To practice her Vietnamese, a reader translated my review of Ngoc Ha’s Nuoc Mat Mua Thu. It’s such a great idea that I asked her permission to share it. What intrigues me is that she doesn’t translate word for word, and sometimes expanded further details with her own understand of what I wanted to say. I am impressed.

Trong dĩa nhạc riêng thứ tư, Nước Mắt Mùa Thu, do trung tâm Asia phát hành, Ngọc Hạ đã làm mới lại những ca khúc đã từ lâu được khán thính giả yêu thích với giọng hát điêu luyện và phong cách trẻ trung. Lắng nghe từng ca khúc Ngọc Hạ thể hiện, tôi tự hỏi từ cái vóc dáng nhỏ bé kia sao lại có thể là nơi phát ra cái giọng hát mạnh mẽ ấy!

Với nhạc chủ đề “Nước Mắt Mùa Thu” của Phạm Duy, một lần nữa Ngọc Hạ khẳng định chổ đứng của một trong những giọng ca nữ hàng đầu hiện nay. Sự nồng nàn pha lẫn chút buồn trong giọng ca cùng với cách ngân, Ngọc Hạ như gửi gấm tâm hồn mình vào trong ca khúc. Nếu được nghe bên cạnh giọng ca của nữ danh ca Lệ Thu thì thính giả khó tánh nhất cũng khó có thể so sánh. Hãy lắng nghe Ngọc Hạ thở dài “Trời ơi” để cảm nhận được nổi buồn cho thân phận của một kẻ cô đơn, lẻ loi trong cái lạnh lẽo quạnh hiu của một đêm mưa cuối thu.

Bên cạnh giọng ca, phần lựa chọn ca khúc cũng đóng góp vào sự thành công của dĩa nhạc lần này. Ngọc Hạ đã chinh phục thính giả qua nhiều thể loại nhạc khác nhau: lúc ngân vang tựa tiếng chim hót trong âm điệu quê hương qua nhạc phẩm “Hồ Trên Núi” của Phó Đúc Phương, lúc sôi động trong vũ điệu paso của Khánh Băng “Ngày Về Quê Cũ” cũng như lúc hoàng tráng trong âm hưởng bán cổ điển của Phạm Duy “Kiếp Nào Có Yêu Nhau.”

Ngoài cái chưa trọn vẹn của Văn Phụng “Giã Từ Đêm Mưa” mà phần lớn do phần hòa âm với vũ điệu cha-cha kém phần lôi cuốn, sự phối hợp giữa Ngọc Hạ và trung tâm Asia lần này có thể cho là chặt chẻ và thành công. Còn điều gì mong đợi từ Ngọc Hạ? Nghe lại một lần nữa Ngọc Hạ Nước Mắt Mùa Thu và Đức Tuấn Ngậm Ngùi… Chiếc Lá Thu Phai và hãy thử hình dung một dĩa nhạc kết hợp của hai giọng ca qua dòng nhạc Phạm Duy.

In my brief commentary on Le Quyen’s Giac Mo Co That, I wrote, “The young Le Quyen has a captivating timbre —powerful and perspicuous—with no breathe or pitch issues. While her technical skill is promising, her music selection is disappointing.” I doubt that she read my criticism, but still give myself the credit for helping her stepping up her game. On Mat Biec, her new release with Tung Duong and Tuan Hiep, the dark, gruff sensuousness in her voice is a wonderful complement to the nocturnal mood in Pham Dinh Chuong’s “Xom Dem,” Nguyen Van Thuong’s “Dem Dong,” and Tuan Khanh’s “Chiec La Cuoi Cung.” Even though she still needs to work on her delivery, the soul is there.

Speaking of soul, Tung Duong is the soulster, and he’s always switching up his style. Although it doesn’t always work, he has not been shied away from experiencing with his voice. To give Ngo Thuy Mien’s “Mua Thu Cho Em” a soft and gentle vibe, he holds back his vocals, which ends up sounding like he tries too hard to be effortless. As a result, his voice works against his flow, and the heavy breathing makes him sound huskier than calm. Fortunately, he brings back the ferocity and intensity on Doan Chuan and Tu Linh’s “Gui Gio Cho May Ngan Bay” and “La Do Muon Chieu.”

As for Tuan Hiep, he just got a free ride. With such a mundane voice, he has no business being on the album. Ngo Thuy Mien’s “Ban Tinh Cuoi” should have been a duet between Le Quyen and Tung Duong, not Tuan Hiep. Another disappointment of Mat Biec is the musical arrangement. Except for the little jazziness in “Xom Dem,” the rest are pretty colorless and liveliless.

A successful singer needs both vocal and aural skills. She has to be able to sing as well as hearing what she sings. Van Quynh has a fantastic voice, yet lacks the ear for good tunes. Her debut Uoc Mot Ngay kicks off with a dynamic, hypnotic rendition of “Mot Thoi De Yeu” giving the album a promising start. Unfortunately, even her powerful vocals couldn’t save the rest of the lackluster tracks. She’s still young and inexperienced at crafting an album, but Thuy Nga’s producers should have known better.

On Tinh Khuc Cho Em, Quang Dung throws Thai Ha a bone. She’s only a passable singer with soft and rangeless vocals. On their duet “Vung Lay Cua Chung Ta,” Quang Dung pulls her out of the mud. Her insomnia-cured voice only makes his sounded more superior than it actually is. Charity is the only reason he made this album. Whether he did it for the kids or for her, the profit should (as she has claimed) go to help the children in Viet Nam. So if you cop this album illegally, you should go to hell. Fuck it, I’ll be there with ya.

On her fourth solo, Nuoc Mat Mua Thu, produced by Asia Entertainment, Ngoc Ha brings back the nostalgic vibes. What makes her covers of the classic tunes sound so damn fresh are the youthfulness in her performance and authoritativeness in her voice. With such passionate power, she makes me wonder how tones like that could come from petite a physique. I guess it is true that good things do come in small packages.

On the title track, “Nuoc Mat Mua Thu,” Ngoc Ha proves once again that she is one of the best female vocalists in her generation when it comes to covering Pham Duy’s compositions. With brilliant use of vibrato, Ngoc Ha pours her tearful soul out like autumn rain. Her emotional transformation could easily place next to Le Thu’s rendition. Pay particular attention to the way she expresses “troi oi,” and you’ll know what I mean.

Beside her voice, Ngoc Ha’s other strength is the wide range in her repertoire. Soaring like songbird on Pho Duc Phuong’s “Ho Tren Nui,” she demonstrates her skills for handling traditional folks. With an astonishing breath control and a sleek maneuverability around ballroom beats, she rocks the dance floor with Khanh Bang’s “Ngay Ve Que Cu” in paso-double style. Backing up by an orchestra, she gives Pham Duy’s “Kiep Nao Co Yeu Nhau,” a striking semi-classical recital.

Weakest track on the album is Van Phung’s “Gia Tu Dem Mua.” The imperfection is more on the arrangement than Ngoc Ha’s delivery. The cha-cha groove is jerky and weirdly mixed with the acoustic guitar riffs. Still, Ngoc Ha’s vocals and Asia’s productions are a wonderful coil to one another. What I want to hear next from Ngoc Ha is a Pham Duy’s album with the collaboration of Duc Tuan. Imagine that!

In “The La Qua Du,” Kim, a fifteen-year-old chick straight from Ha Noi, attempts to rhyme, “Doi voi toi, hip-hop la mot phan tren co the / Khong the mat no, chac toi se thanh nguoi tan phe.” After listening to her debut album, Kim Vol. 1, I raise the question, “What hip-hop is she talking about?” She can’t ride the beat. She has no flow. Her lyric is elementary. Shortie needs to get her ass back to school and stop fronting like she got game.

Only nine months after the release of Fishscale, Ghostface is giving us More Fish. The album is choked full of guest appearances including Trife Da God, Red Man, and Kanye West. A Ghost’s joint, however, should only be Ghost alone spitting sixty-something bars straight with no hooks, and no one else should interrupt his flows—not even an r-&-b singer. The remake of Amy Winehouse’s “You Know I am No Good” is the only exception. Ghost’s energetic delivery heightens the tune with hip-hop and jazz flavor, and his aggressive crescendo increases the sizzles to the bittersweet affair: “I love you like my coffee: so hot and so sweet.” What makes Ghost so damn pleasure to listen to is his restless drive and his astonishing breath control. Even when he rhymes over Eric B.’s old-school beat and flips Rakim’s script, Ghost proves that he still got juice.

With all the hip-hop-is-dead controversies floating around, Clipse are the real hip-hop’s saviors. On their newest release, Hell Hath No Fury, Pusha-T and Malice cut their coke-slinging tales like movie directors over the Neptunes’ dark, dense scores. From one episode to the next, the album’s twelve solid tracks are packed with accessible images, vivid rhyme patterns, restless flows, and precise productions. The Virginia duo had stepped their game up and crafted a masterpiece that could be experience again and again with guilty pleasures: “I’m at your door, your eyes are like ‘why are you here?’ / Judging by my steel, I got something to do here. / Give up the money or the angel cries two tears / Front of your crib sounding like Chinese New Year.”

In 1959, Ornette Coleman broke into the scene and set jazz free. His groundbreaking The Shape of Jazz to Come earned him the avant-garde stature and changed the rules of the game—less rules that is. Today, Coleman’s Sound Grammar is as fearless as it was five decades ago. At 76, his tone and virtuosity on the alto saxophone and trumpet had yet to suffer. Backed up by his son Denardo Coleman on the trap set, Greg Cohen on pizzicato bass, and Tony Falanga on bowing bass, Coleman wailed like a wild horse roaming free on “Jordan,” and stung like killer bees on “Song X.” Both tunes sounded chaotic on the surface, yet embedded inside them were deep, sensational melodic lines. On slow-tempo, sweet ballad, “Sleep Walking,” the interaction between Coleman’s sentimental alto and Falanga’s soul-sawing bass was breathtaking and captivating. Although he took one of my favorite instruments, the piano, out of the jazz band, I ain’t mad at him. With complete freedom from harmonic lines, Coleman’s unmistakable solos together with the hypnotic rhythm section created irresistible and unforgettable experiences.

At 60, Keith Jarrett still had his chops as a solo pianist. The Carnegie Hall Concert marked a historical event for the master of improvisation. With two hours of nothing but pure energy, passion, mood, and emotion, Jarrett poured his heart and soul out on the keys as if it was his last chance to perform. If you’re a solo-piano freak like me, this live album is no way to be missed.