Tran Thai Hoa, goes by Hoa T.T. to differentiate himself from Thuy Nga’s popular male singer with the same name, is an aspiring pop singer who seeks for advice and feedback on his performances. His demos could be listened at his MySpace account. He has a decent voice: youthful and affectionate with a bit too much of honey (particularly on his rendition of Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World”). Although the demo tracks show his versatility in singing various styles as well as different languages (Vietnamese, English, and French), a distinctive voice is what he is lacking. Both “Loi Ru Cho Con” and “De Danh” are passable, but don’t leave a deep, long-lasting impression. It is a bold attempt to cover “Bonjour Vietnam” just right after the song has been trembling the Vietnamese’s community worldwide, let along in a much slower tempo. But he managed to pull it off with a chord progression approach. The tension-building arrangement allows him to express the lyrics in his own view of the homeland. Not bad at all, but there’s still tremendous amount of work to do to find a place in listeners’ heart. But do keep the passion and the spirit alive!

Thelonious Monk had a remarkable use of rubato on the piano. His style, which based on stride tradition, was full of angularity, intentional fractured, heavily into the beat, and way outside of bebop standards. Monk favored the flatted fifths and preferred his sound to be clotted with alter chords. A perfect example of his stylistic tick is on “Epistrophy,” a strange performance in which he demonstrated his downward-scale signature. “Blue Monk” is another brilliant piece showcases Monk’s idiosyncratic timbre and bizarre rhythmic structure. His solo performance on “Don’t Blame Me” illustrates his disruptive but exquisite cascading scale. I have an unrequited love for solo piano, and I can just listen to Thelonious Himself all day, especially “Round Midnight.”

Don Ho is back. Wait, he has never left the building. My man just takes a long time to drop his album. He’s the do-it-yourself type of guy who wants to be involved in every step of the production. The hard part is that he has to do all the work from CD design to studio recording to distribution. The rewarding part is the creative freedom. And the best part is that he knows what it takes to put out an outstanding album.

With the newest release of Vi Do La Em, Don Ho proves, once again, to be the exceptional singer of his generation. By focusing only on Dieu Huong’s ballads, he learns how her lyrics should be interpreted, as well as how to transform her songs into his personal statement. Whether he sings about “Giong Le Kho,” begs his partner to stay in “O Lai Ta Di,” drenches his soul into “Khac Khoai,” reflects to love in “Chi Co Mot Thoi,” or expresses his career in “Lang Nhin Ta Thoi,” he hits their emotional forces dead on, as if his life is connected to the words. And his candor is seductive.

Ironically, the title track is one out of the two weakest performances on the album. Not because he couldn’t sing it well, but the tune has been covered way too many times, and he has tried way too hard to makes it stands out. The remaining pathetic track is “Vu Tru Cua Anh.” Dieu Huong’s space-love analogies don’t quite work. The upbeat production is banal, and Don’s Spanish counting isn’t cute either.

Despite the minor misses, Vi Do La Em marks one of Don Ho’s finest works up to date. Although his dark, slightly gruff voice is captivating, what heighten his flow and delivery are the soulful, lustful musical productions. With both vocal artistry and musical wizardry weaving into one, Dieu Huong’s compositions have been given a fresh and sensuous vibe.

When it comes to the double bass player, Charles Mingus is still my main man. His conversational and pianistic approaches have allowed me to see that the bass could do much more than accomplishing the rhythm section. Colors, textures, and deep emotions could be heard in Mingus’s bass line solo. Mingus was eminent for his inventive blend of blues, gospel, and New Orleans sound. One of my favorite blues pieces is his dedication to saxophonist Lester Young entitled, “Goodbye Pork Pie Hat.” The composition is filled with unusual, substitute, unexpected chords.

They seem uncongenial. Duc Tuan is a soulful ballad crooner while Ho Ngoc Ha is an r&b/pop chick. Yet, their collaborative effort on Ao Anh testifies that opposites can amalgamate. Despite their creative differences, they both have a unique style of covering standards and an appreciation for jazz that allow them to come in the studio together. They know how to make old tunes sound modern, and they have proved themselves in his Doi Mat Nguoi Son Tay and her Va Em Da Yeu.

Unlike Bang Kieu and Minh Tuyet, Duc Tuan’s clear, high tenor works like lotion on skin with Ho Ngoc Ha’s smoky, low contralto. Their duet rendition of “Ao Anh” is a fusion of soul and sex. Even though Ho Ngoc Ha has a limited range, she knows how to work with her limitation and turns it into her advantage. In “Buon,” her raspy voice is so damn erotic weaving in and out of the bossa-nova orchestration. Even on the playful “Dem Do Thi,” she could maneuver her vocals to fit the happy, shining arrangement. And for Duc Tuan, he gives “Sang Ngang” a heartfelt rendition by floating his charming voice over the keyboard licks and delicate brushworks. By swaggering along side with the slick swing in “Ghen,” he proves to be a versatile singer.

What makes Ao Anh works is the simplicity in both productions and performances. The crisp, clean, and simple arrangements play a major role in resuscitating old-school ballads. If you’re looking for hardcore jazz with scatting, improvisation, and complex syncopation, this is not your cup of tea. If you want to enjoy old tunes with a touch of jazz, however, this album will do the trick. Ao Anh is the sauciest, juiciest cover of standards I have heard so far.

Went to see Kevin Mahogany last Saturday in the good old Rosendale Theatre for the Jazz in the Valley series and I was blown away by his vocals and his trio. With a warm, charming, baritone voice, Mahogany maneuvered in and out of his savory rhythm section with an effortless grace. And man, can the brother scat? His rendition of Duke Ellington’s “Taking the A Train” is like the male version of Ella Fitzgerald in term of versatility in vocal range and manipulation. I went crazy when he imitated the bass sound and interacted with his young, and talented bass player. The most exhilarating part of the concert was when he made beatbox and and drummer had to repeat what he just improvised. His pianist is not only a virtuosi player, but a damn fine babe too (you don’t get to see a blondie with that kind of talent too often). She simply took my breath away with her gorgeous solos, especially when she’s all into it. Sorry I can’t recall the name of his players, but if you get a chance to see Mahogany and his musicians, you’ll be a for a real good time. He has a sense of humor too. The man with such a fabulous voice deserves the compliment from Newsweek as “the standout vocalist of his generation.”

In Asia’s Tinh Khuc Sau Cuoc Chien, Asia 4 paid homage to their hombre Cardin by hailing his music as the future of Vietnamese entertainment. They made it sounds like he’s the next Prince of Brownness who would revolutionize the music scene. You want to bitch-smack them, but you get it. They are still riding his midget dick, even though he kicked their ass to the curve. Now that is some real brotherly love right there baby!

Like I said, if Asia productions promote Cardin’s work as the new, hip joint, we’re in deep shit. His Trai Tim Dai Kho (Foolish Heart) is anything but modern. Who still listens to that obsolete freestyle beats on the title track and “Nang Sieu Nhan?” Let me not even touch on his lyrical writing. When he rides upbeats, his voice drowned inside them. When he croons slow-tempos, dude sounds like a pitiable bitch, especially on “She’s So Beautiful.” I get goose bumps as soon as he starts to sing. I thought Ung Hoang Phuc’s version of the sugary “Sau Mot Tinh Yeu” is unlistenable. Cardin’s rendition is simply unbearable. Can’t get any wimpier than that.

Feel bad for homeboy Chosen for having to do these Diddy craps like “Sending All My Love.” Why stuck by Trish, Da Nhat Yen, and Cardin rhyming over these horrendous pop tunes? You got the flow, get your own gig on, son. Speaking of Trish, Cardin is like her male version; therefore, they sound so damn tight together on “The Chase,” even though the music and the lyrics are corny as hell.

How could Cardin’s music be the future when he covers tunes from Boney M. and Modern Talking? They are two of the most antediluvian groups on the planet. I guess he’s trying to take us back to the future.

When 2pacalypse Now, Pac’s debut, hit the streets in ’92, my English was not good enough to pay attention to his provocative lyrics. Last weekend, I pulled the album off my boy’s CD collection and stuck by Pac’s lyricism. In “I Don’t Give a Fuck,” he ain’t fucking joking when he spitted, “And if you look between the lines / You’ll find a rhyme as strong as a fucking nine.” His words were filled with violent graphics. I still recall an incident where two kids shot at a cop and blamed on Pac’s music for the motivation, and I am not finding it surprising with what Pac had described in his “Violent” words: “My homie dropped, so I hit the cop / I kept swinging, yo, I couldn’t stop / Before I knew it, I was beating the cop senseless / The other cop dropped his gun, he was defenseless / Now I’m against this cop who was racist / Given him a taste, of trading places.” At such a young age—barely legal to drink—Pac was fully aware of the injustice as a Black male. In “Words of Wisdom,” he prosecuted AmeriKKKa with, “the crime of rape, murder, and assault / For suppressing and punishing my people / I charge you with robbery for robbing me of my history / I charge you with false imprisonment for keeping me.” And he also questioned the Black history lessons: “No Malcolm X in my history text / Why is that? / Cause he tried to educate and liberate all blacks / Why is Martin Luther King in my book each week? / He told blacks, if they get smacked, turn the other cheek / I don’t get it, so many questions went through my mind / I get sweated / They act as if asking questions is a crime.” Obviously two of Pac’s mega classics were “Trapped” and “Brenda’s Got a Baby” (courtesy of YouTube). Both pieces demonstrated Pac’s skillful narrative storytelling as well as his poetic lyrics with a wicked flow.

I’ve been allured into Le Kieu Nhu‘s Nua Hon Thuong Dau and I don’t even know how and why. She has a seductive voice—silky and raspy—but not outstanding in a distinctive sense. Her technical skill is minimal; she doesn’t even know when to hold her breath; her musical selections are way older than she is; and she choose to sing with a man twice her age. Why Duy Quang and not Duc Tuan or Quang Dung? Their duet on Ngo Thuy Mien’s “Niem Khuc Cuoi” reminds me of a marriage photoshoot, between an old Taiwanese bastard and a young, model-looking Vietnamese girl, I have witness in Binh Quoi. The look on her face was like she’s about to head straight to hell in a white gown, but there was no way out. And that’s how Le Kieu Nhu crafted her album, like a real dramatic musical epic. After “Thuong Nhau Ngay Mua,” there’s only “Buon,” “Sang Ngang” “Con Tuoi Nao Cho Em,” and ended up with “Nua Hon Thuong Dau.” She may not be a skillful ballad crooner, but she sure can makes us feel her bitterness. She delivers these sorrowful tunes with tremendous pain and despondency. What makes me coming back to this album again and again is that she makes her stilted flows sound like they are choked with tears. Sympathy is the best word to describe the album, and I do feel pity after listening to it. Who wouldn’t feel that way about a girl who looks so damn fine?

The OutKasteers, Big Boi and Andre 3000, are still kicking together on their newest release, Idlewild, one of the most anticipated hip-hop joints of the year. Hip-hop has been on the idleside lately; therefore, we need the “two dope boys in a Cadillac” to bring back her spirit. Musically, OutKast has never stood still. The Southern duo has given hip-hop a fresh vibe by funking her up with their previous releases, and they have done it again on Idlewild with jazz and blues flavors.

With The Love Below, Dre had revealed that he is ready to move beyond rap, even though he could still flow rhymes better than croon ballads. That still holds true on Idlewild, particularly his off-key singing on the guitar-strumming blues over hard beat of “Idlewild Blue (Don’t Chu Worry ‘Bout Me),” and the slick jive of “PJ & Rooster.” His singing is passable, but I would rather hear him rhymes with Big Boi. He surprises me, however, with his chops on “When I Look In Your Eyes.” He’s not Louis Armstrong or a true jazz singer, but he could maneuver his limited vocal range around the swing orchestration.

Even though Dre is the creative juice behind the album, Big still does what he does best. He spits some of the wicked verses throughout the album, noticeably on “Peaches,” in which his lyrical storytelling is as sharp as always. Although Big is not ready to joint Dre’s singing, he has his own jazz swag. In “Call The Law,” he drives the hard-swing beat (seasoned with tasty keyboard licks) with his smooth style and speedy delivery while Janelle Monáe holds down the vocal lines with her strong, clear tone. I wish Big had dropped another verse though.

Unfortunately, Idlewild as a whole is not coherent. The album has way too many interludes between the tracks, too much singing hooks, but not enough strong productions to support the def verses. The saddest part, however, is that Big and Dre don’t sound as a unit anymore.