Everyone turns “sến” these days. No crime in that. We all need a bit of over-sentimentalism once in a while. Thiên Kim’s latest release, Xa Vắng, is not a bad record of “sến.” Her simple delivery turns out to be quite effective. She goes for the core emotion rather than the superficial drama.

“Chiều Tây Đô” is a great example. She covers the song in a straightforward manner. No pitch correction nor tonal embellishment was needed. In fact, her voice even cracked at several spots as if she came down with a cold and that is the raw beauty of her delivery. Unfortunately the production is counterintuitive to her voice. The programmed strings and steady percussion work against rather complemented her vocals. The outcome would have been much more compelling if only the picking guitar accompanied her voice. We don’t need to count the beat to figure out it’s a fucking bolero rhythm.

Again, the vocal delivery on both “Phút Cuối” and “Duyên Kiếp” is superb, but the arrangements are so typical of Asia productions. “Tình Lỡ” would have been a better solo piece. Quốc Khanh just doesn’t have the chops for “sến.” The “Lâu Đài Tình Ái” duet is also a mismatch. It feels such a letdown after “Chiều Tây Đô.”

Though her version of “Hận Đồ Bàn” is quite good, it doesn’t stand a chance against Bảo Tuấn rendition. He fucking owns that song like Tuấn Ngọc owns “Riêng Một Góc Trời.”

There’s a missing voice in 5 Dòng Kẻ’s new record. I had to google it to make sure I didn’t hear it incorrectly. It turns out that Hồng Ngọc had left the group four years ago. When Giáng Son moved on to focus on her writing and teaching, the group didn’t suffer much because Giáng Son was more of a composer than a singer. In fact, its 2007 release Cánh Mặt Trời was a huge leap forward without Giáng Son. The group experimented with new sound and storytelling experience. Their vocals had different range, but they were still harmonious.

With the departure of Hồng Ngọc, the group is losing the rough edges. Hồng Ngọc has a smoky contralto that not only complemented the group’s alto and mezzo-soprano, but also added textures to the entire ensemble. In the new album, Yêu, there’s no evil to contrast the angelic voices of Bảo Lan, Thùy Linh and Lan Hương. Unlike Tự Tình Ca and Cánh Mặt Trời, Yêu lacks the focus of an album concept. The record opens with “Đò Ngang,” which sets in an electronic backdrop that the group had previously explored in Cánh Mặt Trời. “Yêu Trọn Giấc Mơ” is orchestrated in a minimal setting using a string-picking instrument and piano as the main accompaniment. The problem is that the melody isn’t distinctive and dynamic enough to pull through six minutes. “Chạm” is also having the same melodic mundane that leaning toward the powerful-pop-ballad-accompanied-by-a-piano trend.

With the title track, which kicks off the second half of the album, the group switches up to a big beat groove mixed with traditional zither. The fusion is intriguing, but Bảo Lan seems to have a hard time deciding whether the tune should be instrumental or with words. The end result is in between, which is a huge disappointment. She should either ditch the words and incorporate more zither improvisation or make it into a song with lyrics. I kept waiting for the singing to join in, but never did.

“Rơi” is a standout and the group should have taken the dance approach to the entire album. The production is engaging even with the unnecessary rock riff. The clattering percussion starts off for a minute and a half before the singing kicks in. Then the vocals meshed beautifully even without Hồng Ngọc. As the title suggested, “Rơi” is like the group has letting go of everything and just let themselves fall into the music. The chorus is made up of not a catchy hook, but a serious of action words: “nghiêng (tilting), trôi (floating), lao đao (dizzying), mệt nhoài (exhausting), ngã gục (tumbling), rơi (falling), lao đi (fleeing), chạy (running), tìm kiếm (searching), chắp váp (patching) and hoang mang (puzzling).

Bảo Lan once again proves that she can write. The ten tracks on the album comes from her own pen as well as her own musical direction. She is obviously the anchor of the group. Without her, there’s no 5 Dòng Kẻ. Bảo Lan could easily break up the group and do her own things, sort of like what Justine Timberlake had done with ‘N Sync, but she decides to stay with the group is wonderful thing. Even though Yêu is not as successful and coherent as the group’s previous works, it is still an impressive record that’s filled with original compositions. I sincerely wish that the group sticks together and move forward in its own path.

M.I.A.’s forth release, Matangi, is all over the map. In the first verse of the title track, she literally name-drops countries around the world (from Somalia Bosnia to China Canada). Even the productions are all over the place ranging from Bollywood synthesizing to percussion clattering to bass blasting to Indian chanting to Arabic clubbing. As chaotic as the beats are, they make the album so damn hypnotic to experience.

If you can ignore the lyrics, you can just groove to every track, but that wouldn’t be an M.I.A.’s record. What makes M.I.A. brilliant is that she not only could get your feet stomping, but she could also get your ear to pay “aTENTion.” As an artist, M.I.A is not easy to pin down. In one track, she’s a bad girl who lives fast and dies young. In another, she’s a lady of rage with an afro puff who is “more Jiggy than Will.” Elsewhere she’s a Mathangi who is a “Goddess of word” and who sings “like a whore.”

Sure, Matangi is a hot mess. It’s incoherent, contradicting and frustrating, and yet it is also so compelling, fascinating and engaging at the same time. And that’s what make M.I.A. unique.

With The Marshall Mathers LP 2 Eminem revisits his 2000’s classic that was filled with controversial lyrics ranging from homophobic to misogynistic to straight antagonistic. So now, 13 years later, what has changed?

For once, his attitude toward his mama is more positive. In “Headlights” he even apologizes, “But I’m sorry mama for ‘Cleaning Out My Closet,’ at the time I was angry… That song I no longer play at shows and I cringe every time it’s on the radio.” While he’s still being criticized for his use of “faggots,” he’s not using it in a derogative way toward homosexuals. In “Rap God,” he’s placing the word in the context of a rap contest. In hip-hop battle, which Em was a master at it, your mission is to belittle your opponent.

In retrospect, Em’s narrative hasn’t changed much, particularly in the misogyny territory. In “So Much Better,” he plays off Jay Z’s: “I got 99 problems and the bitch ain’t one / She’s all 99 of ’em I need a machine gun.” In fact, in the past 13 years, he has struggled again and again with fresh contents. From 2004’s Encore to 2009’s Relapse to 2010’s Recovery, he hardly moved beyond his usual targets.

Going into The Marshall Mathers LP 2, I was not expecting Em to change his narrative, even though I hope he would. What makes him still one of the best MCs in the game, however, is his jaw-dropping delivery. He always pushes his craft to the next level. In “God Rap,” he spits rhymes like Usain Bolt for six damn minutes packing in so many syllables per second without slipping a word or missing a beat. Based on his rhyme skills, he earns the title of the “God Rap.”

Lorde has all the right ingredients to make a modern pop album. She has a sultry, slightly raspy voice. She has Joel Little who knows how to build minimalist beats to complement her vocals. She has all the accurate references to materialisms (iPhone, Grey Goose, Cristal, Mayback and Cadillacs). Yet what sets Lorde apart from the pop crowd is that she is not caught up in that glamorous lifestyle: “That kind of lux just ain’t for us / We crave a different kind of buzz.”

Even though Lorde is only 16, she is well-aware of the pop scene: “I’m kind of over getting told to throw my hands up in the air/So there/I’m kind of older than I was when I reveled without a care.” Lorde knows that with smart, witty lyrics, she doesn’t need to twerk to get to the top. Pure Heroine is a proof that she can beat the pop game with its own whip.

Hồng Mơ’s new release, Khi Tình 30, kicks off with “Đời Cuốn Xa Dần,” which is a typical pop song. She has a decent voice (strong and slightly scratchy), but the record is just average due to mundane melody and predictable production.

Just as I thought that Khi Tình 30 is going be yet another trendy album that pops up everyday in the Vietnamese music scene, the second track surprises me. Her rendition of Phạm Duy’s “Thà Như Giọt Mưa” is a complete transformation. The tune is arranged in bossa nova backdrop and she maneuvers moderately behind the beat. The result is quite mesmerizing even though I wish her phrasings were a bit slower to give more time and attention to the lyrics. She sounds rushed trying to keep up with the timing. She should have taken clue from Ngọc Lan’s version for this record.

Then again her version of Đức Tiến’s “Mây Bay Là Bay Rồi,” is impeccable. The Latin rhythm is a bit slower; therefore, she has enough time and space to devote to the lyrics and she knows how to work her vocals around the hypnotic plucking bass. “Thoáng Thấy Anh” takes a detour to a mid-tempo club beat. Fortunately, “Yêu Nhiều Hơn” returns to the bluesy vibe. “Dối Lừa” (Holy Thắng) digs deeper into the blues and her delivery is quite confident and poignant in conveying the deceived emotion. “Anh Hết Yêu Tôi Từ Lâu,” another tune from Đức Tiến, is my personal favorite and, without a doubt, one of the highlights in the album.

Khi Tình 30 closes out with Nguyễn Văn Khánh’s “Nỗi Lòng.” Hồng Mơ knows damn well that Hồ Ngọc Hà revived this classic with a bluesy makeover; therefore, she (and her producer) made a wise decision to swing it up. The result is quite refreshing. With the exception of “Đời Cuốn Xa Dần” and “Thoáng Thấy Anh,” I am so glad to see Hồng Mơ moves beyond the pop bubbles and explores the jazz territory. As the title is hinted, this album is for 30s and up. She definitely knows her target.

Clipse, the dope duo that brought us the classic Hell Hath No Fury, has dismantled. Big brother Malice dropped the powder and picked up the bible. Good for him. Lil brother Pusha T, on the other hand, is still obsessed with coke-slinging storytelling.

Pusha’s solo debut My Name is My Name is filled with imaginative cocaine lyricism. In “Hold On,” he claims, “I sold more dope than I sold records.” In “Suicide” he boasts, “I’m still a snow mover, blow harder than tuba / Designated shooters, turn weed to woolers.” In “Nostalgia,” he reflects, “Twenty plus years of selling Johnson & Johnson / I started out as a baby face monster / No wonder there’s diaper rash on my conscience.” The metaphor gets more intricate in “40 Acres.”

Without a doubt, Pusha is still one of the dopest lyricists in the game. His punchlines are menace and his attitude is unapologetic: “School of hard knock, I attended / Selling hard rock, fuck who I offended.” Yet the main setback of My Name is the lacking of raw aesthetics Pusha and Malice brought to Hell Hath No Fury. The productions, which are oversight by Kanye West, are surprisingly over-glossed. Out of twelve tracks, only the first two have no guest spot.

Too many guests and too many hooks only get in the way of storytelling. “Sweet Serenade” is a perfect example of how a r&b, bitch-ass whippersnapper could ruin a track. What the fuck is Kanye doing on “Hold On” with Auto-tune shit? It’s a torture and should it have been left out. “Let Me Love You” with Kelly Rowland is an obvious mainstream target. The Mase’s flow is spot on though.

“S.N.I.T.C.H.,” an acronym for “Sorry Nigga I’m Trying to Come Home,” closes out the album with a poignant story. Too bad, Pusha restricts himself too much to the same subject with glossier productions and pop hooks. It’s sort of like he used to be a coke rapper and now he’s still a coke rapper with a cherry on top.

Anh Thơ has such a soaring soprano that her singing could be quite torturing every time she hits the high notes. That might be good for a dramatic opera, but not so good for Vietnamese intimate ballads and traditional folks tunes. Her new release, Mình Thương Nhớ Nhau, is the proof. Her rendition of “Riêng Một Góc Trời” (Ngô Thụy Miên) is so acidic and so piercing that if you turn the volume loud enough in a car with the windows rolled up, her voice might break the glass. Right off “Thương Lắm Tóc Dài Ơi!” (Phú Quang), she wastes no time flighting into the high register and pushes beyond comfort level. In folks tunes, like “Trở Lại Sông Quê” (Xuân Đồng), her high voice diminishes the traditional vibe, especially when the soprano voice competes with the flute. The main issue is the mix and match between vocals and compositions. She needs to change to her alto range or pick something else that has operatic vibe.

Four like-minded musicians from four different parts of the world came together to pay hypnotic homage to two innovators of jazz: Ornette Coleman and Eric Dolphy. As a huge fan of both Coleman and Dolphy and having spent countless of hours soaking in their works, I find c.o.d.e. to be a refreshing reinterpretation of their classics.

Mỗi khi nhắc đến nhạc sến thì ai cũng có ý kiến của riêng của họ. Tôi cũng không ngoại lệ. Vừa đọc xong những lời “bênh vực” (defending) nhạc sến từ nhạc sĩ Quốc Bảo, tôi cũng muốn để đầu mình trên thớt (putting my head on the chopping block) nói về nhạc sến và nêu ra những ý kiến của Quốc Bảo tôi không đồng ý.

Trước tiên, tôi không phải là người chê bai nhạc sến. Mỗi loại nhạc điều có cái đặc biệt của nó. Nhạc sến hay trữ tình là một loại rất riêng (original) của Việt Nam. Tuy nhiên cái mà làm tôi thất vọng nhất về dòng nhạc này là sự không sáng tạo. Điển hình là mấy chục năm nay dòng nhạc này vẫn không thay đổi. Những ca sĩ đi trước như Chế Linh và Thanh Tuyền vẫn giữ lối hát từ trước đến nay. Giới trẻ bây giờ như Trường Vũ, Đan Nguyên, Quang Lê, Mạnh Quỳnh, Phi Nhung, Mai Thiên Vân Hạ Vy và Băng Tâm cũng thế. Chỉ cần ca đúng nhiệp là cứ tiếp tục mà ca chứ không đem lại một chút gì mới mẻ.

Quốc Bảo đưa ra sự so sánh giữa nhạc sến và jazz tôi hoàn toàn không đồng ý. Anh viết:

Nếu coi sến đồng nghĩa hoặc xuất phát từ văn hóa bình dân, thì các vị nghe jazz xin hãy nhớ: jazz là nhạc bình dân, nhạc của tầng lớp nô lệ xưa, của những người ít học và không được cơ hội hòa nhập vào thế giới da trắng trí thức.

Tuy nhạc jazz xuất phát từ nhạc blues, nhưng jazz luôn thay đổi và tiến lên. Không phải nhạc jazz không có cơ hội nhập vào thế giới da trắng. Mà là nhạc jazz không muốn nhập vào thế giới da trắng. Nên nhớ rằng những nhạc sĩ da trắng như Bix Biederbecke, Benny Goodman và Dave Brubeck điều nỗi tiếng nhờ vào nhạc jazz. Nhất là những năm 1935 đến 1946 swing được thịnh hành, Benny Goodman đã đưa nhạc jazz vào “thế giới da trắng trí thức.” Sau đó Charlie Parker và Dizzy Gillespie muốn dành lại jazz cho riêng những người trẻ da đen nên sáng lập ra bebop. Jazz luôn thay đổi từ New Orleans Creole Jazz tới swing tới bebop tới cool jazz tới free jazz tới fusion tới avant garde. Nhạc jazz xuất phát từ giới nô lệ nhưng đã được đưa vào trường lớp đại học. Nhờ thế mà tôi mới được biết đến jazz và đam mê nó.

Về lời nhạc, Quốc Bảo viết, “Có những nhà soạn lời văn vẻ cao siêu như Bernie Taupin thì vẫn tồn tại Eminem vừa chỉ trỏ vừa chửi bậy kiểu bình dân.” Có lẻ Quốc Bảo không thấu hiểu những lời lẻ và văn hóa của hip-hop. Eminem là một trong những lyricist rất tài hoa. Đằng sau những từ “chửi bậy kiểu bình dân” là những cách ráp chữ rất khéo léo. Ví dụ như bài “Lose Yourself”:

His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy
There’s vomit on his sweater already, mom’s spaghetti
He’s nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready to drop bombs,
But he keeps on forgetting what he wrote down,
The whole crowd goes so loud
He opens his mouth, but the words won’t come out

Tuy chữ dùng rất giản dị nhưng người nghe có thể cảm nhận được cái run rẩy của Eminem. Hoặc gần đây nhất là bài “Somewhere In America” của Jay-Z. Cái câu mà luôn cả những nhà phê bình cho là tầm thường và vô vị, lại chứa đầy ý nghĩa đằng sau: “Feds still lurking / They see I’m still putting work in / Cause somewhere in America / Miley Cyrus is still twerkin’.” Jay-Z muốn ám chỉ về sự phân biệt chủng tộc (racism) ở Mỹ. Làm sao có thể nói về racism khi con cháu chúng ta nó sống ở trong đó. Miley Cyrus là một đứa trẻ da trắng mà nhảy nhót theo kiểu da đen.

Về phần nhạc bolero, Quốc Bảo viết:

Tôi nói sến khó lắm, là có cơ sở. Như các bạn cũng biết, nhạc bolero được viết ra bằng các nguyên liệu tối thiểu… Nhạc bolero không dùng các kỹ thuật tác khúc phức tạp như chuyển điệu, chuyển cung, tạo các quãng nhảy xa trong giai điệu, hòa thanh nghịch âm, tiết tấu nhiều biến thể.

Giới hạng không hẳn không sáng tạo. Ngày xưa các tay chơi nhạc jazz chỉ cần 12-bar blues cũng có thể tạo ra được rất nhiều khúc tức hứng (improvisation) rất thú vị. Lúc trước đĩa vinyl chỉ có được thu âm đúng 3 phút. Trong giới hạng đó Duke Ellington đã có thể bỏ vào rất nhiều âm thanh đọc đáo và đầy màu sắc. Miles Davis chỉ dùng modal scale làm nền tảng và đã cho phép những tay như John Coltrane, Bill Evans, Cannonball Adderley, Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, Tony Williams tự quyền biến hóa bay bỏng.

Đem so sánh nhạc sến với jazz thì không khác gì so sánh bơm với táo. Phê bình nhạc cũng không phải là nghề chính của tôi và tôi cũng không dính líu gì trong giới văn nghệ. Là người ngoài cuộc nhìn vào, tôi chỉ muốn đóng góp ý kiến rất nhỏ về phía cạnh một người yêu và thưởng thức âm nhạc Việt Nam. Chỉ mong rằng mấy chục năm nữa nhạc sến và đa số phần lớn nhạc Việt Nam bây giờ vẫn không dậm chân tại chổ như hiện tại.