In 2012, an architect rebuilt a ground-plus-mezzanine house on a 7×20m lot into a true brick kiln: every wall is brick — pressed brick, tube brick, terracotta, breeze blocks. The ground floor is air-conditioned, the three floors above are gardens; there are swings on the roof and a fruit-bearing fig tree mid-building.
The owner says brick absorbs sound, so the Hi-end system placed mid-house still sings round: McIntosh MC60 tube amp, Tannoy speakers, Revox and Studer reel-to-reel — flowing old songs, Phạm Duy and Trịnh Công Sơn love songs, oldies. Portraits of writers and musicians hang on the glowing brick walls.
The venue is dim, aged, never renovated — but quiet, cool, and full of flowing old songs. Regulars come to read, work, rest at noon, or date in private on the rooftop swings. Not a glossy check-in spot, not a noisy party place — a kiln gently burning with music.
