Trần Thái Hoà is apparently very boring. Like many Vietnamese singers, particularly the oversea ones, Trần Thái Hoà has locked himself into a one-dimensional style. He hardly pushes his delivery out of his comfort range, which is quite limit.

What makes his latest release, Quên Đi Tình Yêu Cũ, incredibly dull is that he had chosen a handful of bland ballad including the title track by Trịnh Nam Sơn, “Mùa Đông Sắp Đến” by Đức Huy and “Tình Đã Vụt Bay” by Vũ Tuấn Đức. On top of his song choices, his productions aren’t so exciting either. Even the bluesy vibe on “Một Lần Nào Cho Tôi Gặp Lại Em” (Vũ Thành An) and the Latin flavor on “Tình Đã Vụt Bay” are just yawn-worthy.

The album closer, “Buồn Ơi, Chào Mi” (Nguyễn Ánh 9), is the only track that isn’t so monotonous. Then again, Quên Đi Tình Yêu Cũ is Trần Thái Hoà’s tenth solo release of this same old shit. He must be doing something right.

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.