound to small Vietnamese community gatherings.
“Vietnamese music is rich because of its lyrics,” he says. “Every song is a story, a feeling. That’s why I want to bring acoustic music back to where it belongs — a space for listening and empathy.”
Hùng observes that the entertainment “menu” for Vietnamese people in Atlanta today is rather limited. Most gatherings involve a few sentimental songs before moving on to upbeat dance music. “Entertainment takes center stage,” he reflects, “while appreciation — the act of truly listening — is fading. And with that, the beauty of the Vietnamese language in music is also fading.”
He adds, with a quiet sadness, “In Georgia, it’s nearly impossible for Vietnamese musicians to make a living with their art. That says something about our musical culture: we need fewer people to play music, and more people just to play music from a device. I hope, with my passion, I can help change that — even a little.”
Those who know him speak with admiration:
“Hùng puts his heart into everything he does. Whether it’s a building design or a melody, there’s always care and depth in it.”
Another friend shares, “He doesn’t talk much, but when he plays, his eyes tell stories. Singing with him feels like rediscovering a part of myself.”
Within him, the architect and the musician are never separate. One deals with lines and light, the other with sound and emotion. Deep down, he carries a quiet dream — to see the Vietnamese community here have moments of stillness, to reconnect with themselves through the pure, profound beauty of real music.
A beautiful dream, born from a heart that loves both people and art.
