In Asia’s Tinh Khuc Sau Cuoc Chien, Asia 4 paid homage to their hombre Cardin by hailing his music as the future of Vietnamese entertainment. They made it sounds like he’s the next Prince of Brownness who would revolutionize the music scene. You want to bitch-smack them, but you get it. They are still riding his midget dick, even though he kicked their ass to the curve. Now that is some real brotherly love right there baby!

Like I said, if Asia productions promote Cardin’s work as the new, hip joint, we’re in deep shit. His Trai Tim Dai Kho (Foolish Heart) is anything but modern. Who still listens to that obsolete freestyle beats on the title track and “Nang Sieu Nhan?” Let me not even touch on his lyrical writing. When he rides upbeats, his voice drowned inside them. When he croons slow-tempos, dude sounds like a pitiable bitch, especially on “She’s So Beautiful.” I get goose bumps as soon as he starts to sing. I thought Ung Hoang Phuc’s version of the sugary “Sau Mot Tinh Yeu” is unlistenable. Cardin’s rendition is simply unbearable. Can’t get any wimpier than that.

Feel bad for homeboy Chosen for having to do these Diddy craps like “Sending All My Love.” Why stuck by Trish, Da Nhat Yen, and Cardin rhyming over these horrendous pop tunes? You got the flow, get your own gig on, son. Speaking of Trish, Cardin is like her male version; therefore, they sound so damn tight together on “The Chase,” even though the music and the lyrics are corny as hell.

How could Cardin’s music be the future when he covers tunes from Boney M. and Modern Talking? They are two of the most antediluvian groups on the planet. I guess he’s trying to take us back to the future.

When 2pacalypse Now, Pac’s debut, hit the streets in ’92, my English was not good enough to pay attention to his provocative lyrics. Last weekend, I pulled the album off my boy’s CD collection and stuck by Pac’s lyricism. In “I Don’t Give a Fuck,” he ain’t fucking joking when he spitted, “And if you look between the lines / You’ll find a rhyme as strong as a fucking nine.” His words were filled with violent graphics. I still recall an incident where two kids shot at a cop and blamed on Pac’s music for the motivation, and I am not finding it surprising with what Pac had described in his “Violent” words: “My homie dropped, so I hit the cop / I kept swinging, yo, I couldn’t stop / Before I knew it, I was beating the cop senseless / The other cop dropped his gun, he was defenseless / Now I’m against this cop who was racist / Given him a taste, of trading places.” At such a young age—barely legal to drink—Pac was fully aware of the injustice as a Black male. In “Words of Wisdom,” he prosecuted AmeriKKKa with, “the crime of rape, murder, and assault / For suppressing and punishing my people / I charge you with robbery for robbing me of my history / I charge you with false imprisonment for keeping me.” And he also questioned the Black history lessons: “No Malcolm X in my history text / Why is that? / Cause he tried to educate and liberate all blacks / Why is Martin Luther King in my book each week? / He told blacks, if they get smacked, turn the other cheek / I don’t get it, so many questions went through my mind / I get sweated / They act as if asking questions is a crime.” Obviously two of Pac’s mega classics were “Trapped” and “Brenda’s Got a Baby” (courtesy of YouTube). Both pieces demonstrated Pac’s skillful narrative storytelling as well as his poetic lyrics with a wicked flow.

I’ve been allured into Le Kieu Nhu‘s Nua Hon Thuong Dau and I don’t even know how and why. She has a seductive voice—silky and raspy—but not outstanding in a distinctive sense. Her technical skill is minimal; she doesn’t even know when to hold her breath; her musical selections are way older than she is; and she choose to sing with a man twice her age. Why Duy Quang and not Duc Tuan or Quang Dung? Their duet on Ngo Thuy Mien’s “Niem Khuc Cuoi” reminds me of a marriage photoshoot, between an old Taiwanese bastard and a young, model-looking Vietnamese girl, I have witness in Binh Quoi. The look on her face was like she’s about to head straight to hell in a white gown, but there was no way out. And that’s how Le Kieu Nhu crafted her album, like a real dramatic musical epic. After “Thuong Nhau Ngay Mua,” there’s only “Buon,” “Sang Ngang” “Con Tuoi Nao Cho Em,” and ended up with “Nua Hon Thuong Dau.” She may not be a skillful ballad crooner, but she sure can makes us feel her bitterness. She delivers these sorrowful tunes with tremendous pain and despondency. What makes me coming back to this album again and again is that she makes her stilted flows sound like they are choked with tears. Sympathy is the best word to describe the album, and I do feel pity after listening to it. Who wouldn’t feel that way about a girl who looks so damn fine?

The OutKasteers, Big Boi and Andre 3000, are still kicking together on their newest release, Idlewild, one of the most anticipated hip-hop joints of the year. Hip-hop has been on the idleside lately; therefore, we need the “two dope boys in a Cadillac” to bring back her spirit. Musically, OutKast has never stood still. The Southern duo has given hip-hop a fresh vibe by funking her up with their previous releases, and they have done it again on Idlewild with jazz and blues flavors.

With The Love Below, Dre had revealed that he is ready to move beyond rap, even though he could still flow rhymes better than croon ballads. That still holds true on Idlewild, particularly his off-key singing on the guitar-strumming blues over hard beat of “Idlewild Blue (Don’t Chu Worry ‘Bout Me),” and the slick jive of “PJ & Rooster.” His singing is passable, but I would rather hear him rhymes with Big Boi. He surprises me, however, with his chops on “When I Look In Your Eyes.” He’s not Louis Armstrong or a true jazz singer, but he could maneuver his limited vocal range around the swing orchestration.

Even though Dre is the creative juice behind the album, Big still does what he does best. He spits some of the wicked verses throughout the album, noticeably on “Peaches,” in which his lyrical storytelling is as sharp as always. Although Big is not ready to joint Dre’s singing, he has his own jazz swag. In “Call The Law,” he drives the hard-swing beat (seasoned with tasty keyboard licks) with his smooth style and speedy delivery while Janelle Monáe holds down the vocal lines with her strong, clear tone. I wish Big had dropped another verse though.

Unfortunately, Idlewild as a whole is not coherent. The album has way too many interludes between the tracks, too much singing hooks, but not enough strong productions to support the def verses. The saddest part, however, is that Big and Dre don’t sound as a unit anymore.

It’s not hard to tell why Quang Dung gets mad love from his clear-heeled fans. He’s a romantic cat. His previous album, Em, is filled with sweet, lovely duets. His newest release, Yeu, finds Vietnamese-pop prince charmer than ever, especially with Dieu Huong’s ballads. From “Mot Doi Van Nho,” “Chi Co Mot Thoi,” “Doi Khong Con Nhau,” “Van Con Yeu” to “O Lai Ta Di,” Quang Dung has captured the musical articulation as well as the lyrical expression. Although he had done a flawless job of recovering “Vi Do La Em,” his vocal maneuverability isn’t as skillful as Tuan Ngoc’s. In Quang Dung’s version, the soul is there, but the technique is not. As for Trinh Cong Son’s portion, I am disappointed that Quang Dung recovers “Uot Mi,” “Tuoi Da Buon,” and “Tinh Nho.” Even though he sings these tunes with tremendous passion, they have been battered to death, and there is no way he could have saved them. Instead, he just added himself to the list of Trinh’s molester. Although his deliveries on “Chi Co Em Trong Doi,” “Cho Doi Chut On,” and “Con Ai Voi Ai” are passable, I prefer Yeu to be strictly a Dieu Huong’s songbook. It would make a fantastic album for lovers.

As I am reading a review on Asia 51: Tinh Khuc Sau Cuoc Chien written by Viet Hai, I am wondering if Asia productions had paid him to pen it or he is just up in their ass. In the intro, he stated that Asia have stepped up their game after their last big-bang show on Tran Thien Thanh. Give me a break. Asia folks are not only stepping in the same place, but they are also taking a leap backward with the latest release. The theme, Tinh Khuc Sau Cuoc Chien, they came up was just to give them a reason to squeeze more cash out of old tunes.

The music arrangements in this video don’t sound any better than what they had done before, and the pairing up of singers makes absolutely no sense at all. Don Ho with chinky Barbie? She’s not even cute, and her sissy, ditsy voice is still annoying. Le Thu and Da Nhat Yen is like a before and after diet commercial. Le Thu is what you look like before, and Da Nhat Yen is what you will look like after. Before, you’re fat but you can sing. After, you’re loosing weight as well as voice. The good part is that DNY still got the groove. What the hell is up with Lam Thuy Van, posing like she’s ready to be boned? Who wants to bone that gladiator anyway? The mash-up between her and Ngoc Lan is horrendous. Asia musical producers have been using that technique a bit too much. Then they have seven sexless guys trying to be sexy (suit jacket without under shirt) on “Anh Van Biet.” Get the fuck out the here. And don’t you want to pull that dog-haired wig off Kim Anh’s head? I thought Doanh Doanh was bad, she is even worse: old, plastic-molded Barbie.

Speaking of old women, why don’t they act their age? Hearing the way Thanh Lan talks and laughs just ruined the strong-minded image I had for her on the previous opening video. Mama, you ain’t 16 no more. The same goes with Thao My. Not sure what she’s showing because she got none. Please cover them up, forty-year-old breasts are for your man, not the public. I have enough of Mai Le Huyen trying to get her move on. Does she need a dickslap in order for her to stand still or something? Is Asia blind or they are being dumb? I love the way Y Phuong starts off “Tra No Tinh Xa” with a bluesy feel until MLH comes in and fucks it all up with her screaming. By the time the arrangement is all rocked up, Y Phuong’s strong vocals can’t even save the track. Nothing but excessive noise filled up the stage.

The solo pieces are disappointing as well. Nguyen Khang’s rendition of “Rong Reu” is nothing invigorating. In fact, it has some of Tuan Ngoc’s resemblances. Particularly when he glides into the offbeat technique, something even Tuan Ngoc couldn’t pull off. (If you listen to Tuan Ngoc’s version of “Rong Reu,” “Ban Tinh Cuoi,” and “Bien Nho,” you’ll see how he attempts to sing the off-key style. Not sure if it is because of our Vietnamese language, but it doesn’t sound right. The only person who could sing off key and sound natural is Billie Holiday. Her timing had always been perfect.) Back to solo performers, is Bang Tam faking or what? She’s weeping out with water running down her noise, and she didn’t even wipe it. If you want to make the audience feels emotional, you have to convey it through your voice not necessarily your face—unless you’re an actor not singer. In “Cai Co,” I hear nothing in her voice because she sings the entire song with one tone, and yet she’s all cried out. The facial expression doesn’t go with the musical expression at all. Even if she has cried for real, she still looks phony to me.

The theme for Asia 51 is to embrace “golden music.” I have no problem with music of Ngo Thuy Mien, Tran Quang Nam, Nguyen Trung Cang, and Duc Huy being called “nhac vang” after the war. But when they profiled Trish’s music in this category, and called Cardin’s shit as music of our future, we have a big fucking problem. (And let me not get into that little midget with the “Viet Pride” tagged on his jacket. How lame is that?)

Damn, another sleepless night. The coffee was kicking in, but not strong enough to cause insomnia. My mind was onto something else (something real special), and my brain was rushing like adrenaline on fire; therefore, I needed some soothing music to calm down my nerves. I pulled out three of my favorite past-bedtime soundtracks—Don Ho and Ngoc Lan’s Con Duong Tinh Ta Di, Tinh Phu, and Xin Con Goi Ten Nhau, all released between 1992 and 1993 under Giang Ngoc, one of the first productions in the early Vietnamese-American days. Unfortunately, they had shut down their shop.

Giang Ngoc had a strange marketing strategy. Even though they grouped the two together, Don Ho always had more songs (6 to 4) than Ngoc Lan. My guess is that Ngoc Lan had already established her name at the time, and Don Ho was just getting his feet wet; therefore, people who liked Ngoc Lan would pick up these albums, and give Don Ho a spin. Giang Ngoc productions were right, Don Ho was new at singing Vietnamese “golden” ballads, but that what made these albums shined. He was inexperienced, but he had tremendous soul. His flows were as natural as breathing, and he poured his heart out on every single song. I was impressed at how he was able to transform himself from English and translated tunes into Vietnamese romantic ballads with such refinement and effortlessness. He nailed “Ngu Di Em,” “Chieu Nay Khong Co Em,” “Loi Tinh Buon,” “Em Den Tham Anh Dem 30,” “Goi Ten Bon Mua,” “Xin Hay Quen Toi,” ” Kiep Dam Me,” “Khuc Thuy Du,” “Chiec La Cuoi Cung,” “Dem Vu Truong,” “Dau Tinh Sau,” “Vet Thuong Cuoi Cung,” “Vet Thu Tren Lung Ngua Hoang,” and “Xin Con Goi Ten Nhau” dead on the spot with his relaxed, feathery, whispery, and deeply personalized style.

On the other hand, angelic-voiced Ngoc Lan drowned her souls and sorrows into “Tha Nhu Giot Mua,” “Giet Nguoi Trong Mong,” “Le Da,” “Mua Thu Cho Em,” and “Tinh Phu.” Not only she could express sentimental ballads, but Ngoc Lan could also maneuver her flow around up-tempo beats. The smoothness, richness, and silkiness quality in her vocals made her rendition of “Trung Vuong Khung Cua Mua Thu” unsurpassable. Yet, what amazed me the most was her cover of “Vi Toi La Linh Muc.” I was dead wrong when I thought only male singers could sing this tune. She had not only proved that my assumption was incorrect, but she also demonstrated how she could take it to another level from a female point of view. She pulled it off with her ethereal, exotic aesthetics.

What are lacking on these albums are the duets. I wish they had done more than just two tracks together because I love how his low, smoky tone complements her high and clear pitch and vice versa. “Biet Dau Nguoi Cuoi” showed the playful interaction between the voices as well as their rhythmic sensibility. In contrast, they took the time to express the lyrics in the slow-tempo “Con Duong Tinh Ta Di,” like two matured lovers reflecting on the good old days. Mad props to Thanh Lam too for the gorgeous saxophone accompaniment. Personally, these three albums had opened up the gate to the Vietnamese music scene for me, and I must credit both Don Ho and Ngoc Lan for allowed me to appreciate our original music.

Nguyen Hoang Thuy Vu who is a member of AC&M—a Vietnamese most respected a-cappella group—drops his solo debut, Thang Sau Troi Mua, with a promising potential. The album is dedicated to well-known ballads from Trinh Cong Son to Ngo Thuy Mien to Nguyen Anh 9 to Thanh Tung. Even though Thuy Vu doesn’t revolutionize these tunes, he gives them a masculine vibe with his deep, sentimental vocals. And when he sings low, particularly in Viet Anh’s “Khong Con Mua Thu,” his voice has bass.

Trinh Cong Son’s “Dem Thay Ta La Thac Do,” “Tuoi Da Buon,” “Mua Hong,” and “Diem Xua” have been covered who knows how many times, but never with the tenderness and profoundness Thuy Vu brings to them. He phrases Trinh’s lyrics like a real gentleman who pours out his emotion—calm but with strength. His delivery is at best when he is at ease because that’s when he’s capable of transforming the basest metal with his timbre. And we could experience it in Thanh Tung’s “Giot Nang Ben Them” and Ngo Thuy Mien’s “Niem Khuc Cuoi,” in which he sounds like a romantic guy who I would fall in love with if I were gay.

What makes the album works is apparently Thuy Vu’s marvelous voice, but the simple arrangements, especially the minimal piano works, help a great deal at enhancing the listening experience. The only weak production is in the title track, Hoang Thanh Tam’s “Thang Sau Troi Mua.” The rock riffs ruined his mellow flow, and the computerized drumbeat is too obvious. Other than that, the album is tight set song for song. Even though Thuy Vu doesn’t make these aged tunes sound contemporary, what he gives them is a humanness quality straight from his heart and vocal talent.

Being one of Thuy Nga’s hottest babes on stage for four years, Nhu Loan finally gets a shot at recording her debut Tinh Lang Cam. As much as Thuy Nga folks hate to invest their capital into her singing (they rather spend on her body), they have to bite the bullet, and get it over with. They feel obligated to throw her a bone for baring her skin all these years, even though they know damn well that she is no singer. She has a weak, baby voice with not just limited but no range at all. She delivers every song with the same monotone. I hope that the up-tempo tracks, including “Mua He Ky Niem,” “Dem Tu Tinh,” and “Yeu Anh Diu Dang,” would at least have decent beats for her to ride with. Unfortunately, even the productions are pretty mechanical, which doesn’t help her much at all. At for slow ballads, I feel no emotion going into the songs. In the opener “Nguoi Dien Biet Yeu,” all I hear is her breathy vocals with straight soulless flow. For art’s sake, do something “crazy” to express how a lunatic falls in love. But don’t worry baby, I still got mad love for your glowing, glistering stage presence. So please keep on shaking what your mama gave you, as well as what you gave yourself.

Unlike her previous release, which focused on Ngo Thuy Mien’s compositions, Khanh Ha’s new CD, Tu Muon Kiep Truoc, is all over the place. While the wide musical range—from pop to folk to jazz to pre-war to romantic ballad—added a mixture of colors, the overall experience is not so smooth. Even though her voice is excellent in almost all the tracks, the album doesn’t feel coherent, especially with four arrangers with different styles.

Furthermore, too many Paris By Night‘s hits (Quoc Dung’s “Chi La Mua Thu Roi,” Duc Tri’s “Nang Co Mua Xuan,” and Y Van’s “Long Me”) are integrated into the album. They are fantastic tunes, but I would like to see new materials or even new arrangements on a CD. I don’t mind the covering of “Bai Ngoi Ca Tinh Yeu” (A French ballad translated by Pham Duy) because of the fresh bossa nova-flavor. The beat is intoxicating and she knows how to bend and glide her vocals around the sensational rhythm. Same with Nguyen Anh 9’s “Hanh Phuc,” her vocals soar like a songbird over the semi-classical piano work. On the flip side, the silky sax and the programmed drumbeat bring down her rendition of Lam Phuong’s “Saigon Oi Vinh Biet.” Again her voice is exceptional in delivering Nguyen Hien’s “Ngan Nam May Bay,” but the rock-pop riff isn’t doing it for me.

What turns me off is that Tu Muon Kiep Truoc is more like a Thuy Nga than a Khanh Ha production. It feels more like a commercialized product than an independent work with too many crowd teasers and ear-candy productions. I respect the mother-dedicated “Long Me,” and it was fine to show on screen, but why put it on a new album? Hopefully, that’s not the selling point.