For his tenth album, Homescape [ACT], Lê chose to distill that approach into a series of duos between himself and either oud player Dhafer Youssef or trumpeter Paolo Fresu. The project intrepidly mixes and mingles jazz, rock, electronica, and world music influences from Vietnam, Africa, Papua New Guinea, Sardinia, and Australia.

“I didn’t want to make a typical duo album in which the guitarist tries to play bass, chords, and melodies at the same time,” explains Lê. “Rather, I wanted to use the huge space available in a duo to go deeper in both extremes—minimalism and intimacy on one side, and orchestral electronics on the other. I wanted to listen to the breath of each note just before it vanished, and, most importantly, feel the immediacy of the companion musician. The overall concept was to keep the sessions simple, fast, and informal. However, on the post-production side, I took a methodical, laboratory-like approach in which I reshaped the recordings through digital editing to bring themes and songs out of 45-minute-long improvisations.”

As the album’s title implies, the self-produced and engineered sessions took place in Lê’s home. He employed a Mackie 24/8/2 mixing board, and an Apple Macintosh G5 running software that included MOTU Digital Performer 5 and MachFive, and Native Instruments Reaktor 5 and Absynth 4. Lê ran his Julien Gendre Tao guitar through a Maxon RCP660 Real Compressor, Boss GT8 Guitar Effects Processor, Lexicon PCM 81 Digital Effects Processor, and Korg KP2 Kaoss Pad Dynamic Effect/Controller to create the album’s varied atmospheres. Everything was routed through a Universal Audio 2-610 Dual Channel Tube Preamp, and captured with a MOTU Traveler FireWire Audio Interface.

“I’ve made home recordings for a long time, but Homescape is the most complete experience I’ve engaged in,” says Lê. “I prefer not to struggle with a sound engineer to accept my point of view. Once you master the tools, home recording means complete freedom of scheduling, as well as cheaper expenses. It also blurs the line between conception and production, and playing, recording, and mixing. On the post-production side, it allows me to experiment for countless hours using the craziest editing and effects possible.”

His Julien Gendre Tao guitar is a custom instrument designed to build on the best qualities of his previous James Trussart electric with an array of unique aural and cosmetic additions.

“The idea behind the Tao was to create a more personal guitar that reproduced the neck and fret dimensions of the Trussart,” says Lê. “It has a maple body and neck, with EMG SA single-coil active pickups in the neck and middle positions, and an EMG 89 split-coil active humbucker in the bridge. There’s also a small acoustic chamber that provides great warmth and complexity to the sound, with more subtle dynamics. The shape of the body is inspired by Chinese calligraphy, and it’s painted with Chinese black ink. When I play the Tao, it feels like a genuine extension of myself, through which I can express every nuance—from the most tranquil water to the wildest fire.”

Lê’s guitar playing is influenced by musical principles from Vietnam—in particular, an intervallic approach dominant in that country’s musical culture.

“Vietnamese music is based on pentatonics, which you can consider as several ways of playing the same scale from different starting points,” he explains. “For instance, you have major scales starting on the root, minor scales starting on the sixth, and suspended scales starting on the second. This is pretty typical for jazz musicians, but things get interesting because of the frequent use of wide intervals such as octaves, ninths, and tenths, and fewer intervals. In some minor pentatonics, the seventh can be skipped because it’s more of a passing note.”

Integrating Vietnamese and Western scales is a hallmark of Lê’s albums, beginning with 1996’s Tales from Viêt-Nam. Making them work together can be easy or challenging, depending on the context.

“When I improvise and when I write, I have to consider chords and inspiration,” he explains. “The more Western the context—for instance chords with well-tempered harmony and modulations—the more difficult it is to use quartertones and improvise with Vietnamese inspiration. I’m more inclined to sound Vietnamese if there is no chord, one chord, or a few chords in the same tonality. Examples of that include ballads or trance hypnotic grooves. In general, it’s easy to superimpose Asian scales on Western harmony, but it’s difficult to do that with taste and balance—especially with live musicians who have to react to your sonic proposals. Things are always more interesting when borders are pushed back, such as when a new, modulating chord is harmonizing a traditional melody. This has to be done with major care because traditional Vietnamese singers don’t like that. One solution is to create a diatonic harmonization when the melody is sung traditionally, as well as incorporate a different, more modern one with a sophisticated counterpoint.”

Another of Lê’s key approaches is shadowing the harmonies and melodies of other musicians—such as sax and trumpet players—without precisely mirroring them.

“I like the idea of multiple open unison, in which several musicians play the same melody, but each one infuses it with his own taste and sense of freedom,” says Lê. “Sometimes, you’ll recognize which instrument is doing what, and sometimes not. For me, this idea may have its origins in how instruments accompany the lead vocal in traditional Vietnamese music. For instance, zither, lute, and fiddle players will all play the melody, but in their own way, and then meet at a specific unison moment within the pivot note of the phrases. It’s a great way to comp when there are no chords or bass in the music.”

At the core of Lê’s sonic philosophy is the idea of letting go of musical preconceptions in order to embrace traditions, and propel them forward. 

“So many world-music projects are artistically dead, because you feel there’s no respect for the human relations between cultures,” he says. “You have to go beyond tourism and exoticism, and really learn and adapt yourself to the other music. Don’t be afraid to forget some of your own references in order to make that happen. For instance, the first time you hear a quartertone in North African music, it will sound like a wrong note. Then, you’ll learn to recognize it, play it, and even sing it. If you have embraced the tradition deeply enough, your own identity will have evolved, as well. At that point, the fusion is inside of yourself.”