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CHRIS ROBERTS: Under the fluorescent lights of a Concordia College classroom, one generation of Hmong is passing on a musical heritage to the next.

[QEEJ PLAYING]

KENG LOR: My name is Keng, and I'm 19 years old. And I teach qeej class at Concordia University.

CHRIS ROBERTS: The qeej is an L-shaped configuration of bamboo pipes. Keng Lor has been playing the qeej since seventh grade when his parents pressured him to take lessons. He's not a master, but he's quite good. His 9 and 10-year-old students watch attentively when he gives a demonstration.

[QEEJ PLAYING]

If there is a universal instrument among culture, Lor says the qeej is it.

KENG LOR: No matter where you go, if you say qeej, then almost anybody who's Hmong will know what it is. They should at least.

CHRIS ROBERTS: Some people think that qeej is the Hmong equivalent of the Scottish bagpipes, minus the bags. Like the pipes, the qeej is a reed instrument, designed so the musician can make sounds sucking in or blowing out. Its music is like an extension of Hmong language. Each note represents a word. To Hmong people, the sounds of the qeej are like speech.

[QEEJ PLAYING]

KENG LOR: People who are familiar with the qeej or they know how to play it, they know what the music is saying because it says certain words. So that's how we know what the qeej is saying.

CHRIS ROBERTS: Qeej players are storytellers performing centuries-old ceremonial songs. They often dance while they play. In Lor's class, the students learn to spiral quickly to the left or right and do complete circles while holding the instrument.

[QEEJ PLAYING]

KENG LOR: We believe that there's like ghosts, spirits, that when you blow the qeej, spirits come after you. And so when you turn around in circles, that's how you lose a ghost, so they can't follow you.

CHRIS ROBERTS: The qeej is played primarily at Hmong funerals to pay tribute to the dead. You also might hear it at the annual Hmong New Year celebration in late fall. It has a sacred role in Hmong culture. Keng Lor is among a relatively small number of younger Hmong preserving the tradition.

KENG LOR: I'm very glad my parents signed me up because it makes me feel stronger about my background, where I come from.

CHRIS ROBERTS: If the qeej can be traced back through Hmong history, Hmong hip hop traces the more recent history of the Hmong.

[DELICIOUS VENOM, "TEQUILA MOONRISE"]

(SINGING) Arise out of the darkness open your eyes see the flashing glimpses of your past life of your past life pass me the knife so I can take a slice of your attention not to mention Delicious Venom took your perception and stretched it took your tombstone and sketched it took your bone and made you fetch it neglected memories get infected

CHRIS ROBERTS: The carnival-like beat in the song "Tequila Moonrise" is the work of Delicious Venom, featuring rappers and brothers, Tou Saik and Vong Lee. Several Delicious Venom songs speak of the persecution of the Hmong in their homeland of Laos and their struggle in America.

But a Delicious Venom side project is even more of a bridge to the past. Fresh Traditions pairs Tou Saik with his 65-year-old grandma, Youa Chang, in a spoken-word collaboration.

[CHANTING IN HMONG]

Chang practices the traditional art of kwutxhiaj or poetry chanting. Her grandson asked her to perform with him at a festival joining old and new artistic forms. They both decided his Americanized spoken word and her chanting were so comparable and compatible, they began a partnership.

TOU SAIK: It comes from the same soul, and it's a voice. You're giving a voice to your community and your perspectives. And even my grandmother, when she saw us perform, she said, that's something that's similar to what I do.

YOUA CHANG: [SPEAKING HMONG]

INTERPRETER: We're both speaking about our lives, and we're both speaking about how to live well. And so that part is very similar.

[CHANTING IN HMONG]

CHRIS ROBERTS: Chang has been chanting since she was 10. In the mountains of Laos, she performs songs about village life and courting. Back then, it was entertainment for teachers and clan leaders. In Saint Paul, her chanting has taken on a more serious tone.

YOUA CHANG: [SPEAKING HMONG]

INTERPRETER: A lot of my songs are about how difficult it is to be here in America and how Americans have the opportunity to go to school. And they can write things down, and they get all the jobs. And they get all the work. And so being a Hmong person, we work really hard, and we struggle to survive. And that's what most of my songs are about now.

TOU SAIK: Generation after generation, we've been warned by elders lost in what is who we are. Never had a country of our own, no place to call home. We come together for New Years and soccer tournaments to create our own nation. The passion we have for our families, how we unite at times of devastation, it's sacred, you see. The sacrifices--

CHRIS ROBERTS: At a Fresh Traditions performance, Lee and Chang alternate back and forth. Sometimes Chang will make up a chant on the spot like a freestyling rapper. Lee often gestures to the crowd while his grandma chants, encouraging them to wave their hands as if they were at a hip hop concert.

Toward the end, the chanting and the spoken word begin to mesh together. Chang says she and Lee are closer because of their collaboration.

YOUA CHANG: [SPEAKING HMONG]

INTERPRETER: I'm happy to do this with my grandson because it gives us something to do together, and we can tell our stories and that people can understand what we go through.

CHRIS ROBERTS: Unlike the music of the qeej, the art of Hmong poetry chanting may be in danger of being lost. Chang says Hmong youth don't seem to be interested. And if nobody makes an effort to learn kwutxhiaj, it will probably die with her generation. I'm Chris Roberts, Minnesota Public Radio News.