In my review of Ngay Do Co Em, I pointed out the relationship between Duong Trieu Vu and Dam Vinh Hung, and now Mr. Dam uses Brokeback Mountain to express his homo love in Giai Thoat, his latest release. Whether the spoof is his marketing campaign or personal statement, I have no interest in Dr. Dam’s sex identity. I am sure he doesn’t want to define himself either. Musically, he is getting more and more pathetic, and can’t come up with anything new. Even on the bluesy “Anh Don Em Ve,” he applies the same style with his earlier rendition of “Noi Long.” For Chris’ sake, switch up the flow or something, but I guess he and his fans are comfortable with the melodrama crap he puts out. So let’s not give the Brokeback bitch any more grief.

His fingers are too short to stride, but Jamie Cullum has a bit of the keyboard chops, and if he would shut the fuck up and just bang out piano chords, I might consider him a serious musician. Until then, he still is a juvenile clown trying to get his swag on. Sure, he could play some quick, slick, and ear-candy solos, but could he extend beyond those? None of his song on Twentysomething leaves room for instrumental improvisation, and his singings take up most of the time. As for his vocals, dude sings (on “These Are the Days” and “All At Sea” for examples) like a spineless little bitch who does nothing but whine, moan, and groan in a hoarse British voice. When listening to his cover of Cole Porter’s “I Get a Kick Out of You,” I sure want to stomp my foot up his ass, and smack the shit out of him for derogating Jimi Hendrix’s “The Wind Cries Mary.” But he is so spontaneous and energetic that ditsy chicks are willing to drop their panties for him. That’s all that really matters.

Thanks to Inky and his jazz-rock vision, I am being drawn back to Electric Ladyland, a Jimi Hendrix Experience. I was exposed to Hendrix as far back as my junior high school years from Mr. Hilt who was my favorite art teacher. Twice a week, I was looking forward to his class so I could just paint and enjoy Hendrix. I didn’t know what the heck I was listening to, but at least the music that came out of his stereo system was not as excessively loud (even though he played at a high volume for a classroom) as other rock shit I couldn’t stand. With Hendrix, I could hear what he was strumming without going deaf, and his virtuoso improvisations were rich and colorful, not just a bunch of white noises screeching up my eardrums.

After hearing his melodic invention on “Voodoo Chile,” I could figure out where Miles Davis got his inspiration for his fusion. In the album liner notes, Derek Taylor quoted what Davis had to say about Hendrix: “He had a natural ear for hearing music… it was great. He influenced me and I influenced him and that’s the way great music is always made. Everybody’s showing somebody something and then moving on from there… Jimi Hendrix came from the blues, like me. We understood each other right away… he was a great blues guitarist.” In the jazz-inflected “Rainy Day, Dream Away,” Hendrix’s riff works along with Freddie Smith’s horn and Mike Finnigan’s organ to create a thought-provoking interaction.

While the psychedelic intro, “…And The Gods Made Love,” gives us a hint of what we are about to enter, the powerful-closer “Voodoo Child (Slight Return)” lets us know that the experience will live on after the music stops, or the heartbeat stops—”If I don’t meet you no more in this world, then I’ll meet you in the next one, and don’t be late, don’t be late.” Hendrix crooned. Almost forty years later, the album still rocks!

Anh Tuyet’s Di Tim is the latest attempt to jazz up old-school Vietnamese ballads. To be more accurate, it is an effort from the moldy figs (Anh Tuyet, Nguyen Anh 9, and Bao Chan) trying to get their swing on. Anh Tuyet sure has a fine and mellow voice despite of her age, but she doesn’t have the right chops for jazz. A jazz singer can’t just sing tunes straight the way they were written. The more notes being sung, the less the jazz.

What makes jazz so lively and sexy is that she doesn’t play by rules, but that is not the case here with Anh Tuyet and the musicians (including Ly Duoc on bass, Trong Hieu on piano, and Xuan Hieu on saxophone) who have no rhythmic sensibility for jazz. They don’t have the heart to strip down the standards to their basic structures and then build them back up with their own invention. They are just simply there to back up the vocalist. In the pseudo swing, Quoc Truong’s “Nhung Phut Giay Qua,” not only the rhythm section is unswingable, the rock guitar added an excruciating noise to Anh Tuyet’s pallid flow. The title track feels the same way, but less distracting because no rock riff is involved.

The biggest disappointment of the entire album is that Anh Tuyet hardly pushes her delivery, manipulates her vocals range, or improvises her singing. The only time she breaks free from the written notes is near the end of Tran Dung’s “Loi Chim” where she mimics the bird’s voice. Now if she applies more scat singing and improvising on the blues, like Nguyen Anh 9’s “Buon Oi! Chao Mi,” “Mua Thu Canh Nau,” Trinh Cong Son’s “Vet Lan Tram” and “Hay Khoc Di Em,” she would have created a revelation. In jazz, it is not how well a standard being sung, but how to transform it into an individual statement with new melodic lines while still capable of articulating the lyrics.

Vuong Dung, winner of Sao Mai Diem Hen (Vietnamese Idol) in 2005, is under the influence of Thanh Lam. No harm in that, as long as she could carry her individual style. And she has with the rendition of Pho Duc Phuong’s “Khong The Va Co The” in her debut Trai Cam Mat Troi. Although her flow and phrasing are drawn heavily from Thanh Lam, she knows how to steer her performance away from the queen of pop, and makes it her own.

With a powerful, light-scratched voice and a marvelous intonation, Vuong Dung brings a new aroma to the Vietnamese pop fragrance, and her distinctiveness can be found in Nguyen Cuong’s “Thanh Pho Mien Quan Ho.” She rides skillfully in and out of the up-tempo arrangement, takes her time crooning the folk essence, and recites naturally the witty rhymes. On top of all that, she isn’t afraid to play around with her delivery, which makes her performance so elating. Furthermore, her northern style is so damn seductive that listening to her accent makes me want to sleep with her. And when she pours her heart out on the jazz-flavored “Bao La Buon” (also a Nguyen Cuong’s composition), I wish I could fly to her and take away her immeasurable loneliness by touching her hair, face, and whatever sad parts on her body. But when she gets rough and rocked-up in “Trai Cam Mat Troi” (another song from Nguyen Cuong), you know she is no weak soul. If a woman wants to pick the “orange sun” just to give it to you, what more could you ask for? If you could have that woman by your side, the world is yours.

In the album-closer “Ben Song” written by Nguyen Hoang Ha, songbird Vuong Dung completely changed her flow, and yet still giving the tune a heartfelt presentation. Besides the captivating vocals, what leaves listeners yearning for more is the striking orchestration from Duc Nghia who is the main man behind album’s productions.

Jazz was originated in America, but has been embraced worldwide. Musicians around the globe have been using her rhythms and syncopations to introduce their own music to the world. Lately, the blending of eastern and western sound is becoming a new trend. The Twelve Girls Band is being recognized for weaving traditional sounds (Chinese instruments) into pop and jazz styles. Recently, the Mezcal Jazz Unit from France has teamed up with Vietnamese musicians to bring us Tim Gio (Looking For the Wind), a collaborative effort between two cultures.

As much as I appreciate the attempt from these musicians to bring something new to the table, I don’t experience a smooth fusion connecting the two groups. But instead, each instrument fights for your ears, like the whole Wu-Tang Clan is spitting in one mic. The reed section blows its own horn. The traditional instruments (dan nhi, dan bau, dan tranh) strike their own chords. The weak rhythm section does not swing. The saxophone improvisation is monotonous or lacks humanistic expression most of the time, but when it gets dissonant (on the title track for instance), it becomes John Coltrane’s sheets-of-sound imitation.

The biggest problem with Tim Gio is the chaotic sounds coming out of multiple directions. That’s not the way jazz-fusion works. When Miles Davis recorded Bitches Brew, the sounds came together coherently even though he had multiple electric keyboards, multiple drums, multiple basses, and multiple horns playing at once. The end result was an organic sound that felt so damn natural to the ears.

The album also has tried to provoke conversations between eastern and western instruments, but the outcome is like one speaks Vietnamese while the other speaks French in a mashup dialogue. The exchange is not even close to what avant-garde Ornette Coleman had produced forty-five years ago in The Shape of Jazz to Come. Coleman’s sax and Don Cherry’s trumpet were carrying on a call-and-response effect provided by the incredible rhythm section from bassist Charlie Haden and drummer Billy Higgins.

Too bad Tim Gio didn’t find its wind, but at least it is a perfect album to relax with. And I am feeling the dan t’rung (a musical instrument of the minority people in the Central Highlands of Vietnam) vibration in “Cent Pour Cent” played by Cao Ho Nga.

Ange Maya’s digital illustration is what I see when I listen to Miles Davis’s Bitches Brew, which has been on heavy rotation in my car. The two-bar ostinatos from the mixture of acoustic and electronic sounds, especially on “Spanish Key,” run down your spines like pumping cool waves into your vein with a needle. Davis’s organic, space, chillout flavors gave jazz and rock a beautiful marriage as if they were meant for each other. The album released in 1969, yet it still sounds fresher than ever. Don’t care what the critics said, Prince of Darkness was an inventive genius and Bitches Brew is a masterpiece.

What in the world is Khanh Linh doing with her sophomore Ban Mai Xanh? She is trying way too hard to be modern, yet her soprano voice, which is more adequate for traditional music, hardly flows with the contemporary productions. Quoc Trung’s electronic arrangement is rich and colorful on “Ngay Khong Mua,” but Khanh Linh’s languorous delivery works against it. I can’t even believe what the hell I am listening to when she attempts to swing on Nguyen Manh Cuong’s “Du Anh Khong Den.” Through her flow and lacking of technical skills, I could sense that she has no groove at all. Even the keyboard solo swings much better than her vocals. When she goes schmaltzy on Giang Son and Nguyen Vinh Tien’s “Giac Mo Trua,” her breathy, windy delivery is definitely suitable for an afternoon nap. I had hope for her when she released her debut, but I am completely disappointed now. She has a remarkable voice, but damn she is using it wrong.

Before Trinh Cong Son’s music being molested, there were a few artful Trinh’s songbooks. Don Ho’s Ha Trang is one of them. Although the album released three years ago, it still sounds much fresher than the new ones out there now, thanks to trackmaster Dong Son for laying down crisp, imaginative productions. With a blend of organic vibe and electric flavor, Dong Son and his soundmen (Dustin Ngo on piano, Gary Garriton on harp, Le Ngoc on acoustic guitar, and Vu Anh Tuan on saxophone) blow new grooves into Trinh’s composition. Don’s rendition of “Dem Thay Ta La Thac Do” is still the most innovative reconstruction so far. While he gives the lyrics a light touch, his voice flow like water cascading down the waterfall-sounding arrangement. In “Xin Tra No Nguoi,” he maintains the buoyancy in his delivery to allow the trance-fused beat to do the renovation of the aged tune. The best part of the club-friendly “Nghe Nhung Tan Phai” is when Dustin Ngo breaks down his short but hypnotizing piano solo, like Chick Corea is in the house. Even though not every track is as successful as I would hope, Ha Trang, which is way underrated, still has its creative moment that deserves the recognition.

As much as I worship the ground he spitted on, I am fucking done with Trinh Cong Son’s albums. Seven LPs (“Tinh Khuc Trinh Cong Son”) released in Viet Nam within the last couple of months: two instrumentals from Lang Van production, two from Hong Nhung, one from Lo Thuy, Thai Hoa, and Khanh Ngoc, and let not include an array of albums in which three or four of his songs slipped in. How ridiculous is that? I am sure singers have many respect for Trinh, but they are abusing his work for their own good even if they don’t intend to. And they all have legitimate reasons for singing his music: I am in the stage of my life where I need Trinh’s music; I could feel his lyrics; I get a strong connection with his words, like telekinesis; Everytime I sing his music, I could feel what he was saying and what he had been through. Last year, the trend was how to make Trinh’s music sounds difference by throwing in some jazz and semi-classical elements or screaming their lungs out. This year, they want to stay with the original context and sing his music the way he intended. What a bunch of bullshit. It’s sad to witness his work being desecrated to the point of no control. I am sure Trinh Cong Son’s timeless work will never die, but right now it is becoming diegetic music. It’s really a damn shame.