Sure, Nguyen Hong Nhung is the chick with a rep up to her neck. But don’t let those pornographic images interfere with her music. She has done nothing wrong but trusted that two-inch penis, insecure ex-boyfriend of her who exploited their sexual intercourse to the world. That sell-out prick should have been glad that he boned a star. Yes, I said it. Nguyen Hong Nhung is a star, and her debut Niem Dau Da Qua attests it.

I don’t mean she is the greatest singer. In fact, she’s only a passable warbler with a limited vocals range, but she recognizes her limitations, and only works within her comfortable zone. She also knows how to select songs that are appropriate for her style.
With the help of Nguyen Quang’s colorful and powerful arrangements, she has reinvigorated Tran Tien’s “Sac Mau,” despite how many times Tran Thu Ha has tried to reinvented it every time she performs. Furthermore, she gives Trinh Cong Son’s “Dau Chan Dia Dang” a delicious rendition, Nguyen Anh 9’s “Tinh Yeu Den Trong Gia Tu” a voluptuous delivery, and Ngo Thuy Mien’s “Niem Khuc Cuoi” a sentimental presentation.

While the world would expect to see her carrying on her shamefulness, she comes out swinging to the paso-doble rhythm on Nguyen Anh 9’s “Sac Xuan” like nothing has ever happened. And she doesn’t sound like she’s pretending to have a good time either. Nguyen Quang plays a major role on this album. Not only he contributes illustrious productions, but also supports her on his “Xin Hay Quen Di,” and has written the title track exclusively for her. So when she floats heartfelt over “Niem Dau Da Qua,” she lets us know that the pain has left her mind and soul (which is what the title suggests), the scar has healed, and she has already moved on. Good for you, girl.

Huynh Nhat Tan sure knows how to write pop hits. His ballads are neither sophisticated nor sugarcoated. His lyrics are easy to comprehend but not stodgy, and his melodies are catchy without being syrupy. As a result, he has been churning out hits after hits for Van Son Entertainment. With the release of Phut Ban Dau, we’re presented with a handful of Huynh Nhat Tan’s colorful, soulful, and flavorful compositions performed by Nguyen Khang and Diem Lien, two young and established voices in the Vietnamese-American community.

Because of his carefree charisma, acute sensitivity, and masculinity (vocal wise), Nguyen Khang could transform sweet ballads into sentimental standards. On the opener “Cu Lua Doi Di,” he gives a soul-stirring performance with a heart-to-heart conversation with his lover, which could also be his listeners. His technical is flawless. Even when he hits the upper register, he still maintains the effortlessness in his flow. With “Hoi Nguoi Yeu,” the most mesmerizing part is when Hoai Phuong’s sensuous saxophone blows in, and then Nguyen Khang follows with a breathtaking wordless vocalization. Together they give the tune a savory flavor of jazz. “Se Khong Con Yeu” starts off with the chorus, and Nguyen Khang shows how he could embrace the hook by manipulating it with his own enthralling back-up vocals.

Opposite from Nguyen Khang’s thick and raspy quality, Diem Lien’s voice is thin, clear, but no less expressive and authoritative. Warbler Diem Lien provides a heartfelt rendition of “Mai Yeu La Chi.” Love the way Luan Vu’s violin responds to her lines. The soul-sawing sound of the instrument added a sense of depth into her poignant delivery. Although her performances on “Noi Vo Tinh Ngot Ngao” and “Roi Anh Cung Ra Di” are emotional and robust, her aspirate, breathy voice brings down her delivery.

Believe it or not, the most disappointing performance on the album is the title track, which also is the only duet between the two. The r-&-b groove is inert, and neither Nguyen Khang nor Diem Lien could save the banality of the saccharine chord. It gets worse when they try to imitate the r&b’s style of phrasing. Another obvious dwindling track is “Giac Mo” with the assistance of Vpop. Huynh Nhat Tan is wasting his ink with the translated tune. Without those two tracks, the album is a phenomenon. It’s about time Van Son productions do something right.

Dam Vinh Hung once said on his liveshow Trai Tim Hat that he likes to slip one or two nhac tru tinh (lyrical music) into his albums for older listeners. In the past seven albums, he has been singing his lung out for his young audience. With Tinh Ca 50 (Vol. 8), however, he devotes the entire album to his fans’ moms and pops by crooning only old standards. The “50” part of the title makes it clear that the album is dedicated to the five-oh generation; however, his die-hard fans can still purchase the record and enjoy it with their parents. Isn’t it just lovely? Mr. Dam is bringing the whole family together. The only problem is, can the parents tolerate his thunderous style?

Dam Vinh Hung is still Dam Vinh Hung. From Anh Bang’s “Hoa Hoc Tro” to Ngo Thuy Mien’s “Ban Tinh Cuoi” to Hoang Thanh Tam’s “Thang 6 Troi Mua,” he does not treat these timeless tunes any gentler no matter how sweet and charming they are. He’s a belter, and that is his forte. I don’t find his vociferous performances to be striking anymore because his timbre is getting way too harsh and losing some of its sensational quality. Do Kim Bang’s “Xin Diu Nhau Den Tinh Yeu” proves that his vocals have deteriorated over the years. His earlier rendition, which could be found in Binh Minh Se Mang Em Di, was breathtaking. His phrasing was natural, and his technical skill was immaculate. The jazz-inflected arrangement was compelling, especially on the break where the saxophone became harsh and expressive. On the latter version, he drags the lyrics longer, and he gasps for air on every line. The rock-inflected production does not do him justice either.

When he turns his loudness down a notch, the result is compelling. For instance, I find his duet with Hong Ngoc on Nguyen Vu’s “Loi Cuoi Cho Em” to be spontaneous. The production is exhilarating, and their voices are stimulating on the hook. It is certainly much better than their previous collaboration on Duc Huy’s “Nhu Da Dau Em.” Still, the most interesting performance on the record is Nguyen Van Khanh’s “Noi Long.” His languorous voice curls like smoke around the intoxicating bluesy arrangement. With strange delivery and bizarre phrasing, he gives the tune an invigorating rendition. He should develop this unconventional style furthermore.

As much as I enjoy some of these refreshing sounds, it is problematic with the sudden trend of young singers recovering old songs. Within two months, we see three albums released—Thanh Thao’s Bay Ngay Doi Mong, Cao Thai Son’s Le Da, and now Dam Vinh Hung’s Tinh Ca 50—with not only similar approach, but also with exact same songs. “Loi Cuoi Cho Em” featured on both Thanh Thao’s and Dam Vinh Hung’s. Both Tran Trinh’s “Le Da” and Pham Dinh Chuong’s “Mong Duoi Hoa” appeared on Dam Vinh Hung’s and Cao Thai Son’s. Is Vietnamese popular music going backward? Or are we lacking of new music? Is the music scene in Viet Nam becoming like Thuy Nga and Asia productions? If that is the case, musicians need to get off the treadmill and start jogging forward.

And just when I thought Thelonious Monk’s compositions are impossible to sing, Carmen McRae proves me wrong on Carmen Sings Monk. With her big, clear, pitch-perfect vocals, she brilliantly captures Monk’s up-tempo “Get It Straight,” “It’s Over Now,” “You Know Who” and “Listen to Monk” as well as his smooth “Dear Ruby,” “Monkery’s the Blues,” “Little Butterfly” and “’Round Midnight.” And Lord, can she scat? Listen to the live version of “Suddenly”—accompanied by Monk’s protégé tenor saxophonist Charlie Rouse—and find out because I am breathtakingly speechless with the way she maneuvers her wordless delivery around Monk’s idiosyncratic chords. The album is a showcase of McRae’s incandescent compassion to Monk’s singular creativeness.

When Le Hieu was featured on Do Bao’s Canh Cung, he was still in development. His performance on title track was the weakest among the ladies, which included Tran Thu Ha, Khanh Linh, Ngoc Anh, and Ho Quynh Huong. Although his voice sounds mature for his age, I have not yet found its aesthetic and uniqueness. Yet, I keep hearing his name and his potentials. So let’s find out if he has persuaded me on his newest release, Vol.3.

The album opens with Duong Duc Hien’s “Ngay Qua Lang Le,” a sugary pop tune with a catchy chorus. But what keeps us coming back is the sensuous saxophone that works as a foil to Le Hieu’s saccharine vocals. Then guest-star Le Quyen joins in on Trinh Nam Son’s “Con Duong Mau Xanh.” When given the right material, she can soar with her gravel pit of a voice. Even though he has given his best shot, she still manages to dominate the performance with her indelible and powerful delivery. She makes me wish her counterpart were Trinh Nam Son (who could articulate the song better than the writer himself?), and not Le Hieu. I actually heard Trinh Nam Son performed his song years ago on the first Asia video, and I could not find a match until now.

Nevertheless, the duet between Le Hieu and Le Quyen is the highlight of the album because the rest is filled with pop-rock tedium (Van Tuan Anh’s “Trai Tim That Tha”), bland r & b-inflected groove (Ho Hoai Anh’s “Con Mua Mua Dong”), and plenty of Chinese’s syrupy harmonies (Duong Duc Hien’s “Qua Roi Ngay Thang Ben Nhau” and “Mot Lan Gap Em”). Even with the assist of Thanh Lam, Le Hieu could not revivify Duc Huy’s “Nhu Da Dau Yeu.” The two voices don’t seem to connect or complement one another. I have never heard Thanh Lam sounded so rough and raw before—as if she was singing into a bad mic. On Bui Anh Dung’s “Tinh Yeu,” the bossa-nova rhythm is groovy and the piano work is exquisite, but his performance is stilted, even when he switches up his flow imitating Tung Duong’s style on the third chorus.

No, I am still not convinced. His phrasings have not improved, and I can hear his breath. I have not listened to Le Hieu’s Vol.1 and 2 yet; therefore, I don’t know what type of audiences he had targeted. As for Vol.3, he wants to kill two birds with one stone, similar to what Dam Vinh Hung has been doing with his albums, and we all know where Mr. Dam is at now. Let’s wait and see if Le Hieu is heading into the same direction.

Thuy Nga’s latest video, Dreams, boosted up more provocative visual than innovative music. From the sexy trio intro, which featured bosomy Nhu Loan, luscious Loan Chau, and juicy Ho Le Thu, to Tu Quyen’s lingerie and bed-rocking presentation to Thuy Van’s skin-to-skin bump-and-grind, the show was a big dream of orgies. Thuy Nga’s chicks were so disgustingly seductive that we would have a hard time concentrating on the music. I had no clue what Thuy Van and Tu Quyen were singing nor I could recall what their male partners (Nguyen Hung and Luong Tung Quang) looked like next to them. Who could pay attention to the lyrics when Minh Tuyet’s bubble butt and Nhu Loan’s fake but firm breasts occupied our mind? And just when we were about to get tired of looking at the same old girls, Thuy Nga slapped on some new ones to keep us coming back for more. Ngoc Lien was the latest protégé who brought more appearance than voice to the production. But hey, I am not complaining. I don’t mind watching them.

When the sex was not present, the video got boring and stale. We know the drill: get rich on dead writers. Thuy Nga loved to recycle old songs. The problem was their musical production hardly revived the ageless standards. The most disappointing arrangement was in Trinh Cong Son medley. The plain and colorless production weakened the performance. Khanh Ly and Tuan Ngoc were undoubtedly two of the most successful voices in covering Trinh’s work, but their selection for this medley was not so convincing. Khanh Ly sounded aged on “Hay Yeu Nhau Di” and Tuan Ngoc was banal on “Tinh Sau.” The only striking coverage was “Phoi Pha,” in which Tuan Ngoc gave a heartfelt delivery.

I am not sure why Huynh Nhat Tan wasted his time writing idiotic song like “Yeu La Chi?” Even though the chorography was cleaver (specially the creative use of glow sticks), the Chinese/hip-hop/trance mix along with Linda and Tommy’s Vietnamese rap were just incredibly unpleasant. But that performance was not as awful as “Street Dreams” by Van Quynh and Adam Ho. Thuy Nga had turned these two young and innocent kids into pathetic punk rockers. I am sorry to say, but watching them gave me nightmares instead of sweet dreams.

Paris By Night 79 is another typical product from Thuy Nga. I am getting tired of watching it, and I have no motivation of writing it. This is my last piece on DVDs music review, not only from Thuy Nga, but other productions, including Asia and Van Son, as well.

Cao Thai Son is yet another new kid on the block who tries to recover matured music with his recordings, Le Da. Unfortunately, his baby voice—small, sugary, shallow—does not make the standards, such as Trinh Cong Son’s “Roi Doi Di Nhe,” Ngo Thuy Mien’s “Ao Lua Ha Dong” and Pham Dinh Chuong’s “Mong Duoi Hoa,” stand out. Even though he has pushed his delivery on the title track, his restricted vocal ability doesn’t allow him to reach deep into the sentimental ballad. The worse performance is when he switches up his flow on Tu Vu’s “Gai Xuan.” The syrupy phrasing combined with the emphatic singing is simply infuriating. Nice try, Son.

The good part about young pop stars recovering golden music is that they make us appreciate the older generation. After watching Asia’s 75 Nam Am Nhac Viet Nam and listening to Thanh Thao’s Bay Ngay Doi Mong, I was inspired to seek out recordings that were made prior to 1975, and Thanh Thuy’s affectionate and passionate vocals hypnotize me. She sang with tremendous attention to the lyrics, and her phrasings were amazing. I love the way Asia’s producers reinvigorate Dang The Phong’s “Giot Mua Thu” for the younger singers, but they could not replace Thanh Thuy’s irreplaceable vocals. Despite the low quality of the recordings, her voice was always captivating. Listening to Thanh Thuy’s interpretation of Vietnamese patriotic music is like Bessie Smith sings the blues. Although she has been able to maintain god-sent voice till this day, I find her early works to be astonishing. If anyone has a collection of her songs and willing to share, your generosity is greatly appreciate it.

Thanh Thao flips her image as fast as her mood. From a Thai’s Barbie to a rock gal to a street chick, and now she is back as a traditional Vietnamese lady with her latest effort Bay Ngay Doi Mong. I am not ashamed to say that fun tracks like Y Van’s “Hai Muoi Bon Muoi” and Van Khoi and Van Phung’s “Trang Son Cuoc” groove me. Unfortunately, romantic ballads such as Tran Thien Thanh’s “Bay Ngay Doi Mong” and Le Huu Ha’s “Nho Nhau Lam Gi” suffer from her limited vocal range. Yet, the most heartfelt performance on the record is Nguyen Vu’s “Loi Cuoi Cho Em” with the aid of Quang Dung. He sings as if he tries to communicate his last words to his lover (especially on the chorus, “Neu ngay mai lo chung minh xa nhau, anh xin muon kiep yeu em ma thoi.”) before she walks down the isle with that rich old fart. Damn, we’re feeling you, QD.

On November 29, 1957, two jazz giants—Thelonious Monk and John Coltrane—joined forces at the Carnegie Hall for a concert recording that made history. Stylistically, Monk’s angularity and Trane’s virtuosity did not seem to fit, but the two were hand in glove when they gigged together. Monk’s disruptive chops made Trane’s flows more fluid. In reverse, Trane’s smooth tones added sensual details to Monk’s fractured sounds. Together the two geniuses had created an opposite attraction with their irresistible harmonies.

At the Carnegie Hall featured both shows from the Thanksgiving Jazz event in 1957, and eight out of nine performances were Monk’s signature compositions including “Monk’s Mood,” “Evidence” and “Epistrophy.” Monk was a man of his own world in both music and life. His music was too different and too hard to understand. Yet, Trane, an eccentric man himself, was able to tap into Monk’s mind. As a result, they were speaking the same language. “Blue Monk” is a perfect illustration that shows the two communicated to each other in an astonishing level. The tenor and the piano were brilliantly completing each other’s sentences on the first chorus before Trane immerged himself into his tireless, rapid-fire improvisation. After Trane, Monk gave a mind-blowing solo with his downward-scale technique, staccato style, and exquisite alter chord.

If I have to pick a title track for this album, it would be “Sweet and Lovely,” which appropriately describes the prosperous collaboration between Monk and Trane, and their performance was exactly what the title had suggested. Monk kicked off the standard ballad with his idiosyncratic solo in a mild rhythm section provided by Shadow Wilson’s soft brushstrokes and Ahmed Abdul-Malik’s thumping pizzicatos. Trane took over the bridge and his restless phrasing entered as the tempo picked up. Trane blew like he could go on forever without needing to take a breath while Monk dropped exotic keys in the background to complement his man. Not only this particular piece, but also every performance was filled with vivid colors, splendid textures and endless imaginations.

Although the recording was made almost fifty years ago, the sound is clear and the music is still fresh. Big up to Larry Appelbaum, the recording lab supervisor at Library of Congress, for discovering this rare gem. It is definitely a timeless work of art, especially for the jazz cognoscenti.