On her debut Moon and Wind, Huong Thanh, daughter of an accomplished Vietnamese opera (cai luong) singer Huu Phuoc, gives Vietnamese folk music a contemporary flavor. Thanks to her producer Nguyen Le who is brilliant at weaving traditional melodies with western instruments, the album is a multicultural splendor.

With clear enunciation, pitch-perfect vocals and pliable delivery, Huong Thanh applies her exoticness to any folk tune regardless of its region (south, north or central). Yet, what makes her performances stand out is that she doesn’t belt out like Phi Nhung or screech high like Nhu Quynh. Her soft, gentle approach works just fine. Her rendition of “Co La” (The Soaring of the Heron) is both playful and adorable. The hand-clapped effect provided by Tino Di Geraldo’s palmas added a spontaneous Latin rhythmic to the tune. On “Coi Nguoi” (The Source), she gives a recital of folk lullaby from the south, and then heads up north on “Ru Con Mien Bac” (All is Peace). The differences in accentuation demonstrate her versatility in conveying the aesthetic beauties of each coast.

“Sam Hue Tinh” (One River Two Streams) has to be my favorite track on the album. The sound of Karim Ziad’s charming gumbri (bass) cascaded with Paolo Fresu’s exquisite muted trumpet flowed behind Huong Thanh’s sensuous Hue accent is ear-opening. The harmony comes together like a lustrous potpourri. If Miles Davis was still alive and he knew the possibility of mixing jazz into Vietnamese folk music, he would have moved beyond fusion. With the speed Miles pushed his music and his keenness for new sounds, we might have had a Sketches of Viet Nam arranged and conducted by Nguyen Le. Who knows?

On “Ly Qua Cau” (Crossing the Bridge) “Ly Con Sao” (Blackbird Song), songbird Huong Thanh flies to the south with her enchanting voice supported by the calm but colorful arrangements. Then she travels back to Hue with “Ho Hue” (The Awaiting) and “Ai Ra Xu Hue” (Going Back to Hue). Again, her Hue intonation is irresistible on these two tracks. I know, I love Hue female voices, what can I say?

Milestones is another savory classic from Miles Davis’s sextet. The jump-off, Jackie McLean’s “Dr. Jekyll,” showcases not only Davis’s flying speed on trumpet (Diz’s style), but also the delicious dual saxophones from John Coltrane and Cannonball Adderley. The tilte track, which comes from Davis’s pen, is a masterpiece. In contrast to the swift solos from his saxophonists, Davis’s plays fewer notes, but his blowing is so damn cool in the modal style. The album closes out with an invigorating rendition of Monk’s “Straight, No Chaser,” in which William “Red” Garland on piano, Paul Chambers on bass and “Philly” Joe Jones on drums have done a fantastic job of keeping the rhythm section swinging for Trane to lay down his sheets-of-sound signature. Tony Williams, one of Davis’s favorite drummers who loved to play the title track, once told his chief that Milestones was “the definitive jazz album of all time” because “the spirit in it of everyone who plays jazz.” Miles was astonished and replied, “No shit!?”

A.Z., the Visualiza, once rhymes, “Life’s a bitch and then you die; that’s why we get high / Cause you never know when you’re gonna go.” That’s a street hustler’s tale, but everyone, including a regular guy like me, has a story to tell. In fact, I have many stories, but who would care what I have to say about my ordinary, if not boring, life? Phu Quang, on the other hand, has thirteen simple—but unforgettable—stories in his songbook, Chuyen Binh Thuong, I am sure many people would love to hear. Each piece expresses his feelings, reflects his reminiscences or shares his life experiences in a gorgeous lyrical and musical style.

Who could tell a simple story better then a minimalist herself? Hong Nhung is incomparable on “Khuc Mua.” The way she maneuvers her vocals in and out of the blues-inflected chord and around the bossa-nova rhythm section simply takes my breath away. “Tinh Khuc 24” is also a remarkable performance in which her phrasing is irresistible—especially her effortlessness in carrying those long notes. In addition to Hong Nhung, My Hanh and Ngoc Anh are also featured female vocalists who help Phu Quang convey his story to the audience. Although both singers have a raspy voice (Ngoc Anh’s timbre is thicker), each has a distinctive sound and unique style. My Hanh’s powerful delivery is perfect for the rock-inflected “Dau Phai Boi Mua Thu.” She gives both “Thuong Lam Toc Dai Oi” and “Sinh Nhat Den” a heartfelt, expressive delivery. Though the performances could have been even superior if her breath wasn’t audible. Likewise, Ngoc Anh’s rendition of “Mua Thu Giau Em” could have been finer if she could keep her respiration to a minimum level. Speaking of breath-control technique, Quang Ly is the master. Even when he phrases the high notes on “Da Khuc,” his falsetto is flawless. Furthermore, his sensational vocals, gentle tones, and passionate deliveries go together with Phu Quang’s compositions like bread and butter.

Besides the singers, the producers deserve the credits for their behind-the-scene contribution as well. Viet Anh and Duc Tri have done an ingenious job of arranging simple but vibrant sounds for the vocalists to lay down the lyrical contents. And mad props go to Tang Thanh Nam for his rich, crisp sound on the violin—particularly on “Bang Quo,” in which Phuc Quang tells his story himself. 13 Chuyen Binh Thuong proves that life doesn’t have to be a bitch, if we appreciate its simplicity and live it to the fullest, which doesn’t have to involve getting high either.

I never liked Anh Khoa when he appeared on Paris By Night‘s videos back in early 90s. He wasn’t bad looking, but the man always seemed as if he was about to cry during his performances. At the time, I had enough problems in my real life, especially in school where I was the only Vietnamese kid who spoke a word or two of English; therefore, I couldn’t stand watching him weeping on stage. I needed up-tempo and dance-pop tunes to get my mind off the damn school drama. That was the reason I liked young cats like Don Ho, Kenny Thai, and Thai Tai. In fact, I used to envy Thai Tai when he performed that Elvis Presley’s “It’s Now or Never” with Dalena, a Caucasian girl who could sing Vietnamese flawlessly. Thai Tai was a flyboy, and he was jamming and holding hands with this fine white girl. The dude wasn’t my idol, but I wouldn’t mind being in his position at that moment.

Back to Anh Khoa. Although his stage presence never grabbed my attention, I have always liked the mellow, gentle, and affectionate qualities in his voice. After many years on hiatus in Hungary with his family, he recently recorded Khuc Thuy Du, an album with nothing but romantic ballads including Trinh Cong Son’s “Tuoi Da Buon,” Ngo Thuy Mien’s “Ban Tinh Cuoi,” and Nguyen Tam’s “Rong Rieu.” What makes the album listenable is Anh Khoa’s relaxed approach to the standards. He hardly pushes his delivery, yet somehow his soul finds its way into the songs. Almost anyone—from Khanh Ly, Tuan Ngoc, Thanh Lam, Nguyen Khang, Thu Phuong, Quang Dung to Dam Vinh Hung—who had sung Trinh Cong Son’s “Mot Coi Di Ve” had poured every piece of aching heart and soul into it, except for Anh Khoa. He takes it the opposite direction—like Miles Davis responded to bebop—by sounding calm and cool, and he pulled it off beautifully. Unfortunately, the banal production from Bao Chan brings his performance down a notch. The album would have been much tighter if Duy Cuong was behind the board. Anh Khoa needs to get a hold of Duy Cuong in his next release. While his unruffled-the-feather style worked brilliantly on “Mot Coi Di Ve,” it didn’t quite fit “Ban Tinh Cuoi” because he didn’t switch to high register and hold his voice at the bridge, which is the highlight of the entire song.

The worse part is when Anh Khoa performs in English. His rendition of Viktor Lazlo’s “Stories” kicks off with a woman who has a weird accent reciting the poem. No, not reciting but just simply reading off the paper because she puts no emotion into it. Then followed by Anh Khoa’s thick-accented, pathetic singing. Why did he even bother recording that track? Beat me. What is he trying to prove? Beat the hell out of me.

Tu Cong Phung, Tuan Ngoc, and Duy Cuong in one album, what more could we ask for? Giot Le Cho Ngan Sau, a Tu Cong Phung’s songbook, is a timeless material that leaves no filler’s spot. Recorded in 1994, the music is as fresh and crisp as it was upon first release—thanks to Duy Cuong’s master of orchestrations. I have heard countless version of “Mat Le Cho Nguoi,” but Duy Cuong’s classical-inspired arrangement combined with Tuan Ngoc’s meticulous delivery sets it apart from the rest. The way he caresses, holds, and discharges the long lines on the title track, Tuan Ngoc’s flawless falsetto proves that he has both technique and soul, and he expresses Tu Cong Phung’s work to its fullest. This album is, without a doubt, a quintessential Vietnamese music.

Tam Su Goi Ve Dau is another classic material from Tuan Ngoc recorded in late 1990. The album featured Tuan Ngoc’s signature performances including Tu Cong Phung’s “Tren Ngon Tinh Sau,” Truong Sa’s “Roi Mai Toi Dua Em,” and Ngo Thuy Mien’s “Ao Lua Ha Dong,” which have been recovered by numerous today’s singers, but none has come closed to the musician’s musician. Again, Duy Cuong plays an important role in the production, noticeably his exhilarating piano’s ostinato on Trinh Cong Son’s “Chieu Mot Minh Qua Pho.” It is one of the most elegance arrangements I have heard for this popular piece, and Tuan Ngoc’s voice is as calm and cool as it gets. The record also gives listeners a glimpse of Duy Cuong’s scoring skills. Check out the intro and outro!

Ngo Minh Tri is a sentimental songwriter. His debut Buon C Major is filled with melancholy melodies and languishing lyrics. For instance, the title track—his first jazz composition—was written during the darkest period of his life; “Dau Nang” describes his excruciating pain; and “Buon Cung Sol” was born as a therapist to cure his misery. Only music could relief his aches; therefore, he drowns his sorrows in heart-rending and soul-touching ballads.

The album is consisted of eleven tunes, ranging from jazz to bossa nova to semi-classic, performed by various vocalists: the composer himself, Bao Kim, Trieu Vinh, Nguyen Thao, and Kim Phuong. As a singer, Ngo Minh Tri has a warm, handsome voice, and no trouble pouring out his emotion into “Buon C Major.” Though Bao Kim only featured in one track, her contribution is substantial. She gives the semi-classical “Tieng Ca Dan Hien” an unforgettable performance with her rich-in-tone, exquisite vocals. While Trieu Vinh’s gorgeous baritone supplies the bossa-nova “Pho La” a heartfelt presentation, Nguyen Thao’s clear, charming voice provides “Mot Coi Lung Chung” a soulful rendition.

The key singer of the album, however, is the twenty-three-year-old Kim Phuong whose voice is way more mature than her age. When I first encountered “Mua Xuan, Ruou va Toc Dai,” her dark-voiced quality and expressive delivery commanded my attention. She knows how to wrap her raspy vocals around the intoxicating alto saxophone, plays by Quang Trung. Together with Luat Hoang’s sensuous keyboard, they painted a musical portrait of an elegant lady with long, beautiful hair, and a figure that is more voluptuous than an evening spring. Inspired by Kim Phuong’s remarkable voice, Ngo Minh Tri wrote “Mot Chut Jazz Vao Giong Hat Em,” in which she makes a powerful statement with her outpouring flow and ineffable grace.

Kim Phuong is also a versatile singer. Besides bending her voice around jazz phrases, she could maneuver her ways in and out of semi-classical “Hanh Phuc” as well as ballroom-ballad “Dem Tango.” While it may seem strange to include a tango piece in a jazz album, Ngo Minh Tri has cleverly weaved jazz elements into the habanera dance rhythm—something ragtime pianists occasionally used in their performances. As a result, “Dem Tango” offers a unique approach to jazz instead of falls out of place on the album. Ngo Minh Tri certainly knows what he is doing.

Although the performers are doing an exceptional job, what the album lacking is the liveliness interaction between the vocalists and instrumentalists, an important aspect of jazz. Unlike pop, hip-hop and other styles of Vietnamese music, jazz needs her flexibility to build up her spirit and soul. The musicians need to be in the same studio in order to feed off each other’s vibe. The pre-recording (music and vocal separately) leaves no room for improvisations, scat-singings and solo performances. Since this is a homegrown production, I do understand the limitations. And even though these qualities are missing, Buon C Major is still a strong and solid album. It is not, however, an easy-absorbing one. The recordings require time and attentive listening in order to get acquainted with, and what followed are gratifying experiences. In “Roi Cung Sang Mua He,” performed by Kim Phuong, Ngo Minh Tri expresses how isolated and hard it is for a Vietnamese musician to write jazz compositions exclusively. The path he has chosen might be cold and lonely, but the compensation and the appreciation are much deeper. So keep on walking, and keep on singing like the lyrics have suggested, “Duong ta van di, nhac ta van hat, van hat.”

While waiting for the ladies (mom, aunts and sisters) to do their things (shopping at the jewlery store). I checked out the local Vietnamese music store in Austin, Texas. To my surprise, I found a nice collection of Thanh Thuy’s albums. I copped volume 16, 17, 22, 26, and 27 released under her own Thanh Thuy Productions. In addition, I came across her rendition of Dang The Phong’s “Giot Mua Thu” in vol. 17 Quen Nguoi Tinh Cu. Y Van’s “Long Me” is also featured in the same album, and she her performance is heartrending. Although her voice has not changed much, I prefer the musical arrangements that were produced prior to 1975. The electric sounds on the latter albums aren’t as compelling as the earlier recordings in which real instruments were used. Those trumpet/sax breaks still take my breath away, and I don’t get them on her later records.

I spend many quiet nights alone with Thelonious Monk’s Himself and Bill Evans’s Conversation With Myself. For the holidays, however, I’ll be hanging out with Pham Hong Hanh—a fine pianist with a master degree in solo piano performance and pedagogy from McGill University—and her inspirational Give Thanks album for a spiritual, semi-classic experience.

When it comes to church music, I must confess that I am not too familiar with religious compositions. In fact, the only recognizable tune for me on the album is “O Holy Night,” and her rendition is a glorious one. She begins with a choppy intro, which reminds me of Monk’s angular style, but her virtuosity reveals once she glides into the harmony, and gives a fresh and lively delivery.

Give Thanks is an ingenious solo piano album that is filled with divine power. From the opening “I Sing Praises” to the ending “Give Thanks,” she expresses her love to Christ through music, and she connects with music through her piano. While “Glory to His Name” and “Leaning on the Everlasting Arms” are relax, calm with breathless ease, “Praise Him! Praise Him!” and “Awesome God” are spontaneous with sonorous details. And the recitals that keep me coming back again and again are “As the Deer” and “Angels We Have Heard on High.” Her nimble style, in which she sprinkles the high keys to produce a cascading sound, is irresistable.

Thank goodness, the album was shipped on time for the holiday season. I was expecting it to be in my office a couple of days ago; therefore, I kept on checking my work mailbox, and nothing showed up. As I shut down my computer, and ready to hit the road, something prompted me to check it one more time before I leave, and there it was. As a result, my four-hour trip from Poughkeepsie, New York to Lancaster, Pennsylvania was a smooth ride with nothing else in my car stereo but soul-soothing solo piano presentation from Pham Hong Hanh. I left at 2:30 in the afternoon, and by the time I arrived, which was around 6:30 in the evening, the album’s spellbounds, aesthetic beauties, and ethereal chords had already crept up on me, especially when the darkness of the night took over.

The dynamic-duo Thanh Lam and Le Minh Son are back rousing up the heat with Em & Dem, their forth studio collaboration effort. Musically, these two are a match made in heaven. One is a soul-stirring crooner; the other is a soul-mixing producer. Together they generate not just hits but soulful albums after albums. Em & Dem is no exception. They continue stretching the limits, experimenting with new sounds, and creating original music.

The album featured eight tracks written and composed by Le Minh Son, a brilliant musician who is obsessed with fusion. The good thing is that he blends the genres together without a glitch. The best illustration is “Hat Mot Ngay Moi.” The piece starts off with an electric funk guitar intro, then glides into pop-rock rhythm section. Thanh Lam’s voice enters with a playful half-singing and half-reading folk style. The song eventually builds into a hard-rock chorus where her vocals become dense and solid, but the trumpet, which gives the break a jazz flavor, calms things down with a gorgeous, riveting solo.

No matter what kind of arrangements Le Minh Son comes up with, Thanh Lam could maneuver her way into the songs naturally with her flexible vocal range. Whether the production is a mash-up of classic, pop, r & b, and hip-hop (“Ngay Anh”) or the r & b’s trunk-rattling basskick builds into rock riff (“Em & Dem”) or the soothing semi-classic piano (“Nhin Em De Thay”), she matches them with her virtuous flow, and at the same time pours her soul into the lyrics. Even when the beats aren’t stimulating—like the mid-tempo pop on “Ngay Em Ra Doi” and the pop-rock “Toc Thoi Tay Ho”—her deliveries are still exhilarating. It has to be the flow and the attention to the words. On “Nguoi Dan Ba,” she then gives an impressive performance with her whispery timbre roaring over the breathtaking classical orchestration.

“Suong Giang Cau Hat” closes out the album with yet another flavorful fusion. This time Le Minh Son incorporates a marvelous Latin groove into the rhythm section, and his strumming guitar solo is like Santana was in the house. The beat is energetic, but Thanh Lam knows how to wrap her voice around it. Compare to Nang Len, this album is much easier to listen. The tunes are softer and mellower, which are attractive to younger crowds, but might disappoint those who expected the belter signature from Thanh Lam and jazz-folk standards from Le Minh Son. Nevertheless, Em & Dem still maintains, if not escalates, her queen-of-pop stature.

With his latest release, Nhung Giai Dieu Du Duong, Quach Thanh Danh goes straight sentimental, no dance-beat pops or rap-inspired hits, which is good. His warm baritone is perfect for crooning romantic ballads, and his northern accentuations added an exotic flavor to his deliveries. He pays attention to the diacritics, and enunciates each tone-mark clearly, something I find lacking in many young singers.

Although Quach Thanh Danh doesn’t take us to the dance floor, he ushers us back to the ballroom with a stella tango from Nguyen Dinh Nguyen’s “Chieu Thu.” His unforced flow and clean delivery are a reminiscent of Vu Khanh, but when he punctuates the period on the word dieu (“Thu gieo giai dieu chieu tho”), his style is unmistakable. Unfortunately, this song along with Nguyen Minh Anh’s “Tinh Vo Danh” have been released not too long ago on Trai Tim Lanh Gia, his volume 3.

Nhung Giai Dieu Du Duong is almost like Quach Thanh Danh ‘s ballads selection. At least half of the tracks (that I know of) are re-issued from his previous albums. The indelible “Xin Ru Muon Mang” (Doan Quang Anh Khanh) is from his debut Toi La Toi. Thu Khuc’s “Don Phuong Mot Cuoc Tinh” and Nguyen Nhat Huy’s “Nguoi Tinh Lai Loi” comes from his second volume Tinh Chia Doi. But, the album doesn’t tell us that. We have to figure it out.

I am not sure if he has released Trinh Cong Son’s “Thanh Pho Mua Xuan” and Thai Thinh “Gui Gam” elsewhere already, but both of them are excellent. He gives a genuine performance on Trinh’s piece. Weakest is Thai Hung’s “Anh Van Cho Em,” in which he overemphasized the lyrics, and his delivery is banal and breathy on Vu Quoc Binh’s “Lang Le Tinh Buon.”