Ros Sereysothea was a supernova of Cambodian pop during the pre-Khmer Rouge cultural renaissance in Phnom Penh. You’d have to be deaf to ignore the transcendent quality of her voice. Her brief life was snuffed out at its peak, possibly by Pol Pot himself after she was forced to marry one of his assistants. Her story either reinforces the idea that humans are basically worthless assholes, or, more likely, is evidence that we are wonderfully complex and creative spectres who occasionally shove broken vases through the violent ether of life and emerge with bouquets of stinking flowers. I haven’t decided which.