Followed Rakim footsteps, Nasir mastered his techniques: flow, rhyme and delivery. Picked up where Ra left off, Nas took the mic off the stage and out on the streets. His debut Illmatic is filled with streetwise literary. On “N.Y. State of Mind,” Nas gives a chill vibe when he spits, “I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death.” His descriptive lyric is startling on “One Love,” especially with these lines, “Then I rose, wiping the blunts ash from my clothes / then froze, only to blow the herb smoke through my nose.” And the track that leaves me breathless is “Life’s a Bitch.” AZ, Nas’s tightest collaborator, kicks off the first verse like he has been waiting forever to be heard and it is his time to blow off. The hungriness in his flow made it seems like he could rhyme on forever. Then Nas brings it back with his cool and smooth delivery on the second verse. Yet, what leaves me speechless is the ending when Olu Dara, Nas’s pops, blows that intoxicating sound from his muted trumpet over the hip-hop beat. With nine solid tracks back to back, Illmatic is a hip-hop classic.

When I get sick of hip-hop’s gang banging, blunt puffing, gender dissing (mostly women and gays), jews blinging and all the ghetto fabulousnesses, I kick back to Rakim’s Book of Life—the retrospective side of The 18th Letter/The Book of Life‘s double album—for some nerve-calming, brain-messaging, and just pure rejuvenating hip-hop experiences. From “I Know You Got Soul,” “Follow the Leader,” “Microphone Fiend,” “My Melody,” “Move the Crowd” to “Let the Rhythm Hit Em,” the soul-controller Ra and cut-master Eric B. bring out the good old time without a word of profanity. With a raucous voice, perfectionist flow and waxed-poetic rhymes, Ra rips through “Lyrics of Fury” like John Coltrane erupted his sheets-of-sound lyricisms. Every time I bang, “Know the Ledge,” the chill image of Bishop played by 2pac in Juice, a film that revealed Pac’s acting talent, strikes my memory chord. I used to watch the movie almost everyday after school for about a month. I was able to recite very line Pac said in the film, and one particular narration stuck in my brain till this day, “I am crazy, and you know what else? I don’t give a fuck.” I could still visualize the cold, heartless look on his face. Besides the Juice‘s theme song, Ra’s “Casualty of War” and “The Punisher” were no less hardcore and crucial. Ra had laid down the foundation for hip-hop and I hope to see him takes her back to her positive vibe.

Tupac Shakur and I have two things in common. We admire Lady Day and love our mothers dearly. When I first heard “Dear Mama,” I was speechless. It was like a hip-hop version of Y Van’s “Long Me.” Other than the crack fiend, Pac spoke out the words that I could relate to: “When I was sick as a little kid / To keep me happy there’s no limit to the things you did / And all my childhood memories / Are full of all the sweet things you did for me.” In addition to being an appreciative son, Pac was also a lovable prince who tried to convince a girl to leave her abusive man on “Can U Get Away.” Yet, the occurrence subject Pac touched on throughout the album is death: “If I Die 2Nite,” “So Many Tears,” “Lord Knows,” “It Ain’t Easy” and “Death Around the Corner.” Pac also had his shares of misogynist content, “Pissing while practicing how to pimp and be a playa / Overdose of a dick, while drinking liquor when I lay her.” But that’s Pac, and Me Against the World is the album I reach for over and over again for the poetical aesthetics.

Back in eighth grade, a sweet senorita in my class slipped a bare cassette (without the case) into my hand and said, “Listen to this shit, you’ll like it.” I read the label and asked, “Who the hell is Wu-Tang Clan?” She replied, “Just take it home and listen to it.” So I was like, “Alright.”

Eva was her name. Although she came to school like once every two weeks, we were cool because we both admired Rakim. So when she handed me Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers), I was quite excited. I rushed home quickly after school and popped the tape into my radio, and it shocked the hell out of me. It was the most raw, rugged, idiosyncratic music I had heard at the time—the kung-fu fightings, the rare voices, the ill rhymes, the dope beats, the trippings, the buggings, and the obscenities. Thank goodness, mom didn’t understand English or else she would have whooped my ass, especially the torturing battle at the beginning of “Method Man” (I’ll fuckin’ sew your asshole closed and keep feedin’ you). I still can recalls those lines from Meth that we used to sing along, “I got myself a fortie / I got myself a shortie / And I’m about to go and stick it.”

Get past the partying and the bullshitting, the Clan members touched on heartfelt hoodtales like “Can’t It Be All So Simple” and “C.R.E.A.M” (Cash Rules Everything Around Me). Yet, the track that struck my mind was “Tearz.” RZA’s and Ghostface Killah’s lyrical, storytelling skills changed the way I listen and appreciate hip-hop. Their narrations were so real.

I didn’t see Eva for a like month after she loaned me the tape, but I blasted it everyday. So when I returned the cassette and told her how blazing it was, she replied, “I told you so.”

On Duong Nhung Ta Da, My Tam brings out the rocker side of her. No violation in that. I am not a rock punk, but still feel her head-banging rendition of “Tinh Phai” by Nguyen Ngoc Tai and Phan Thi Nguyet Hong. I haven’t heard that song for ages (way back in Lam Truong’s golden years), and she has revived it with her clear, full-of-vibrato and powerful voice.

With Trinh Cong Son’s “Doa Hoa Vo Thuong,” My Tam stretches out to nine minutes long moving from patriotic vibe to hardcore, rocked-up flavor. As if we aren’t convinced yet how much love she has for her country, she boasts up Luu Huu Phuoc and Huynh Van Tien’s “Len Dang” like she really feels her Service Men. The first line, “Nao anh em ta cung nhau xong pha len dan,” sounds awfully familiar—as if I had sung it back in grade school. Besides the vocals differences, My Tam sounded much more enthusiastic than I was.

When not making noise with the electric guitar, My Tam eases back to a soothing mode on “Nho,” her own composition. Her technical skills on here show tremendous improvements. She sounds effortless and breathless. Other than the romantically dull title track (her spanking new piece), the album has a few rockable moments, something for a change from a sweet-pop chick.

Damn Donny, what the heck is wrong with you? Falling for My Linh’s De Tinh Yeu Hat romance shit, pull yourself together man. You must be out of your mind. That Huy Tuan’s “Nhung Giac Mo Dai” gives me goose bumps, and you treat her like she’s your best lover. Looking at the way you mesmerize My Linh’s breathy, sugary vocals makes me want to puke. Do you really believe her when she sings, “Co khi nao tinh yeu den nhu trong giac mo / Duoc yeu duoc song, chang con van vuong / Nong nang nhung giac mo dai co nhau?” Man, wake your ass up. It’s just a dream. Love is never that beautiful. It’s all fluff. Remember what you told me? That’s right, relationship is worse than a bitch, and she bites harder too. She doesn’t just go for your leg, but straight for your heart.

That opening track “De Mai Duoc Gan Anh” by Anh Quan and Duong Thu is so icky. I can’t stand the way My Linh glides into the crescendo at the last chorus. How could you find the way she almost scats to be breathtaking? Your taste has gone, brother. I suggest you stick to jazz and stay away from Vietnamese ballads. Do I need to slap the taste out of you (like what you wanted to do to Duy Manh) in order to get you back on track? The up-tempo groove on Huy Tuan’s “Valentin” is pathetic. She can’t even pronounce the English word correctly, and you let her passed. What’s happening to your meticulous criticism?

Even on the title track, the muted trumpet hurts my ears and you think the sound is dope. I think you’re really on that dope again. But I have to agree with you on Duong Thu’s “Thuc Giac.” My Linh’s performance is splendid even though her flow in the beginning is a reminiscent of the young Ngoc Khue. Other than that track, the whole album feels like what lovers would share with each other on Valentine’s Day. Yuck!

Many singers, especially Vietnamese, better off to be enjoyed on CD than on stage, Ho Ngoc Ha is not one of them. She’s an exceptional live performer. I overlooked her talent because I was expecting another incompetent model-turned-singer. Until recently I came across some of her live performances video, I realize what I have been missing. Although her voice has yet to convince me, her stage charisma leaves my jaw hanging. On the pop/hip-hop of Phuong Quynh’s “Anh Da Ra Di,” she impresses with her choice of attires (elegant and sexy without being slutty), slick moves, and that smile is a killer. Although her rap delivery is bearable, who really gives a damn to what she has to say when she looks that hot? With Duc Tri’s “Tung Ngay Dai,” her voluptuous grooves take my breath away. Love the way she works her gorgeous black hair, like Angelina Jolin is in the house. The album version of Huy Tuan’s “24 Gioi 7 Ngay” is nothing comparing to live one. It must be that stylish green dress and the delicious stage work, which benefited for her catwalk experience. Even though Tran Van Khanh’s “Noi Long” is sported by an intoxicating mid-tempo funk flavor, HNH focuses mostly on perfecting her flow, and the result is a soulful seduction. Her jazz’s maneuverability combined with her small, exotic voice floored me. I don’t understand what’s the deal with a huge red bow she wears on her chest, but the girl still has style. Now I can see why so many men want to bone her. She has both body and soul. As for me, a smile is all I would request from her.

Here he goes again. Duy Manh, the man who loves to bring pitiful pain, is back with Vol. 2, Loi Sam Hoi. After successfully captured the gamblers with his “Kiep Do Den,” Duy Manh is reaching out to the crack heads, dope fiends and vain poppers with “Loi Sam Hoi Cua Ke Hap Hoi,” a song that gives me an incredible chill in my spines every time I listen to it. The concoction of lust, eerie arrangement, Duy Manh’s drug-marinated vocals and his graphical lyrics brings back the body-hanging image of the young Vietnamese-Australian Van Nguyen. His puffy and breathy delivery combined with his emphatic phrasing creeps the hell out of me, especially after reading Nguyen’s last words. Is this a coincident or Duy Manh dedicated the title track to Mr. Nguyen?

When getting through his entire album, I want to smack the taste out of his mouth, but why hating on him? He just puts out what the people want to hear. As long as his albums sell like fresh shrimps, why not? He’s getting paid in full for being a dramatic clown, and he’s not alone in the game. We have Luu Chi Vy, Ung Hoang Phuc, Truong Dan Huy and a whole bunch of other cried babies robbing teenagers’ lunch money. I am sure young girls would be crying their eyes out when listening to Duy Manh begging for another chance on “Xin Em Cho Toi Mot Co Hoi.” He sounds so damn sweet and sexy when crooning, “Hanh phuc oi nhung ngay ta dam doi,” which truly translates as “It felt good when we fucked.” But hey, at least he’s honest enough to confess that he loves two girls at the same time on “Phai Chang Toi Yeu Hai Nguoi.” A man is as faithful as his options; even he is as lovely as Duy Manh.

Welcome to Duy Manh’s world: drug, gamble, money, love, confession and all real-life dramas. They say artists and musicians live on clouds, and Duy Manh is no exception. The clouds he lives on isn’t high up in the sky, but behind closed doors, and that’s where his music comes from. So what’s the topic on Vol.3? AIDS and HIV?

On Nhung Nu Mam Moi…, Le Thu, an accomplished singer with an ageless voice, takes on Trinh Cong Son’s standards. Unlike the limit-pusher Thanh Lam who flips Trinh’s world upside-down, Le Thu sticks to the original script like white on rice.

As much as I love Le Thu’s strident vocals, gorgeous vibrato and slightly raucous timbre on “Ru Em,” “Cuoi Cung Cho Mot Tinh Yeu,” “Bon Mua Thay La” and “Dem Thay Ta La Thac Do,” I am simply fed up with another Trinh’s songbook. Although Nhung Nu Mam Moi… is far beyond Dam Vinh Hung’s Phoi Pha and Phuong Thanh’s Thuong Mot Nguoi, I still feel a need for some sort of innovative breakthrough. Maybe Thanh Lam and Le Minh Son had set a new expectation when approaching Trinh’s work; therefore, the bar must be raised for the albums that come after theirs. But that’s just me, a demanding listener who always appreciate those musicians who are willing to take on the challenges. On the flip side, those “moldy figs” (jazz’s slang for old style) who dismissed Thanh Lam’s pathbreaking performances on Nay Em Co Nho and Ru Mai Ngan Nam will find Le Thu’s album to be highly enjoyable.

Nothing wrong with presenting the songs the way the composer intended them, especially with a voice like Le Thu. Her performances are flawless. In fact, they are too perfect. The life in Trinh’s lyrics is beautiful but not perfect. If his life were perfect, we wouldn’t have that many timeless songs. I am sure Le Thu’s life is beautiful as well—at least that’s how she sounded on the mic—but her perfectionism needs some accident to articulate Trinh’s lyrical beauties.

The rule is simple. If a new singer wants to cover popular tunes, he must take them to a new level. Or else, what is the point? Why should listeners waste their time, if not only their money, listen to him singing the same old songs? Viet Hoai doesn’t follow that rule, however. He doesn’t want to reinvent them even though the result is rewarding when he does. He just wants to sing from his heart. Fair enough.

Viet Hoai’s debut, Tam Su Nguoi Ca Si, kicks off with a reviving rendition of Doan Chuan and Tu Linh’s “Tinh Nghe Si.” His warm, well-built voice and his straightforward delivery work gracefully with the beautiful, blues-flavored production. The title track, Phu Quang’s “Tam Su Nguoi Ca Si,” is also refreshing thanks to the bossa-nova rhythm section and the exquisite muted trumpet. Yet, Quoc Truong’s “Hoang Hon” is where he’s at his best. The arrangement eases back to allow his clear, quiet voice dominates, but when he needs the strident accompaniment to make a statement, they are right behind him, especially the subtle violin sound. Escorted by a simple strumming acoustic guitar, he pours his soul into “Duong Doi” like he uses the lyrics to tell his own story.

His version of Huy Xuan’s “Thuyen va Bien” is an idiosyncratic one. Despite the gorgeous orchestration, which includes a sinuous sax solo, he sounds way off keys compare to Quang Ly and Thu Minh. The beauty of the song, however, is the weirdness quality in his interpretation, once we get it. Even though his vocals get breathy and his falsetto falls short on those long notes, he manages to pull off Tran Long An’s “Dem Thanh Pho Day Sao.” The album leans toward bland and dull side when he tries to work his ways into the up-tempo Luong Khai’s “Tinh Khuc Chieu Mua” and Tran Tien’s “Mua Xuan Goi.” He simply can’t ride the bouncy beats.