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.”

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.