Composer Trịnh Công Sơn once wrote: “In music, Văn Cao is as noble as a king. In the field of song composition, I am like a child dreaming that the sun is a paper kite to play with. Brother Văn's music is the music of soaring fairies. I wander among the human realm. He keeps flying and I keep sinking. Flying and sinking in our private destinies...”
In the gentle warmth of Vietnam's spring air, as television sets flicker with familiar melodies, one song rises above the rest: Văn Cao's ‘Mùa Xuân Đầu Tiên’ (The First Spring). Yet behind this unofficial Tết anthem lies a story of genius and tragedy, of revolution and reflection, that most of my generation has forgotten. To understand its significance, we must first understand its creator, a revolutionary who dared to question the revolution itself.
The birth of a masterpiece
The story begins in the spring of 1976, as Vietnam took its first breaths as a unified nation. The song's creation, emerging just months after the American War's end, was nothing short of miraculous given the post-war political climate. More than six months after April event marking the ending of the war, the newly established Sài Gòn Giải Phóng Daily — founded mere days after — embarked on an ambitious mission. They dispatched two reporters from Cứu Quốc newspaper, Minh Đăng Khánh and Xuân Thu, to Hanoi with a singular purpose: commission a song from Văn Cao to celebrate both spring and victory.
What they couldn't have known was that they were about to witness the creation of not just a celebration, but a profound meditation on revolution itself. Văn Cao, who had largely retreated from public composition for nearly two decades, accepted their request. Though scattered sources indicate he had created four unpublicized works during his silence, his public voice had been muted following his disciplinary action for participating in the Nhân Văn-Giai Phẩm movement.
Other composers from North Vietnam were penning triumphant victory anthems, such as Lưu Hữu Phước's ‘Tiến Về Sài Gòn’ (Marching to Saigon), Võ Văn Di's ‘Bài Ca Thống Nhất’ (Song of Unification), and notably Hoàng Hà's ‘Đất Nước Trọn Niềm Vui’ (Country Full of Joy) (broadcast nationwide on April 30). Văn Cao, however, crafted something entirely different; his lyrics spoke of a more complex truth:
A mother watches her children come home
That dreamed-of spring arrives for the first time
Tears on your shoulders, drops warming both your shoulders
Joy sparkles in this moment like a gleaming light.”
These weren't the words of simple victory. As journalist and critic Trần Mạnh Hảo, author of Ly Thân (Separation), would observe, the song carried “little joy, much sorrow; little celebration, much grief; little triumph, much tragedy; little attachment, much choking; little elation, much aching; little narration, much lamentation; little intoxication, much sighing; little firmness, much trembling; little intensity, much soft murmuring; little laughter, much crying; little gathering, much loneliness; little love, much suffering; little meeting, much wandering...” It was the voice of whom he called “an exiled genius.”
After its debut performance by Trần Khánh on Voice of Vietnam radio, ‘Mùa Xuân Đầu Tiên’ faced criticism for “calling for arbitrary love without class consciousness.” The song would remain largely uncirculated for nearly two decades, emerging only after its creator's death, as his final masterpiece.
The artist's journey
Văn Cao's path to this moment began in Hải Phòng in 1923. A prodigy who wrote his first song, ‘Buồn Tàn Thu’ (Autumn Melancholy), at just 16 while participating in the Đồng Vọng group's artistic activities, he rapidly evolved from a romantic composer into a revolutionary voice. The years from 1940 to 1943 marked his most prolific creative phase, producing both romantic ballads and historical compositions. Simultaneously, he pursued his passion for painting, studying at the Indochina College of Fine Arts in Hanoi from 1942 and holding his first exhibition at Salon Unique.
His destiny intertwined with another giant of modern Vietnamese music, Phạm Duy, in 1940. Then a singer with the Đức Huy Charlot Miều reformed theater troupe, Phạm Duy helped popularize Văn Cao's ‘Buồn Tàn Thu.’ Their paths would cross again during revolutionary activities before diverging into opposing sides of Vietnam's political divide.
According to Văn Cao's memoirs, it was Phạm Duy who reconnected him with Vũ Quý, a Việt Minh cadre who recruited him to the revolution in 1944. His first revolutionary assignment — composing a march — resulted in ‘Tiến Quân Ca’ (The Marching Song), destined to become the national anthem of both the Democratic Republic of Vietnam and later unified Vietnam. In a twist of historical significance, it was Phạm Duy who seized the microphone at the Hanoi Opera House during the August 17, 1945 civil servants' rally to perform this song for the first time in public. Two days later, on August 19, 1945, the Vietnamese Revolution succeeded, transforming the nation's destiny.
To understand the undercurrents of ‘Mùa Xuân Đầu Tiên,’ we must examine it through the lens of Văn Cao's own revolutionary journey. The seeds of its complex emotions were planted in his years as a member of the Việt Minh Honor Guard, where the idealistic young revolutionary found himself tasked with a brutal duty: assassinating Japanese secret police operatives in the year leading up to the Revolution's triumph. These assignments, carried out in service of liberation, left indelible marks on his consciousness. In the following decades, Văn Cao wrestled with the paradox of violence in pursuit of peace, watching as humanitarian values dissolved in the furnace of revolution. His lifelong yearning for “humans to love humans” wasn't merely a poetic sentiment, it was born from intimate knowledge of humanity's capacity for both creation and destruction, a tension that would haunt his poetry and songs until his final days.
The spring that marked a turning point in Văn Cao's life
Throughout the First Indochina War, Văn Cao's life was inseparable from Việt Minh activities and the Việt Bắc war zone. Beyond his national anthem, his epic ‘Trường Ca Sông Lô’ (Song of the Lô River) earned Phạm Duy's praise as “a magnificent work, no less than any masterpiece of western classical music.” His prominence led to his inclusion in the Việt Minh cultural delegation, led by Trần Huy Liệu, that visited Moscow, the communist world's capital and the ideal state model for Vietnamese revolutionaries.
These achievements seemed to cement Văn Cao's position in the new regime, particularly after the definitive defeat of colonial France at Điện Biên Phủ in 1954. However, his critical voice in the Giai Phẩm Mùa Xuân (Beautiful Works of Spring) publication of 1956, questioning restrictive artistic policies and socialist realism philosophy, led to his downfall.
The Nhân Văn-Giai Phẩm movement, named after two publications — Nhân Văn (Humanism) newspaper and Giai Phẩm (Beautiful Works) journal — represented a brief but crucial moment of intellectual resistance in North Vietnam's cultural history. It united prominent writers, poets, and artists advocating for creative freedom and democratic reforms within the socialist system. While initially tolerated during a period of relative openness paralleling the Soviet Union's de-Stalinization, the movement soon faced intense criticism from party authorities, its participants accused of promoting “bourgeois individualism” and undermining revolutionary unity.
Văn Cao's disciplinary action came in 1958, though not as severe as that faced by key members like Nguyễn Hữu Đang, Lê Đạt, Thuỵ An, and Trần Dần. Sent for re-education in Điện Biên alongside Nguyễn Tuân and Nguyễn Huy Tưởng, he saw most of his compositions banned, save for ‘Tiến Quân Ca.’ The artistic giant retreated into obscurity, surviving through book cover designs, newspaper illustrations, stage decorations, and film background music. Only in 1988, two years after the Đổi Mới policy opened Vietnam to market economy and political liberalization, did Văn Cao and other Nhân Văn-Giai Phẩm members see their names restored. Their works gradually re-emerged in public consciousness after this period.
Resurrection both in and out of Vietnam
‘Mùa Xuân Đầu Tiên’ ultimately escaped obscurity. Though initially restricted in Vietnam, it found its way to Russian audiences shortly after appearing in the Sài Gòn Giải Phóng Daily. In 1995, the year of Văn Cao's death, singer Thanh Thuý breathed new life into it, and director Đinh Anh Dũng featured it in his musical film Văn Cao - Buổi Sáng Có Trong Sự Thật (Văn Cao - Morning Exists in Truth).
The song's journey of reconciliation extends beyond Vietnam's borders, mirroring the dialectical transformation of Vietnamese communities worldwide. What began as a reflection on revolution's contradictions has evolved into a bridge between divided narratives. In 2008, Asia Entertainment, a prominent cultural institution among the Vietnamese diaspora in America, took the bold step of releasing Bích Vân's rendition of ‘Mùa Xuân Đầu Tiên.’ Though initially met with accusations of promoting communist propaganda within the diaspora community, the song's deeper resonance as a meditation on war, revolution, and the human cost of ideological conflict gradually overshadowed these controversies.
This evolution reached a symbolic peak in 2022 when Khánh Ly, the legendary voice of nhạc vàng (pre-1975 South Vietnamese popular music), offered her own interpretation. Her performance marked a profound shift — from a song once viewed through the lens of victory and defeat to one that speaks to the universal yearning for reconciliation and understanding.
Văn Cao's final masterpiece continues to resonate, taking on new meanings as Vietnam heals from its tragic past. In its complex emotions and philosophical depth, ‘Mùa Xuân Đầu Tiên’ stands as a testament to art's power to look inward, questioning not just past violence but the path to a more humane future. It reminds us that true revolution must ultimately lead to love and understanding, even if the journey there is marked by contradiction and struggle.
