Damn, another sleepless night. The coffee was kicking in, but not strong enough to cause insomnia. My mind was onto something else (something real special), and my brain was rushing like adrenaline on fire; therefore, I needed some soothing music to calm down my nerves. I pulled out three of my favorite past-bedtime soundtracks—Don Ho and Ngoc Lan’s Con Duong Tinh Ta Di, Tinh Phu, and Xin Con Goi Ten Nhau, all released between 1992 and 1993 under Giang Ngoc, one of the first productions in the early Vietnamese-American days. Unfortunately, they had shut down their shop.

Giang Ngoc had a strange marketing strategy. Even though they grouped the two together, Don Ho always had more songs (6 to 4) than Ngoc Lan. My guess is that Ngoc Lan had already established her name at the time, and Don Ho was just getting his feet wet; therefore, people who liked Ngoc Lan would pick up these albums, and give Don Ho a spin. Giang Ngoc productions were right, Don Ho was new at singing Vietnamese “golden” ballads, but that what made these albums shined. He was inexperienced, but he had tremendous soul. His flows were as natural as breathing, and he poured his heart out on every single song. I was impressed at how he was able to transform himself from English and translated tunes into Vietnamese romantic ballads with such refinement and effortlessness. He nailed “Ngu Di Em,” “Chieu Nay Khong Co Em,” “Loi Tinh Buon,” “Em Den Tham Anh Dem 30,” “Goi Ten Bon Mua,” “Xin Hay Quen Toi,” ” Kiep Dam Me,” “Khuc Thuy Du,” “Chiec La Cuoi Cung,” “Dem Vu Truong,” “Dau Tinh Sau,” “Vet Thuong Cuoi Cung,” “Vet Thu Tren Lung Ngua Hoang,” and “Xin Con Goi Ten Nhau” dead on the spot with his relaxed, feathery, whispery, and deeply personalized style.

On the other hand, angelic-voiced Ngoc Lan drowned her souls and sorrows into “Tha Nhu Giot Mua,” “Giet Nguoi Trong Mong,” “Le Da,” “Mua Thu Cho Em,” and “Tinh Phu.” Not only she could express sentimental ballads, but Ngoc Lan could also maneuver her flow around up-tempo beats. The smoothness, richness, and silkiness quality in her vocals made her rendition of “Trung Vuong Khung Cua Mua Thu” unsurpassable. Yet, what amazed me the most was her cover of “Vi Toi La Linh Muc.” I was dead wrong when I thought only male singers could sing this tune. She had not only proved that my assumption was incorrect, but she also demonstrated how she could take it to another level from a female point of view. She pulled it off with her ethereal, exotic aesthetics.

What are lacking on these albums are the duets. I wish they had done more than just two tracks together because I love how his low, smoky tone complements her high and clear pitch and vice versa. “Biet Dau Nguoi Cuoi” showed the playful interaction between the voices as well as their rhythmic sensibility. In contrast, they took the time to express the lyrics in the slow-tempo “Con Duong Tinh Ta Di,” like two matured lovers reflecting on the good old days. Mad props to Thanh Lam too for the gorgeous saxophone accompaniment. Personally, these three albums had opened up the gate to the Vietnamese music scene for me, and I must credit both Don Ho and Ngoc Lan for allowed me to appreciate our original music.

Nguyen Hoang Thuy Vu who is a member of AC&M—a Vietnamese most respected a-cappella group—drops his solo debut, Thang Sau Troi Mua, with a promising potential. The album is dedicated to well-known ballads from Trinh Cong Son to Ngo Thuy Mien to Nguyen Anh 9 to Thanh Tung. Even though Thuy Vu doesn’t revolutionize these tunes, he gives them a masculine vibe with his deep, sentimental vocals. And when he sings low, particularly in Viet Anh’s “Khong Con Mua Thu,” his voice has bass.

Trinh Cong Son’s “Dem Thay Ta La Thac Do,” “Tuoi Da Buon,” “Mua Hong,” and “Diem Xua” have been covered who knows how many times, but never with the tenderness and profoundness Thuy Vu brings to them. He phrases Trinh’s lyrics like a real gentleman who pours out his emotion—calm but with strength. His delivery is at best when he is at ease because that’s when he’s capable of transforming the basest metal with his timbre. And we could experience it in Thanh Tung’s “Giot Nang Ben Them” and Ngo Thuy Mien’s “Niem Khuc Cuoi,” in which he sounds like a romantic guy who I would fall in love with if I were gay.

What makes the album works is apparently Thuy Vu’s marvelous voice, but the simple arrangements, especially the minimal piano works, help a great deal at enhancing the listening experience. The only weak production is in the title track, Hoang Thanh Tam’s “Thang Sau Troi Mua.” The rock riffs ruined his mellow flow, and the computerized drumbeat is too obvious. Other than that, the album is tight set song for song. Even though Thuy Vu doesn’t make these aged tunes sound contemporary, what he gives them is a humanness quality straight from his heart and vocal talent.

Being one of Thuy Nga’s hottest babes on stage for four years, Nhu Loan finally gets a shot at recording her debut Tinh Lang Cam. As much as Thuy Nga folks hate to invest their capital into her singing (they rather spend on her body), they have to bite the bullet, and get it over with. They feel obligated to throw her a bone for baring her skin all these years, even though they know damn well that she is no singer. She has a weak, baby voice with not just limited but no range at all. She delivers every song with the same monotone. I hope that the up-tempo tracks, including “Mua He Ky Niem,” “Dem Tu Tinh,” and “Yeu Anh Diu Dang,” would at least have decent beats for her to ride with. Unfortunately, even the productions are pretty mechanical, which doesn’t help her much at all. At for slow ballads, I feel no emotion going into the songs. In the opener “Nguoi Dien Biet Yeu,” all I hear is her breathy vocals with straight soulless flow. For art’s sake, do something “crazy” to express how a lunatic falls in love. But don’t worry baby, I still got mad love for your glowing, glistering stage presence. So please keep on shaking what your mama gave you, as well as what you gave yourself.

Unlike her previous release, which focused on Ngo Thuy Mien’s compositions, Khanh Ha’s new CD, Tu Muon Kiep Truoc, is all over the place. While the wide musical range—from pop to folk to jazz to pre-war to romantic ballad—added a mixture of colors, the overall experience is not so smooth. Even though her voice is excellent in almost all the tracks, the album doesn’t feel coherent, especially with four arrangers with different styles.

Furthermore, too many Paris By Night‘s hits (Quoc Dung’s “Chi La Mua Thu Roi,” Duc Tri’s “Nang Co Mua Xuan,” and Y Van’s “Long Me”) are integrated into the album. They are fantastic tunes, but I would like to see new materials or even new arrangements on a CD. I don’t mind the covering of “Bai Ngoi Ca Tinh Yeu” (A French ballad translated by Pham Duy) because of the fresh bossa nova-flavor. The beat is intoxicating and she knows how to bend and glide her vocals around the sensational rhythm. Same with Nguyen Anh 9’s “Hanh Phuc,” her vocals soar like a songbird over the semi-classical piano work. On the flip side, the silky sax and the programmed drumbeat bring down her rendition of Lam Phuong’s “Saigon Oi Vinh Biet.” Again her voice is exceptional in delivering Nguyen Hien’s “Ngan Nam May Bay,” but the rock-pop riff isn’t doing it for me.

What turns me off is that Tu Muon Kiep Truoc is more like a Thuy Nga than a Khanh Ha production. It feels more like a commercialized product than an independent work with too many crowd teasers and ear-candy productions. I respect the mother-dedicated “Long Me,” and it was fine to show on screen, but why put it on a new album? Hopefully, that’s not the selling point.

In the early 90s, medley was the trend. Every production pumped out medley albums one after another. I am not a fan of this mix-and-mash style, but I was hooked on Lien Khuc Tinh Xanh, a medley tape put out by Asia with Don Ho, Lam Thuy Van, and Kenny Thai holding down the vocal lines.

What makes this album stand out for me is the playful interaction between these three youngsters. Kenny is fantastic with his English; Don Ho is mesmerizing with his backup vocalizations; and Lam Thuy Van is fabulous in accompanying both male vocalists with her high pitch. Of course, Asia’s skillful arrangement works seamlessly to weave one tune to the next, especially with those electronic keyboard licks and up-tempo Latin rhythms.

Vocally, I just love the way the three trade lines with one another. Vu Thanh An’s “Bai Khong Ten Cuoi Cung” is a perfect example. Kenny and Lam Thuy Van kicks off the first verse, then Don Hon joins in at the chorus asking brokenheartedly, “Nay em hoi con duong em di do / con duong em theo do se dua em sang dau?” Lam Thuy Van replies sadly, “Mua ben chong se lam em khoc / se lam em nho nhung khi minh man nong.” Damn, that just cuts it.

And how could the ladies resist when Don Ho calls his lover in “Goi Ten Nguoi Yeu” at the end where he croons, “Roi anh se khoc / se khoc len goi long dau trien mien,” then cries his heart out with his voice. If he works on scatting, I am sure he can do it successfully. Another magnetizing piece is his Vietnamese rendition of “Unchained Melody” (“Mai Mai Yeu Em”) where his vocals ebb and flow around the mid-tempo beat. As for Kenny, no one does the Chinese translated tune, such as “There’s Only You In My Heart,” “I Love You More Than I Can Say,” and “Summer Kisses Winter Tears,” better than him. And who doesn’t love Lam Thuy Van for her exotic vocals, especially when she phrases, “The life’s unreal and the people are phony / And the nights can get so lonely / A single girl needs a lovely man to lean on.” Don’t you wish you could loan her your shoulder?

I could still remember when a friend of mine handed me this tape back in 92. I rocked it until I could sing along to every goddamn tune in it. Til this day, Lien Khuc Tinh Xanh is the only medley album I can jam to without getting bored because of the variation in production and diversity in song selection.

I have seen the term “nhac sen” being tossed around in various blogs and Web sites. Not only people don’t like to admit that they do listen to “nhac sen,” but they also hate to acknowledge that they don’t know what “nhac sen” is. So when being asked, they just throw out names like Truong Vu, Tuan Vu, Nhu Quynh, Manh Quynh, Manh Dinh, Ngoc Son, and Ngoc Ha. (Wait! Not the little chick with the big-ass voice. Let me take that back before somebody jumps on me.)

According to Thanh Nien‘s “Nhac ‘Sen’ La Gi?,” they argue that the word “sen” comes from “sen” (without the accent), which means maid. Because the music is being categorized in the lower class, the lyrics have to be easy to understand. Musically speaking, “nhac sen” has been written mostly, but not always, in bolero form. If you pay close attention to “sen” tunes, you will notice that the same rhythmic and harmonic are being used throughout the song from one bar to the next. With the lacking of inventions, variations, and improvisations, “Nhac Sen” is easy to spot. And how many times a “sen” singer like Truong Vu switches up his flow? That’s right, zero. Listening to his full album is like watching Chinese TV series. It just goes on and on. But that is what “nhac sen” is all about—a form of storytelling similar to American’s country music, which has been labeled as “cheesy” and “campy.”

If “nhac sen” is written correctly with folks essence embedded, and sung by the right singer, the listening experience could be rewarding. Some of the musicians who had written good “nhac sen” include Hoang Thi Tho, Lam Phuong, Anh Bang, Pham Dinh Chuong, and Pham Duy (yes, even Pham Duy has penned some “sen” songs too). So there is nothing wrong to admit that you like “nhac sen.” Don’t let people dictate your taste.

In her latest release, Dieu Cuoi Cung Doi Cho, Thu Phuong takes a light, soothing approach to Viet Anh’s romantic ballads. Unfortunately, the easy-going style doesn’t fit her too well. What lost is the turbulence that makes her the drama crooner of pop. The pain and anguish she poured into in Nhu Mot Loi Chia Tay and Em Ra Di Mua Thu had dried up.

In her previous albums—particularly Trinh Cong Son’s songbook—Thu Phuong was in a roller-coaster state of her life. Now that the trouble and glory are gone, she doesn’t seem to be interested in taking the soul train anymore. In “Hoa Co Vang Noi Ay,” she doesn’t even want to maneuver her way around the Latin-inspired arrangement. She just drags her bottle-breaking voice through the track. Her vocals get heavier and more tiresome on the bluesy “Ngay Khong Ten,” and she hardly pushes her flow to give the song a livelier jazz. She could have made these two tunes far more superior than what she had done if she drops her emotion and fervor into them. In contrast, the medley closer, “Khong Con Mua Thu” and “Mua Phi Truong,” is the worse track in the album. The mid-tempo arrangement is trivial, yet what irritating is the computer-manipulated voice. Don’t digitize your voice just to sound different. If you want to sound different switch up your vocal range and play around with your timbre.

The biggest glitch of the album is the song selection. Viet Anh’s music is unsuitable for Thu Phuong’s voice. His compositions lack the tensions and the agonies that are needed for Thu Phuong to articulate her singing. This is not the right way for Thu Phuong to reinvent her style. She needs to bring back the soul and the drama.

Nowadays, many Vietnamese female singers scream out their souls to be heard, the new face Nguyen Thao barely glides into her soprano, and yet the light touch in her slightly raspy vocals brings us closer to human nature. Unlike Ngoc Khue or Vuong Dung, she doesn’t bring a new style to the pop scene, but she invites us back to the beauty of serenity in her debut Suoi va Co. With the support from nature-inspired lyricist Duong Thu and tranquil productions from Anh Quan and Son Thach, the album is fantastic for a peaceful, quiet experience. In the opening track, “Uoc Muon,” her voice floats like breezing air over the ethereal, bossa nova-inflected arrangement. In “Yen Lang,” her unctuous vocalization wraps around the luscious piano licks like water cascading down from a quiet waterfall. She has also done a marvelous job of redelivering “Bay Vao Ngay Xanh” (even though Thanh Lam, Hong Nhung, and My Linh had covered it successfully) with the funk-flavored feel. Not bad at all!

Black and White, Asian and Latino, boys and girls, everybody loved Tupac Shakur. Even FOB hommies (including me) loved Pac, even though we had no clue what the hell he was rapping about. We just digged his thug persona and the gangster beats. Every Vietnamese guy that I knew owned a copy of All Eyes on Me, and they all played the same tunes: “2 of Amerikaz Most Wanted,” “How Do You Want It,” and of course “California Love (Remix).” For me, the thuggish, ruggish shit on the whole double album was “No More Pain.” The beat was crazy, and Pac’s flow was the illest. I can still rap along to every word whenever I played that track. He is sure a living legend now, but he already knew that in his rhymes, “When I die, I wanna be a livin’ legend, say my name affiliated with this motherfuckin’ game, with no more pain.” Of course, there are plenty of hot tracks on the CDs such as “Heartz of Men,” “Life Goes On,” “Only God Can Judge Me,” Picture Me Rollin’,” and the title track, but Pac made a classic diss after the album released when he “Hit Em Up.” (YouTube rocks!)

Xuan Hieu’s Tinh Nghe Si makes a fabulous hot tube album. Something smooth for your ass. His instrumental (saxophone) interpretation of Vietnamese ballads, including “Mong Duoi Hoa,” “Gio Gio Cho May Ngan Bay,” “Xom Dem,” and “Thu Quyen Ru,” is in the same camp of Kenny G’s jazz playing: wimped-out, soul-deadening, mechanical, and vulgar. The passiveness in Xuan Hieu’s sax sound, particularly in “Ta Ao Xanh” and “Chuyen Ben,” puts people straight to the bed, but not with each other. What makes the album so lame is the lack of improvisation and personal expression. You could sing along with the sax lines like karaoke if you know the lyrics. Yet, why would you want to follow an arrangement with a lethargic rhythm section?