Unlike Jay-Z, Diddy never gets the proper respect as a rapper even though he’s been in the game for who knows how long. That doesn’t bother him, and he doesn’t let it stop him from being an entertainer either. He still does what he does best: makes hip-hop hits for the broads. Somebody has to do it, and he knows he can’t do it alone; therefore, he invited everyone—from Nas to Twista to Big Boi to Mary J. Blige to Christina Aguilera to Jamie Foxx—to help his ass out with Press Play, his latest album. And unlike Cam’ron, Diddy makes sure he gets all the best beats to support his weak lyrics. Almost all the productions are tight to make you want to dance all night, and forget his shitty rhymes like, “Now that I have you here / Girl, let me take you there / Nothing can compare to fucking, fucking, my dear.”

After experiencing the Chanticleer live at Vassar College last night, I could see how it has deserved its title as “an orchestration of voices.” The a-cappella ensemble took us all the way back to 1901 classical music all the way up to contemporary jazz with twelve marvelous male vocalists ranging from soprano, alto, tenor to baritone and bass. The members were so in control of their voices that they blended together as a unit. The group performance of Korean’s folk tune, Jeeyoung Kim’s “Jindo Arirang,” was an exhilarated one. Eric Brenner‘s soprano voice sounded just like those Korean’s female opera singers when he shouted. Eric Alatorre, the man with the lovely mustache, has an intoxicating bass tone, particularly for the jazz cover. Of course, the group as a whole is spectacular. Check them out if you get a chance, especially those a-cappella freaks. (Yes, you Joseph!)

You must be thinking that I am out of my mind for associating two totally unrelated artists. Sure, Trinh Cong Son has been dubbed as Vietnamese’s Bob Dylan for his war-protested songs, but Jimi Hendrix? What’s the connection? If you listen to Hendrix’s Axis: Bold as Love, you’ll see where I am getting at. While both Trinh and Hendrix seemed to live in their own world, their worlds wouldn’t exist without earth, moon, and women. And we could see them in their whimsical lyrics. For some reasons, the fairy image in Hendrix’s “Little Wing” shares some similarities with Trinh’s “Ru Em Tung Ngon Xuan Nong,” particularly lines such as: “Well she’s walking through the clouds… / When I’m sad, she comes to me / With a thousand smiles, she gives to me free.” If that’s not convincing enough, how about Hendrix’s poetic description in “She’s so Fine” with “The sun from a cloud sinks into her eyes / The rain from a tree soaks into her mind?” Do these lines ring a bell? Trinh’s “Nhu Canh Vac Bay,” maybe? While Trinh’s philosophy is to live a happy life (“Hay yeu ngay toi / Du qua met kiep nguoi / Con cuoc doi ta cu vui”), Hendrix’s view is to live your own life. In the ending of “If 6 was 9,” he spoke softly, “I’m the one that’s gonna die when it’s time for me to die / So let me live my life the way I want to.” Alright, maybe I’ve been drawn way too deep into Hendrix’s psychedelic mind and soul. Maybe you’re right. I am out of my fucking mind.

If Nhu Huy’s volume one, Cham Vao, featured only Nghi Van, I have nothing to say. With Nhu Huy’s lackluster lyricism, Hong Kien’s lifeless production, and Nghi Van’s energy-free delivery, getting through two tracks in a row is damn near impossible. Nghi Van has a gruff voice, but lacks the soulfulness. On the other hand, Tung Duong is the cat that has tremendous soul, but forced to be restrained to perform Nhu Huy’s compositions. As a result, he couldn’t express Nhu Huy’s lyrics as well as he could with Le Minh Son’s songs. Like Ha Tran, Tung Duong constantly pushes himself, and unlike Ha Tran, he has the chops for scat-singing. Although “Nam Mo” isn’t outstanding, the track stands out the most in the album. Tung Duong weaves his weirdly-syncopated vocals around the up-tempo beat and gives a trumpet-mimicked scat near the end. Even though the arrangement in “Xin Dung Hoi Toi” is suitable for hot-tub music, the interaction between Hong Kien’s sax and Tung Duong’s voice is refreshing. So far, Tung Duong is the only Vietnamese male singer that has the potential for jazz vocals; therefore, he should develop further into improvisational style, and work on his vocal chords unto an instrument itself. Give me some hope, and stop fooling around with the pop shit.

Since Trinh Cong Son composed his songs on a guitar, they are best to be performed on a guitar. Too bad I haven’t have the fortunate of experiencing the artist himself strumming his heart out to Khanh Ly’s soulful vocals, but I suppose I could settle for Ha Tran and Thu Phuong in Loi Cua Giong Song for now.

Not that I need to kiss up to Ha Tran for what I have castigated her Doi Thoai 06, but I must give her the propers she deserves. Her rendition of “Mua Hong” proves that she doesn’t need all the hi-tech shit to be innovative. Accompanied by simple-picking guitar and subtle-plucking bass, she reinvented one of Trinh’s lyrical compositions with her effortless verve and harmonic sensibility. Now that’s the youthful Ha Tran I am rooting for. The one that could give me nostalgia with her unadorned interpretation of “Tinh Xa” and “Tinh Nho.”

In contrast to Ha Tran’s luscious sweet, Thu Phuong’s brooding quality is charming in its own way. Her streamlined approach in “Co Mot Dong Song Da Qua Doi” is both exhilarating and touching, like she could come out and swing even though it rains inside. And when she rains, she pours on “Nay Em Co Nho,” “Roi Nhu Da Ngay Ngo,” and “Tinh Sau.”

Mad props go to the guitarists—Huynh Huu Doan, Dang Huy Hoang, Do Dinh Phuong and Nguyen Xuan Thao—for bringing back the minimalism in Trinh’s work. And of course, can’t forget Vu Anh Tuan for those dope-ass bass lines.

Fuck Christina Aguilera. Diana Krall’s From This Moment On is what I call “Back to Basics.” With a dark, raspy voice, Basie-inspired piano (sweet and tasty), and real accompaniments (full orchestra and quartet), Krall takes us back to the big-band swing and soulful blues. She not only knows how standards should be sung, but also how they should be reinvigorated. She doesn’t croon over trip-hop or high-tech beats and exaggerate her style as groundbreaking. The inventiveness is in her piano solos and scat-singing improvisations. From bossa-nova “How Insensitive” to sensual-swinging “Day In Day Out” to mellowed-out “Willow Weep For Me,” Krall keeps the good old jazz spirit alive with a contemporary sensation.

The more I listen to Khanh Ly’s recordings of Trinh Cong Son’s music prior to 1975, the more disappointing I get with her later works. Not only her voice has dreadfully deteriorated (easy on the cig, ma), but also the soulless, fake musical arrangements that killed the aesthetic experience. Especially the productions made from the early days in the States, the monotonous beats served nothing more then just to maintain the rhythm.

While the rain was pouring outside last night, I went through 86 tracks of Trinh’s collection that Khanh Ly had recorded during the mid 60s and 70s, and I just want to throw all my other Trinh’s collections out the window, including her own after 1975. Her voice was incomparable, and she had the whole nine yards (real drums, bass, piano, guitar, saxophone and trumpet) backing her up. I am wondering if our music were influenced by American jazz at the time because even the drums had that jazz’s rollicking style in them. Her version of “Bien Nho” is timeless. Her voice was filled with sentiments, and the muted sax was just soul wrecking. I can barely get through the rendition of “Mua Hong” from Thanh Lam and even Ngoc Lan without yawning, but Khanh Ly’s effortless, ethereal vocals keep me coming back for more. I disliked her latter version of “Xin Mat Troi Ngu Yen,” but her former version is totally irresistible. That cascading piano’s gushes make the tune ageless. But the classic component of the collection is in those political pieces that are rarely covered today. Compositions such as “Chinh Chung Ta Phai Noi,” “Toi Se Di Tham,” “Canh Dong Hoa Binh,” and “Nhung Giot Mau Tro Bong” were simply begging for peace. So I don’t know why they have been banned.

Even though the computer-generated productions today are top-notch, I wish our musicians went back to the basics to bring real humanistic quality to their works. Call me an old-school head, but after listening to these soulful masterpieces and then went back to Ha Tran’s Communication 06, how the fuck did we go from treasure to trash? It’s definitely time for me to give up on Vietnamese contemporary shit and stick to the good oldies. Call me a sell-out, but I’ll be looking for real modern, innovative music elsewhere, besides Viet Nam. Fuck all that Vietnamese acoustic fusion shit.

Ha Tran must have been on Ecstasy when she made Doi Thoai 06 (Communication 06), a way-too-over-hyped album in which she sounds mad high over the zoned-out, overdosed beats. By drowning her vocal lines into the space-trance arrangements, electric Ha boasts it up to be her most groundbreaking work up to date. Save me the chuckles, girl. The musical production is nothing more than the softcore, wimped-out, and girlish ripped off from The Crystal Method, The Chemical Brothers, and Prodigy who set the underground breakbeat and bigbeat trend a decade ago. So where does the innovation play in Doi Thoai 06? Weaving Vietnamese aesthetics into acoustic sound? We have fused jazz, blues, world music, r & b, and hip-hop into Vietnamese repertoires, and now Ha Tran takes a step further with the concoction of E-gorging style. Revelation.

The album kicks off Nguyen Xinh Xo’s “Giac Mo La” (Delusive Dream) with speaker-traveling effects, pseudo-organic sounding that works against her voice instead of enhancing it. Then Tran Tien’s “Ra Ngo Ma Yeu” (Leaving The Alley) begins with children singing over soft but big beat, which also ended up overpowering her small voice. The instrumental “Tieng Goi” (The Calling), written by her and her man, is like playing with high-tech effects made possible by GarageBand. The remake of “Mua Bay Thap Co” (Mist Over The Ancient Tower) is a damned sacrilegious rendition. While the beat suggests Gothicism, she sings about Buddhism. She really needs to get off that coke. As for “Deep Water,” she sings, “wet me up” instead of “wake me up” and “unbreakaball” instead of “unbreakable?” The mispronunciations show that if the song was about “Deep Throat,” she could have pulled it off with her technical skills. Breathe in, breathe out, and take it all the way down. (I need to get off the coke myself.)

Doi Thoai 06 has demonstrates, once again, Ha Tran has desperately tried to reinvent herself. I support artist who constantly pushes her work to the next level, but she needs to stay focus on mastering one style before moving on to the next. And the more she attempts to progress beyond Nhat Thuc (Solar Eclipse), the more regress she gets.

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.”