In the early 90s, medley was the trend. Every production pumped out medley albums one after another. I am not a fan of this mix-and-mash style, but I was hooked on Lien Khuc Tinh Xanh, a medley tape put out by Asia with Don Ho, Lam Thuy Van, and Kenny Thai holding down the vocal lines.

What makes this album stand out for me is the playful interaction between these three youngsters. Kenny is fantastic with his English; Don Ho is mesmerizing with his backup vocalizations; and Lam Thuy Van is fabulous in accompanying both male vocalists with her high pitch. Of course, Asia’s skillful arrangement works seamlessly to weave one tune to the next, especially with those electronic keyboard licks and up-tempo Latin rhythms.

Vocally, I just love the way the three trade lines with one another. Vu Thanh An’s “Bai Khong Ten Cuoi Cung” is a perfect example. Kenny and Lam Thuy Van kicks off the first verse, then Don Hon joins in at the chorus asking brokenheartedly, “Nay em hoi con duong em di do / con duong em theo do se dua em sang dau?” Lam Thuy Van replies sadly, “Mua ben chong se lam em khoc / se lam em nho nhung khi minh man nong.” Damn, that just cuts it.

And how could the ladies resist when Don Ho calls his lover in “Goi Ten Nguoi Yeu” at the end where he croons, “Roi anh se khoc / se khoc len goi long dau trien mien,” then cries his heart out with his voice. If he works on scatting, I am sure he can do it successfully. Another magnetizing piece is his Vietnamese rendition of “Unchained Melody” (“Mai Mai Yeu Em”) where his vocals ebb and flow around the mid-tempo beat. As for Kenny, no one does the Chinese translated tune, such as “There’s Only You In My Heart,” “I Love You More Than I Can Say,” and “Summer Kisses Winter Tears,” better than him. And who doesn’t love Lam Thuy Van for her exotic vocals, especially when she phrases, “The life’s unreal and the people are phony / And the nights can get so lonely / A single girl needs a lovely man to lean on.” Don’t you wish you could loan her your shoulder?

I could still remember when a friend of mine handed me this tape back in 92. I rocked it until I could sing along to every goddamn tune in it. Til this day, Lien Khuc Tinh Xanh is the only medley album I can jam to without getting bored because of the variation in production and diversity in song selection.

I have seen the term “nhac sen” being tossed around in various blogs and Web sites. Not only people don’t like to admit that they do listen to “nhac sen,” but they also hate to acknowledge that they don’t know what “nhac sen” is. So when being asked, they just throw out names like Truong Vu, Tuan Vu, Nhu Quynh, Manh Quynh, Manh Dinh, Ngoc Son, and Ngoc Ha. (Wait! Not the little chick with the big-ass voice. Let me take that back before somebody jumps on me.)

According to Thanh Nien‘s “Nhac ‘Sen’ La Gi?,” they argue that the word “sen” comes from “sen” (without the accent), which means maid. Because the music is being categorized in the lower class, the lyrics have to be easy to understand. Musically speaking, “nhac sen” has been written mostly, but not always, in bolero form. If you pay close attention to “sen” tunes, you will notice that the same rhythmic and harmonic are being used throughout the song from one bar to the next. With the lacking of inventions, variations, and improvisations, “Nhac Sen” is easy to spot. And how many times a “sen” singer like Truong Vu switches up his flow? That’s right, zero. Listening to his full album is like watching Chinese TV series. It just goes on and on. But that is what “nhac sen” is all about—a form of storytelling similar to American’s country music, which has been labeled as “cheesy” and “campy.”

If “nhac sen” is written correctly with folks essence embedded, and sung by the right singer, the listening experience could be rewarding. Some of the musicians who had written good “nhac sen” include Hoang Thi Tho, Lam Phuong, Anh Bang, Pham Dinh Chuong, and Pham Duy (yes, even Pham Duy has penned some “sen” songs too). So there is nothing wrong to admit that you like “nhac sen.” Don’t let people dictate your taste.

In her latest release, Dieu Cuoi Cung Doi Cho, Thu Phuong takes a light, soothing approach to Viet Anh’s romantic ballads. Unfortunately, the easy-going style doesn’t fit her too well. What lost is the turbulence that makes her the drama crooner of pop. The pain and anguish she poured into in Nhu Mot Loi Chia Tay and Em Ra Di Mua Thu had dried up.

In her previous albums—particularly Trinh Cong Son’s songbook—Thu Phuong was in a roller-coaster state of her life. Now that the trouble and glory are gone, she doesn’t seem to be interested in taking the soul train anymore. In “Hoa Co Vang Noi Ay,” she doesn’t even want to maneuver her way around the Latin-inspired arrangement. She just drags her bottle-breaking voice through the track. Her vocals get heavier and more tiresome on the bluesy “Ngay Khong Ten,” and she hardly pushes her flow to give the song a livelier jazz. She could have made these two tunes far more superior than what she had done if she drops her emotion and fervor into them. In contrast, the medley closer, “Khong Con Mua Thu” and “Mua Phi Truong,” is the worse track in the album. The mid-tempo arrangement is trivial, yet what irritating is the computer-manipulated voice. Don’t digitize your voice just to sound different. If you want to sound different switch up your vocal range and play around with your timbre.

The biggest glitch of the album is the song selection. Viet Anh’s music is unsuitable for Thu Phuong’s voice. His compositions lack the tensions and the agonies that are needed for Thu Phuong to articulate her singing. This is not the right way for Thu Phuong to reinvent her style. She needs to bring back the soul and the drama.

Nowadays, many Vietnamese female singers scream out their souls to be heard, the new face Nguyen Thao barely glides into her soprano, and yet the light touch in her slightly raspy vocals brings us closer to human nature. Unlike Ngoc Khue or Vuong Dung, she doesn’t bring a new style to the pop scene, but she invites us back to the beauty of serenity in her debut Suoi va Co. With the support from nature-inspired lyricist Duong Thu and tranquil productions from Anh Quan and Son Thach, the album is fantastic for a peaceful, quiet experience. In the opening track, “Uoc Muon,” her voice floats like breezing air over the ethereal, bossa nova-inflected arrangement. In “Yen Lang,” her unctuous vocalization wraps around the luscious piano licks like water cascading down from a quiet waterfall. She has also done a marvelous job of redelivering “Bay Vao Ngay Xanh” (even though Thanh Lam, Hong Nhung, and My Linh had covered it successfully) with the funk-flavored feel. Not bad at all!

Black and White, Asian and Latino, boys and girls, everybody loved Tupac Shakur. Even FOB hommies (including me) loved Pac, even though we had no clue what the hell he was rapping about. We just digged his thug persona and the gangster beats. Every Vietnamese guy that I knew owned a copy of All Eyes on Me, and they all played the same tunes: “2 of Amerikaz Most Wanted,” “How Do You Want It,” and of course “California Love (Remix).” For me, the thuggish, ruggish shit on the whole double album was “No More Pain.” The beat was crazy, and Pac’s flow was the illest. I can still rap along to every word whenever I played that track. He is sure a living legend now, but he already knew that in his rhymes, “When I die, I wanna be a livin’ legend, say my name affiliated with this motherfuckin’ game, with no more pain.” Of course, there are plenty of hot tracks on the CDs such as “Heartz of Men,” “Life Goes On,” “Only God Can Judge Me,” Picture Me Rollin’,” and the title track, but Pac made a classic diss after the album released when he “Hit Em Up.” (YouTube rocks!)

Xuan Hieu’s Tinh Nghe Si makes a fabulous hot tube album. Something smooth for your ass. His instrumental (saxophone) interpretation of Vietnamese ballads, including “Mong Duoi Hoa,” “Gio Gio Cho May Ngan Bay,” “Xom Dem,” and “Thu Quyen Ru,” is in the same camp of Kenny G’s jazz playing: wimped-out, soul-deadening, mechanical, and vulgar. The passiveness in Xuan Hieu’s sax sound, particularly in “Ta Ao Xanh” and “Chuyen Ben,” puts people straight to the bed, but not with each other. What makes the album so lame is the lack of improvisation and personal expression. You could sing along with the sax lines like karaoke if you know the lyrics. Yet, why would you want to follow an arrangement with a lethargic rhythm section?

Thuc dem moi biet dem dai
That tinh moi biet tinh dai hon dem
Mot doi sao mai chang quen
Vi tinh guc nga cho duyen lo lang

Thanks Joseph for sending me this suicidal shit! If your heart is broken, do not pick up Tam Doan’s Guc Nga Vi Yeu. You may have to kill your soul, if not yourself. Lucky for me, it is not a Truong Vu’s album. If he sings the title track, I would have started digging my own grave while listening to it. Tam Doan doesn’t sound too dramatic. In other words, she lacks the emotion and the pain to croon heart-shattering songs. I don’t blame her. In fact, I am happy for her because that means her marriage with Tien Dung is doing great. Not only her voice is soulless, but the productions from Thuy Nga’s main man, Tung Chau, are also pretty bland. The duet with Manh Quynh in “Go Cua” is the least tragic vong co (opera) I have ever heard. No chemistry and no sentimental exchange whatsoever between the two. She sings vong co like reading a poem complemented by the mournful accompaniment. After all, her album may sound boring, but her life off the mic is good. It’s rare to find a singer who is willing to give up her career for her love. It’s time for Tam Doan to switch to dance pop. It would fit her mood better for now or maybe until the relationship turns sour. Gotta go with the feelings, baby!

Like its name suggested, VariAsian is a-cappella group consisted of various Asian (Vietnamese, Filipino, and Korean) Americans. From a quick glance at their brief bios, most of the members had sung in choir in their school years; therefore, they have their chops down from gospel to R. & B. to soul. What sets them apart, however, is the Asian synergy they bring to the music, and their debut shows some potentials. Their version of Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” is groovy without the disco arrangement backing them up. The beatbox and vocal harmony do the job well. On the slower piece, Lisa Lisa’s “All Cried Out,” their strong voices, which drawn mostly from gospel, give the popular tune a fresh vibe. The most disappointed tune is the cover of Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly.” That elementary rap has to go. It ruins the ladies’ singings. They need to bring Wyclef Jean on board if they wanted a hip-hop verse. Too bad, “Nguoi Oi & Yeu Nhau” the only Vietnamese tune featured on the entire album. While the harmony is great, the lead singer sounds almost flat on the first piece. I am still rooting for my 5 Dong babes when it comes to Vietnamese a cappella. While their debut is not so bad (except for too many popular tunes being covered), I am not sure what they have in store for the next release. One thing we can reassure, they do not sing with broken English.

Thanks Joseph!

I apologize for making some of you weeping yesterday with the heart-wrecking ballads. To make up for it, I have uploaded a really cool piece from Clarence “Frogman” Henry called “Ain’t Got No Home.” I just dig the way he plays with his vocals to imitate the girl and the frog. I came across the track on the incredible Big Ol’ Box of New Orleans. If you could get your hand on the box sets, get it. You’ll be experiencing the Mardi Gras’ flavors—including jazz, blues, rock-n-roll, funk, R&B, gospel, and zydeco—right at your own crib.

There’s also a few songs you can check out at NPR.

In 1993, Don Ho and Lam Thuy Van made a record together when they were both on top of their game. Du Nang Co Mong Manh was the album I played the most between 93-94. Although most of the recordings are outdated now because of the translated tunes, two still remain timeless. The title track, which is written by Le Minh Bang, is one. Don Ho’s languorous flow deep inside the rumba arrangement makes Thai Chau’s and Nguyen Khang’s later rendition sound stiff and stilted. The light touch and effortlessness in his delivery—especially when he sings low, almost in a whispering voice—is still unmatchable. Duc Huy’s “Nhu Da Dau Yeu” is one of the most recorded ballads among the young singers, yet Don Ho’s version still stands out the most for me. What makes his singing so seductive and persuasive is the soulfulness he brings to it. He comes off like a real man when phrases, “Anh den voi em voi tat ca tam hon,” and holds on the last word of “Em den voi anh voi tat ca trai tim…” with love and passion. His technical skills were flawless from the breath control to crescendo to the way he leaves the notes floating in the air. On top of all that, he always sings his heart out like a man with soul and sensibility.