I haven’t seen an album dedicated to ballroom dancing for years, especially not from a young face in Viet Nam like Doan Trang. Her latest Da Vu Socodance (sounds like a M&M commercial to me), which featured Latin rhythms such as paso, tango, chacha, valse, and rumba, is another effort to make her music stands apart from her pop peers. What makes Doan Trang stands out for me is not her sweet, transparent voice, but my wonder of how such a powerful tone could come from so flimsy a body.

Like any Vietnamese dance tradition, Socodance kicks off with Hoang Trong’s “Dung Buoc Giang Ho,” a lively paso doble arranged by Nguyen Quang who is responsible for most of the productions on the album. Doan Trang just rides the beat and gives a straightforward delivery, which is fine for this particular up-tempo piece and Nguyen Anh 9’s translated “Ngan Khuc Tango.” In slower tempos like the rumba “Tinh Yeu Den Trong Gia Tu” (another Nguyen Anh 9’s composition) and Pham Manh Cuong’s “Thu Ca” (tango), however, she lacks the souls and the emotions that are so essential in expressing the lyrics. As a result, her renditions on these two tracks are juiceless and colorless. In addition, her breathiness brings down her delivery.

Socodance strangely closes out with Xuan Nghia’s “Rock ‘n Roll Cho Em.” Not sure why a rock track is included in a ballroom dance album. Other than banging our heads, what else could we do with rock? Fortunately “Rock ‘n Roll Cho Em” has more of a twist flavor to it than rock. So we could swivel our feet to the beat and break our necks to the guitar riff after the ecstasies kicked in.

Although Socodance is a nice attempt to get all the lazy behinds, including mine, off the couch and away from the computer, it isn’t anything outstanding. Doan Trang is like a lost child in the Vietnamese-entertainment world. (Come to daddy, I’ll give you a style to run with, baby.) She has tried everything to reinvent herself, from pop to ballads to r & b to hip-hop to Latin dance, but nothing seems to work to her fullest potential. Maybe it is time to focus on her technical skills and to inject some souls into her performances.

I’ve been feeling Jay-Z lately, particularly The Blueprint and The Black Album. Listen to both joints, one after another, generates a fascinating experience. Jay moves from a young hustler (Blueprint) into a grown man (Black Album).

Although the Blueprint is not as intriguing as the classic Reasonable Doubt, Jay proves that he still has his hustling swag. In “U Don’t Know,” a soulful production from Just Blaze, Jay rhymes, “I sell ice in the winter, I sell fire in hell / I am a hustler baby, I’ll sell water to a well / I was born to get cake, move on and switch states / Cop the Coupe with the roof gone and switch plates / Was born to dictate, never follow orders / Dickface, get your shit straight, fucka this is Big Jay.” In contrast to Shawn-Carter-the-hustler in Blueprint and Reasonable Doubt, Black Album finds Jay mellows out as he reflects on his accomplishments throughout his rapping career: “There’s never been a nigga this good for this long / This hood, or this pop, this hot, or this strong / With so many different flows there’s one for this song / The next one I switch up, this one will get bit up.”

Personally, Black Album is Jay’s finest work in term of his wise words and def flows. Whenever I am on the freeway these days, I set my cruise control at 70mph so that I don’t have to look out for the bitch-ass cops, and just experience the whole CD straight through with my eyes on the road and my ears and mind on his every word. Jay’s delivery is so natural and effortless that he could even punctuate his flow. In “Moment of Clarity,” he raps with confidence over Eminem’s hypnotic beat and violin sampling, “We as rappers must decide what’s most important / And I can’t help the poor if I’m one of them / So I got rich and gave back, to me that’s the win/win / So next time you see the homey and his rims spin / Just know my mind is working just like them… rims, that is.” Love the way he pauses and then adds in the parenthetic expression.

Unfortunately Jay has left his artistic vision behind and moved on to the business side of the game. Jay needs to get his ass off that CEO’s chair and back to the lab because the game needs his presence.

These days, many Vietnamese male singers, including Bang Kieu and Tran Thai Hoa, attempt to give their performances a smooth-out flavor by rounding up their vocals. Most of them end up in the sissy instead of sexy territory, which irritates my ears. Duc Tuan is one of a few young singers that could pull it off and still maintain his masculinity. In fact, his cocksure technique makes other cats sound like pussies. He has a fervent, handsome, and strong voice with a wide range of emotions, which allows him to bend and glide easily between rough and gloss phrasings.

His interpretation of Pham Duy’s and Trinh Cong Son’s music in Ngam Ngui… Chiec La Thu Phai is fabulously fresh. The album has only six tracks (three from each songwriter), but the quality of the arrangement and performance makes up for the quantity. His rendition of “Toi Ru Em Ngu” starts off with a strumming guitar, and then builds into a full-blown orchestration. The acoustic drumbeat in between gives the tune a contemporary aroma. In contrast to Nguyen Khang’s wry version of Pham Duy’s “Thuyen Vien Xu,” Duc Tuan’s gorgeous legato provides a warm, comforting vibe to the composition. Despite the opposite approach each singer takes, one quality remains in common is the testosterone in their delivery.

After proved his success with classic ballads, Duc Tuan takes on a different direction in Tinh Yeu Trong Sang with brand new songs written and composed by Quoc Bao. I support his bravado in breaking away from his comfort space, but Quoc Bao’s music isn’t suitable for his style. The title track is passable, but the rest is unenergetic. Even in “Dua Em” (a track that Tran Thai Hoa would slaughter), his soothing, relaxing flow isn’t bringing out its liveliness. Worse track on the whole joint is the corny, tacky “Hold On, Baby.” Duc Tuan’s English accent is barely understandable, and Quoc Bao’s lyric is just straight elementary. I could hardly distinguish what he sings, but the words go something like this: “All of the nights that I miss you / All of the stuffs that I gave you / … / Change the right to the wrong / when you leave my love.” I speculate that Quoc Bao tried to write within his limited vocabulary.

Two albums demonstrate where Duc Tuan’s strength is in. Experimentation is excellent, and I don’t expect him to recover old tunes again and again like many do, but he needs to choose his repertoire wisely. He definitely has the right voice and remarkable skills for intimate-atmospheric music.

If Viet Nam War’s politic is a boxing sport, no one punches the controversial bag harder than Asia production. In Nhat Truong/Tran Thien Thanh dedication, Asia, once again, elevated the art-of-war music and visual. Inducing the ebullience of an adrenaline rush, the show opens with explosive gunshots, flashes of bomb bursts, and smoke of ashes. Accompanied by the battling stimulation of the musical arrangement, Thanh Lan approaches “Anh Khong Chet Dau Anh” with a heart of a combating woman. Her voice soars with braveness and her face expresses courageousness. Her strident performance packs more heat than the oven door.

Even though the video is filled with political propaganda, Asia have managed to balance it out with mesmerizing performances from start to finish—even Trish and Asia 4 are listenable in the remix of “Tinh Thu Cua Linh.” Asia’s musical producers, especially Truc Ho, have an ear for making old tunes sound fresh and clean. “Bay Ngay Doi Mong” is a gorgeous bossa-nova orchestration with the invigorating mesh of violins, saxophone, and piano. Both Truc Mai (old generation) and Y Phuong (new generation) bring their unique voices to the tune. Another delightful arrangement is the simple picking-guitar on “Ta Tu Trong Dem,” a song I loved when I was a kid, and hearing Phuong Dung’s ageless voice floats over the rumba rhythm strikes a nostalgic chord.

“Han Mac Tu” is a savory gap-bridging performance between Thanh Thuy and Y Phung. The contrast between Thanh Thuy’s thick, raucous voice and Y Phung’s thin, clear vocals produced an intriguing effect. Y Phung is pretty damn hot too (hopefully she won’t turn trampy any time soon). Speaking of appearances, Kim Anh’s figure looks amazing for her age and in the sky-blue ao dai (long dress). Her slightly raspy voice is marvelous next to Tuan Vu’s warmness. While we’re on long dress, what Diem Lien puts on—the black dress, the pearl necklace, and the hairstyle—epitomizes a Vietnamese woman.

Nguyen Khang is a bit disappointed in “Khi Nguoi Yeu Toi Khoc” with Ngoc Ha. He doesn’t hit the high note like he gets to do at the end of the program with the group collaboration, in which he is assigned to take charge of the bridge. Don Ho’s rendition of “Tinh Dau Tinh Cuoi” isn’t so bad, but he could not surpass Ngoc Lan’s version. In “Tinh Co Nhu Khong,” the young Anh Minh is even better than the wannabe-young Mai Le Huyen. The attempt of pairing up Da Nhat Yen and Pham Khai Tuan is a huge mismatch. Putting a rhythmless dude who could barely pull off a two-step move next to my dancing queen, what were they thinking? Should have let her run the show herself.

The most bone-wrenching performance is Lam Thuy Van and Lam Nhat Tien’s “Nguoi O Lai Charlie.” The cries of Lam Thuy Van’s voice combined with the image of a helmet positioned on a gun gave me a chill. Asia 50 is undoubtedly an audacious political statement. Too bad the video is filmed after the talented songwriter Tran Thien Thanh/singer Nhat Truong had already left us. Imagine how much more powerful it could have been if we could hear the man himself talks about his own work. Now that would be priceless.

Knowing that I am a scat freak, a colleague of mine handed me Jazz for Kids: Sing, Clap, Wiggle, and Shake—an album he bought for his daughters—so that I could listen to Clark Terry “Mumbles” over Oscar Peterson’s glibness of piano technique. It turns out that I already have this masterpiece (of course I should have it because I am a jazz piano freak also, and Peterson was my man), but the whole record blows me away. It is such a fantastic compilation for kids to jam with.

Ella Fitzgerald has me swinging to “Old McDonald” with her playful rendition. By applying her melodic embellishments and child-like sensibility, she makes one of the most annoying songs of all time sounds superior. The arrangement is hypnotizing—particularly the way the trumpet imitates the chicken sound. In contrast, Slim Gaillard uses his vocals to imitate the chicken voice in “Chicken Rhythm” and his scat sounds exactly like a trumpet. The result is amazing. I am having a blast grooving to the “Chicken Rhythm” like a little kid in the roller-skating ring (I am sure you all remember those chicken dances).

From Lionel Hampton’s “Rag Mop” to Carmen McRae’s “When The Red, Red, Robin Comes Bob, Bobbin’ Along” to Blossom Dearie’s “Doop-Doo-De-Doop (A Doodlin’ Song),” Jazz for Kids is a perfect collection for both the parents and kids to enjoy. If you love jazz and would like to introduce her to your kids, this album is highly recommended. But make sure you let them know that Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” is not true jazz. Not sure why it was included in a jazz album when Pops had tons of classic scat songs in his early Hot-Five-and-Hot-Seven days. Other than that, I have been rocking this kiddy joints again and again just so I can feel young all over again. Now let me go train my two-year-old nephew, who doesn’t want to talk yet, to mumble along with Clark Terry and show my six-year-old niece to do the chicken dance, or the other way around.

Is it just me or the album cover of Tran Thai Hoa’s Tinh Khuc Le Uyen Phuong is a rip-off of Michael Bublé’s It’s Time? Other than the ugly typography on Tran Thai Hoa’s CD, the black suit and the loose tie are dead-on identical. Disgraceful is on Thuy Nga’s graphic designer as well as fashion artist. Why do I always disdain Thuy Nga’s products? Because they have been making desecrated music continuously, and Le Uyen Phuong’s songbook is another instance.

Except for the blues-inflected “Vung Lay Cua Chung Ta” and the bossa nova-flavored “Noi Buon Dang Nho,” the twelve remaining tracks are wimped-out, noodling, and vulgar efforts to revamp old tunes. The arrangements are drowsy, especially the overexploitation of the fuzak saxophone (“Buon Den Bao Gio”) and trumpet (“Cho Lan Cuoi”), yet Tran Hoai Hoa’s snoring voice is drowsier. His rendition of “Da Khuc Cho Tinh Nhan” is being crushed like black peppers by Nguyen Khang’s powerful and savory version. His cheesy phrasing (especially his enunciation of “hoa”) in “Tinh Khuc Cho Em” is so gay and lame.

Since Thuy Nga productions have not been able to release any new music, they have to find a way to pull listeners’ cash out of their pockets (thanks to the Internet, or I’ll be damn broke by now with piles of junks). And they do so by polishing up old songs and assigning to someone who is least expected from the audiences to be able to pull them off. The tactic of Tran Thai Hoa sings Le Uyen Phuong is not much difference from Minh Tuyet collaborates with Bang Kieu. What is the end result? Both albums flop, but people will buy them to find out how bad they sound. I, too, take great pleasure in listening to mundane music in order to appreciate higher arts.

O Kia, look who’s back? The young, witty, and eccentric Ngoc Khue, whose debut Ben Bo Ao Nha Minh remains a rare work of art, strikes again. After writing a highly favorable review of her first album, I wanted to test the water by playing it at a family-gathering dinner, which included about twenty people. The reactions were what I had expected to be: “What the heck is this music?,” “She can’t even sing,” and “She sounds like ‘len dong’ (calling the spirit).” The last comment is not so far off, but I would prefer to call her style as running-the-voodoo-down. And that is exactly what she has accomplished in volume two, her newest release, by weaving Vietnamese traditional folk into western flavors including jazz, funk, pop, rock, and semi-classical.

Like her previous album, O Kia marks another imaginative collaboration with fusion master Le Minh Son who penned six out of seven tracks and produced the entire album. In the lead-off title track, slinky songbird Khue paints a gorgeous rice-padding scene with white butterfly on the flower, a laughing bee, and a singing bird. The cha-cha beat gives the song a nice, mid-tempo rhythm, but it is her unusual phrasings that take the track to the anomalistic level. Her superb, bizarre technique is best observed on “Bo Song.” Sporting an unorthodox delivery, Khue floats her big, deep, slightly graveled voice in and out of the savory jazz-funk groove. What makes “Bo Song” a masterpiece is the way she swaggers from soulful to playful phrasings with effortless verve, and she has the requisite chops to maneuver her way into the blend of folk, funk, and jazz. Khue switches her flow in the semi-classical “Toc Tha Thuyen” soaring her strident timbre into the soul-soothing sounds of violin and keyboard accompaniment. “Tinh Tang” and Nguyen Cuong’s “Em Khong Vao Chua” are her rock-folk experimentations, and she rocks them both with her prevailing delivery and prodigious techniques.

Once again, Khue offers out-of-the-trend freshness to the Vietnamese musical scene. She also brought her own distinctive style to Le Minh Son’s music. I am so glad that she continues to excel in the avant-garde path she has chosen. Her execution is a tremendous improvement: more confidence, less breathy, and unafraid of vibrato. Her performances can make the mass listeners feel uncomfortable because they are ill-prepared for something that is way too far out there. Khue’s work is not the type of art form that speaks for itself. If we don’t get it, the commiseration is on us.

Bang Kieu and Minh Tuyet on the same album? What was on Bang Kieu’s mind? Moving from Khanh Ha to Minh Tuyet is like trading in a Lexus for a Corolla. But most people love economical car and Thuy Nga is a business-oriented production; therefore, the collaboration is understandable. Pairing up an idiosyncratic combination to provoke curious listeners has always been Thuy Nga’s marketing strategy even though they know damn well that these two voices don’t go together. In their integrated-effort Boi Vi Anh Yeu Em, we can tell right away that they don’t harmonize on the opening duet, Thai Thinh’s “Phut Giay Minh Chia Tay,” with the way they trade lines. Bang Kieu sings high notes while Minh Tuyet stays in the middle register. When they join forces, he has to switch to a lower range to mesh with her weaker vocals.

Although Bang Kieu has a striking countertenor of a voice, I still can’t get over his feminine quality. He needs to smoke some cracks, weeds, and cokes or do whatever it takes to deteriorate his gay-ass timbre or roughen it up. I actually started to accept him when he performed with Thanh Ha and Khanh Ha on Paris By Night videos, but now he takes me back to when I first described his singing as a hen-esque voice (giong ga mai). Crooning bubblegum pop tunes only makes him sounds campier, especially on the Chinese-inflected “Boi Vi Anh Yeu Em” when he caramelizes the words “hoi em” and “cho quen” on the second verse. Why he chose to sing Phan Dinh Tung’s composition is beyond me. I suspect Minh Tuyet puts him up to it.

As for princess Minh Tuyet, whom is she trying to seduce by flaunting out her chest on the album cover? Even Bang Kieu has to close his eyes to avoid staring at her breasts. He knows better not to mess with Trizzy Phuong Trinh. She would beat the shit out of him if she caught him peeping at a younger girl’s cleavage. Minh Tuyet may look sexy (depends on the angle of the viewer) but she can’t make Phuong Quynh’s “Anh Da Ra Di” sounds as sexy as Ho Ngoc Ha could. From the raucousness of her voice to the voluptuousness of her groove, Ho Ngoc Ha epitomizes sexiness. Even her rap delivery is more sensuous than Minh Tuyet’s stilted flow. I heard Cam Ly’s version of Minh Vy’s “Ke Dung Sau Tinh Yeu” not so long ago, and now her sister covers it. Which one do I like better? Neither. I can’t eat too many sweet candies. They make my bad teeth more pejorative. But I am sure young people who have good teeth will chew on this album like a bar of chocolate, especially fans of Minh Tuyet and Thuy Nga, but Bang Kieu’s followers may be disappointed.

Thu Hoai who is a Visualgui.com’s frequent visitor and one of Philly’s finest vocalists invited me to check out her live performances in front of a small crowd around 100 people. Since I was in the nearby area yesterday, I decided to drop by and I am glad that I did. Thu Hoai is passionate about music, and her singing proved it.

She approached Nguyen Van Thuong’s “Dem Dong” with confidence, and she knew how to transform one of the most beloved ballads into a personal statement. Unlike Diem Lien who presented “Dem Dong” in Asia’s 75 Nam Am Nhac Viet Nam exactly as the composer intended it, Thu Hoai was able to incorporate subtle but individual nuances into her phrasings. There’s always a risk in breaking the composer’s original intention. A singer could either ruin or enhance the work. In her performance, Thu Hoai enhanced it.

With Phu Quang’s “Em Oi! Ha Noi Pho,” Thu Hoai’s gruff, tangy, and authoritative voice brings out the lyrics’ semimetal aesthetics: “Con duong vang ri rao con mua nho / Ai don cho ai toc xoa vai mem.” She then moved toward fitness-enhancing tunes to please the crowd since part of the show included dancing—somebody had to entertain the mack daddies. She packed the floor with Anh Bang’s “Tango Tinh” and ABBA’s “The Winner Takes It All.” I am ashamed to say that I was sitting back and envying the pops getting their groove on with the chicks that are young enough to be their daughters. (“Who’s your daddy?”)

Highlight of the concert is when Thu Hoai provided listeners with an intimate experience. Supported by simple strumming guitars, she poured her heart out on Vu Thanh An’s “Tinh Khuc Thu Nhat” (accompanied by Phu), Trinh Cong Son’s “Tinh Nho” (accompanied by Phu and Dung), and “Nhu Canh Vac Bay (with her brother Minh). Due to the sound issues, the guitar sounds were barely audible, which left Thu Hoai’s singing almost naked as if she was doing a cappella. Although her performances were imperfect, they were full of soul. She took her time to articulate the lyrics.

Music aside, Thu Hoai is a down-to-earth lady. Although we met for the first time last night, we have known each other for while on Visualgui.com. Our love for music (she’s the singer, I’m just the appreciator) brings us together like brother and sister. Big sis, keep the vibe alive. Thanks for the special dedication (“Dem Dong”) and the shout out to Visualgui.com.

When it comes to rain, nobody pours like my Lady Day. The way she expresses the word shine in Harold Allen’s “Come Rain or Come Shine” sounds like a tiny candle glowing wearily in a dark corner and eventually blown out by her naked wind of emotion. I have listened to various rendition of this song (Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, Ray Charles, Gayle Moran, Eric Clapton and B.B. King), yet none could drag the sadness out of it like she does. When she phrases, “I’m gonna love you like nobody’s loved you,” her desperation has become uncontrollable, and the pouring rain outside added a bone-wrenching sorrow to her singing. I had to stop listening to Holiday because she commends full attention and I needed some sleep. With my Billie’s collection, I am sure I could listen to her for two days straight.

I switched to Hong Nhung’s Thuo Bong La Nguoi for something soothing and relaxing to lull me into my night. I dropped the volume down to an almost mutable level so that the arrangements ease back and rain could cascade into her voice. The result turned out to be unexpected. Trinh Cong Son lyrics came to life. In “De Gio Cuon Di,” Hong Nhung’s delivery froze me when she croons, “Hay nghieng doi xuong nhin suot mot moi tinh / Chi lang nhin khong noi nang.” Trinh’s wordplay is amazing. He was able to tilt life and look at her in a different perspective, but only to observe quietly without a word. He had to be a lover of life to have such a beautiful soul or “tam long” (Is it “loving-kindness?”) as he suggested, “Song trong doi song can co mot tam long. De lam gi em biet khong? De gio cuon di” (To live your life you need a loving-kindness. Do you know what it is for? To let the wind twirls).

The experience of listening to music with the sound of rain in the stillness of the night is incomparable, but it also contributed to my insomnia. Although my brain doesn’t function too well today, my works tend to carry more emotions when I am half asleep. I am in a perfect state of mind for designing but not coding.