Luu Hong is one of the most overlooked musicians in the Vietnamese-American community. If she didn’t collaborate with Ngoc Lan, I would have not known her. The medley (“Lien Khuc Chieu Mua”) that they worked together for Asia Entertainment was breathtaking. The way their voices complemented each other on Trinh Cong Son’s ”Nhu Canh Vac Bay” and Nhat Ngan’s ”Qua Con Me” was like a smooth blend of an alto sax (Ngoc Lan) and tenor sax (Luu Hong) floated over Asia’s crisp arrangements with endless imagination. I was blown away by their performances.

Obviously, Ngoc Lan was no stranger to me, but Luu Hong was. Her distinctive voice mesmerized me. She had just the right amount of thickness in her vocals that would give any song that she sings some textures. Her phrasings were effortless, and her timings were perfect even though Asia’s beats were faster than the original tempos. Her rendition of “Nhung Doi Hoa Sim” (poem by Huu Loan and music by Chinh Dzung) on the medley was one of the best I have heard.

After listening to “Lien Khuc Chieu Mua”, I determined to get Luu Hong’s solo albums, but could only found one from Ca Dao Productions. Even though I was disappointed by the horrible cover design and the lack of credits (songwriters and producers), I copped Mua Dem Ngoai O anyway because I know the voice is incomparable. I was hoping for the production to be at least decent for her to ride on.

The good part is that the arrangements are sharp. The not-so-good part is that I have heard of them countless times before. I am not even sure how old the album is, but it does not matter because the old tunes bring back good old memories. While the tango joints like “Ai Di Ngoai Suong Gio,” “Ngang Trai” and “Do Chieu” take me back to ballroom floor, the waltz groove on “Tinh Mua Gio” makes me want to whirl around the room like Nguyen Hung and Thuy Van on Da Vu Quoc Te.

Luu Hong’s song selections are romantic ballads (nhac tru tinh). Nothing’s wrong with that. One of her strengths is her ability to maintain her effortlessness when approaching songs like “Diep Khuc Thuong Dau,” “Dang Do” and “Tuyet Tinh.” Her heartfelt emotion is there on the tracks, but her expression is never mournful. A few singers have sing these songs like their worlds have come to an end, and I can’t get with that. On the title track, “Mua Dem Ngoai O,” her slightly gruff timbre hugs around the soothing saxophone giving a vivid image of a rainy night in a quiet countryside somewhere in the west of Viet Nam.

Dem Mua Ngoai O is a delicious set from song to song that could be replayed for savory experiences. I don’t know if Luu Hong is still singing or not. Her voice is hypnotizing, and it would be a darn shame if she has retired.

Any Vietnamese songster who has not recorded a Trinh Cong Son’s album should start thinking about it now to get the tradition over with. That’s right, every well-known musician has released at least a Trinh’s record during his or her career. Even Phuong Thanh wants a piece of Trinh’s work, isn’t that incredible? Whenever a Trinh’s album is released, the controversy is inevitable, and Phuong Thanh’s Thuong Mot Nguoi (To Love Someone) is no exemption. Even before the album hits the racks, Trinh’s lovers have expressed frustrations; however, they can be reassured that Phuong Thanh has not destroyed anything.

Unlike Thanh Lam who has always stirred things up by singing Trinh’s songs with her powerful and intricate techniques, Phuong Thanh sticks to the script, which is unusual because she has never been a gentle vocalist. She is a belter with a huge, scratchy voice. Yet, the soft and straightforward approach works because it allows her emotion to carry the weight. Even the productions (from Kim Tuan, Hoai Sa, Vinh Tam, and Duc Tri) are kept to the minimal, simple strumming guitar accompanied most tracks, to allow Phuong Thanh’s aspirate voice be the essence. As a result, the album is delivered with honesty and sincerity from the opening “Cat Bui” (Sand and Dust) to the closing “Ca Dao Me” (Mother’s Folk Poetry).

The strength of Thuong Mot Nguoi is in the maturity of her vocals. We can enjoy her singing instead of screaming on “Uot Mi” (Tearful) and “Bien Nho” (The Sea Will Miss). Her croaky timbre sounds sweet rather than heavy on “Diem Xua” (Miss Diem) and “Rung Xua Da Khep” (The Old Forest Has Closed). Her breath control is a tremendous improvement, distinctly on “Tinh Xa” (Far Love). The heartrending “Ca Dao Me” would have been perfect if she could keep her breathing off the track like the way she does with “Tinh Xa” because the phrasing is superb, and the sentiment is there.

Thuong Mot Nguoi is neither groundbreaking nor outstanding, but much better than what I have expected. Take that as a compliment from a guy who has not been feeling Phuong Thanh since the days of “Trong Vang” (Emptiness). Congratulations on the baby girl as well as the success of the album. Hope this is a new turning point for Phuong Thanh.

If I am being too hard on the young singers in my music comment, that’s partly because of Lady Day. Billie Holiday was a phenomenon. No, she still is. Her style, her phrasing, her interpretation, her timing and her voice are yet to be matched. She sang as if she had lived the lyrics. She always sounded behind the beat, but never missed it. No matter how rough she came across, especially during the mid 50s when her voice deteriorated, the sweetness deep inside her vocals was always present. Most important of all, her breath control was never less than perfect.

For those who haven’t experienced the Lady Day, I highly recommend giving Billie’s Best a spin. Although this collection from Verve only provides a portion of Billie’s classics, it will give you a nice taste of the lady that sings the blues like no others; and the productions are crisp too. Obviously, every song is a hit, but pay close attention to “Stormy Blues,” “Come Love,” “Come Rain or Come Shine,” “Foggy Day,” and “U… u… u… What a Little Moonlight Can Do.”

I listen to her albums when there is completely no distraction. I can’t even play her music while working, because she demands so much concentration that I would not be able to get anything done. Listen to Holiday without paying attention to her every word is like playing chess without thinking. As I am writing this in Barnes & Noble’s café, I am noticing how chess players are thinking and planning their every move. That’s where the comparison comes from, in case you’re wondering.

The name Jazzy Da Lam has been floating around many Vietnamese-related Web sites including this one. Her low-quality MP3’s have created a nice buzz for her profile. Jazz fans have been waiting patiently to hear what this young pianist/singer/composer/writer who has been studying music in Germany has to offer. After two years in production, Da Lam’s debut Moon & You (Trang & Em), a collaboration with German musicians, is ready to introduce to Vietnamese audiences worldwide.

Moon & You embodied four tracks from her pen, and the remaining lyrics, including three English songs, were written by others, but all composed by Da Lam. “Khuc Dem” opens the album with a soothing Latin-jazz fusion. Her soft and clear vocals give the palette a calming color. The way she scats near the end is exhilarating. On the classical “Vat Trang,” Vincent Nguyen’s languorous arrangement sets off the mood by leading listeners into a nocturnal atmosphere. Da Lam voice then joins in and takes us into her magical world, (“Mot dem trang buoc xuong doi / ngam suong nha trang mai doi”), while the orchestration (strings, flute, clarinet, contra bass, and piano) weaving in and out of her aspirate vocals as if sharing her thoughts and soul. Assisted by Ingolf Burkhardt’s silken trumpet, she curls her feathery voice effortlessly around the smooth jazz arrangement on “Trang & Em.”

“Hay Ve Day” is what Da Lam threw in to flirt with the young heads. The funk-pop production is spicy; her voice is spicier. Sex is everywhere: in the sax, in the voice and in the words. Listen to the way she croons the refrain, “Hay ve day / an ai ta co nhau trong dam say / huong tinh yeu thom ngat bao dem lam em ngat ngay / dau nam thang xa cach cho tai te noi dang cay / hay quay ve day.” She begs you to come back and make love to her. She has been waiting for way too long. Can’t you smell the sweet scent of love? She is yearning for your touch. If that is not a booty call, then I don’t know what is.

True to her name, which was given by her online friends, jazz and blues fit her style like hand in glove. On the soulful blues, “Mau Dem,” she floats heartfelt over the light brushwork and shimmering flute riffs. By fusing Vietnamese folk into jazz with her own elegant piano work, Da Lam gives an electrifying presentation on “Vong Dem,” creating a gorgeous image of a Vietnamese women with milky breasts rocking her baby to sleep (“bo mi oi khep ngoan a oi / bau nguc thom huong sua oi a”).

Da Lam not only impresses us with her composing, singing, and writing original music, but also strikes us with her ability to perform in English. Her accentuations are exotic on “Life is” and “When I am With You,” but her timbres are banal on the pop tunes. Although the record featured various styles, it doesn’t feel disorienting thanks to Vincent Nguyen’s focused arrangements and orchestrations, and the night theme Da Lam has cleverly crafted. Yet, I still prefer a solid concentration of jazz and classic. Unlike many new musicians, Da Lam has tremendous potential and proper training in writing and performing, especially in jazz. Like many new singers, her voice is still a work in progress, noticeably her breath control. Nevertheless, her debut is still a sensation.

Thanh Lam and Le Minh Son, once again, reinvigorated Trinh Cong Son’s pop standards on Nay Em Co Nho, their third studio collaboration. By weaving eastern instruments (three-stringed lute, sixteen-stringed zither and flute) into the western (piano, guitar, violin, viola, and cello), Le Minh Son produced ingenious semi-classic harmonies. The east-meets-west musical palette gives Thanh Lam plenty of colors and room to paint Trinh’s lyrical images.

Like most Vietnamese singers (and listeners), Thanh Lam loves and respects Trinh’s works. Even though she approaches his materials with her own passion, especially on the voluptuous rendition of “Phoi Pha,” she never fails to embrace his melodies, caress his verses, and nurture his rhymes. Even on the weird recovering of “Mot Coi Di Ve,” she coarsens and punctuates in strange places, but Trinh’s aesthetics never leave the canvas. At first, I preferred the old jazz standard version, which she gave an indelible presentation on the classic Ru Doi Di Nhe, over the new eccentric classical-jazz arrangement by pianist Tran Manh Hung; however, I am more convinced after several spins. The oddness becomes natural, and that’s the way the album grows: slowly but surely.

Trinh’s signature pieces are not new to us, but Thanh Lam’s deliveries are. Like the way she flows in and out of the staccato violin on “Lang Le Noi Nay” is breathtaking. On “Nay Em Co Nho,” she maneuvers skillfully around the sonorous violin and piano accents giving the title track a soulful performance. Accompanied by Le Minh Son’s nimble-fingered guitar, Thanh Lam gives “Bien Nho” a gorgeous reminiscent of Khanh Ly and Trinh Cong Son, despite the differences in styles. Elsewhere, the clear-pitched flute not only balances her slightly gruff voice, but also assists her to paint incomparable images of Saigon, such as sunrises, rainfalls, streetlights, green tamarind leafs and familiar bricks, on the nostalgic “Em Con Nho Hay Em Da Quen.”

Last year, Thanh Lam and Le Minh Son shocked us with the groundbreaking Ru Mai Ngan Nam. If the sequel does not strike our chords, it is because we are used to its predecessor. In any rate, Nay Em Co Nho is unquestionably an expansive artistic vision from an accomplished vocalist and a talented producer.

Thanks Thao Suong for the album.

In Thuy Nga’s special DVD, Da Vu Quoc Te, Nguyen Hung and the Paris By Night’s dancers stomped the floor. Nguyen Hung is undoubtedly a skillful dancer, but Thuy Van is the one that set the stage ablaze. Her erotic appearance and her luscious steps damn near kick him off the frame. Although the cameras focus more on him, my attention switches from him to her within the first minute on the lead-off pasodoble performance of “Malaguena.” The red dress looks so hot on her, not to mention what the skirt reveals. By the time the second presentation (“Ngu Di Em”) arrives, he appears like nothing but a moving poll for her to grind on. The skin-liked outfit makes her look like a piece of fresh meat that best eats raw. The way she moves on her own choreographed rumba is jaw dropping.

On the next performance, which is the chachacha’s “Ai Se La Em,” Nguyen Hung’s screen presence shines because Thuy Van is not in it. However, she is back on “Black is Black,” and continues to dominate the stage in cowboy boots, hat, and strap while Nguyen Hung looks mad gay in his tight clothes that reveal nothing but his gut. Nguyen Hung is fit, but he is not as young and as built as the male dancers. He has the move, but not the six packs; therefore, suits fit him better. On “Tinh Nghia Doi Ta Chi The Thoi,” Nguyen Hung finally gains his stage presence in a handsome suit and gives a fantastic tango performance with Thuy Van. Once again, Thuy Van has done a wonderful job at choreographing the chachacha on “Lien Khuc Khong 1 & 2,” and her singing is not outstanding but listenable. Obviously, Ho Le Thu is nowhere near Thuy Van in term of dancing. The music video concept on “Bang Bang” is surprisingly clever, and Nguyen Cao Ky Duyen’s moves are not so bad either.

Although Da Vu Quoc Te is Nguyen Hung’s show, Thuy Van steals the attention whenever she is in it. Mad props go to Shanda Sawyer as well as Thuy Van for their creative minds as choreographers. Except for the first couple of songs where Nguyen Hung’s steps are a bit feminine, he has done a great job as a singer and dancer. I wish they had added the swing to the video. Swing is fun, and I want to see Thuy Van swings her things.

Music of Ngo Thuy Mien and Trinh Cong Son has been done many times with jazz-inflected renditions. The pop-jazz fusions give NTM’s and TCS’s signature pieces new sounds, and please most bourgeois, but not the aficionados. To transform Vietnamese ballads from jazz intimation into real jazz, we need the experts. In 2000, Lang Van production distributed Purple Refrain — a live jazz session performed by the jazz pianist Peter Zak and his band. With John Wiitala on bass, Edward McClary on drums, and Dave Tidball on saxophone, Peter Zak turned NTM’s and TCS’s pop standards into phenomenon jazz tunes.

Zak’s unique approach to Vietnamese music and his ingenious escapes from the written melody make Purple Refrain an unforgettable art. He has not only found his way into the music, but also breaks down the melodies, then re-assembles them with his own interpretation to suit the complex, syncopated rhythms of jazz. For instance, he plays his piano at a doubled tempo on “Vanishing” (TCS’s “Phoi Pha”) instead of sticking with slow harmony. On the title track, “Purple Refrain” (NTM’s “Dau Tinh Sau”), he starts off with the original melody, but shifts gears toward the middle with his own elegant piano improvisation. The results are groundbreaking because Zak’s trio lets TCS and NTM music flow in away they never had before.

By putting on a feverish jazz spin, Zak’s trio gives the classics “To You With Love” (NTM’s “Giang Ngoc”) and “Without You” (NTM’s “Chieu Nay Khong Co Em”) a fresh makeover. With the addition of Dave Tidball’s polished and sensuous saxophone, both “After Times” (TCS’s “Nghe Nhung Tan Phai”) and “In a Deserted Town” (TCS’s “Du Muc”) are soothing, reviving and invigorating. Accompanied by the drunking bass and dynamic drums, the piano and the saxophone complement each other creating endless imagination on both compositions. I wish “The Last Love Song” (NTM’s “Ban Tinh Cuoi”) could have performed with the quartet instead of the trio. The song requires tremendous emotions, and the tenor saxophone would have done a fantastic job at the bridge where the male voice crescendoes, “Tinh la dang… cay…” (Love is bit…ter…).

What I like most about Purple Refrain is how Zak was able to create true jazz music without loosing the Vietnamese aesthetics. My respect and appreciation go to Lang Van production, Peter Zak and his band for bringing jazz to the Vietnamese community, as well as bringing Vietnamese music to the western audience. I hope Peter Zak and his crew could produce more albums like Purple Refrain, a gorgeous jazz flavor with a Vietnamese essence.

A Visualgui.com reader asked me if I’ve heard of Ngoc Anh and if I have to recommend one of her albums, which one would it be? I told him Ngoc Anh was a member of 3A group, and she has a strange scratch, which I adore, in her voice; however, I could not recommend any of her albums because I have not listen to any of them. So this is an opportunity to give Ngoc Anh a try. After a few minutes visiting her site and looking at her records, Ngoc Anh Online jumps right at me. It’s her latest album. The title is cheesy but catchy, and I like it because “online” refers to the web. What can I say? I like anything that has to do with the web.

Ngoc Anh caught my attention when she sang “Anh Da Khac Xua” (You’ve Changed) on Do Bao’s Canh Cung (Bow’s Wing), which featured various artists including Tran Thu Ha, Khanh Linh, and Ho Quynh Huong. Unlike these female musicians who gave Do Bao’s romantic compositions soft and sweet sounds, Ngoc Anh brought the roughness and bitterness into his work with her raspy voice. “Anh Da Khac Xua” is also featured on this album along with Do Bao’s “Bai Hat Cho Em” (A Song For You). “Anh Da Khac Xua” fits Ngoc Anh like a pair of tight jeans because the song requires deep emotions and she has it in her vocals; however, the sugary and chocolaty “Bai Hat Cho Em” fits songbird Khanh Linh better. Ngoc Anh’s style is superior on the hard-rock rendition of Ngoc Dai and Ngoc Oanh’s “Canh Dieu” (Kite’s Wing) and the trance-remixed version of Kim Ngoc’s “Chi La Giac Mo” (Only a Dream).

Lately, Duc Huy’s songs are being covered by a number of young singers in Viet Nam such as Dam Vinh Hung, Thu Minh, and Hien Thuc. Unfortunately, only Thu Minh can revived Duc Huy’s “Va Con Tim Da Vui Tro Lai” (And The Heart is Happy Once Again) with a bit of freshness. Other singers in Viet Nam, including Ngoc Anh, are still not able to match those in the States. Ngoc Anh’s rendition of “Nhu Da Dau Yeu” (Like We Have Loved) lacks the crispness and soulfulness that Ngoc Lan and Don Ho had brought to the work. Both Ngoc Anh and Hien Thuc could not express “Dung Xa Em Dem Nay” (Don’t Leave Me Tonight) as lithe and sultry as Duc Huy’s wife, Thao My. Since Duc Huy’s compositions were born in the States, they should stay in the States.

Online may not be a strong album for song selections, but Ngoc Anh’s gravel voice is always a pleasure to listen to, and the polished productions from Do Bao, Thanh Phuong, and Huy Tuan help too. She turns Phu Quang and Thai Thang Long’s “Muon” (Late) into a hot club joint, and delivers a heart-wrenching, soul-stirring emotion on Phu Quang and Nguyen Trong Tao’s “Mot Dai Kho, Mot Toi” (One Foolish, One Me). I am feeling her gravel timbre: crack on the surface but smooth underneath.

Asia’s Hanh Trinh 30 Nam, a Vietnamese Legacy, is more convincing than Thuy Nga’s 30 Nam Vien Xu. For one, Asia did not make their video looks like they just want to cash in on the event, even though it was one of the main purposes. For two, they were able to stick to the theme throughout the video by eliminating most of the sex-driven performances. All the hosts, especially Duong Ngoc Anh, had done an excellent job of leading the program. Even Trinh Hoi had improved tremendously from the previous show, My Nhan Ngu.

The main theme of Hanh Trinh 30 Nam is to celebrate and look back at what expatriate Vietnamese has accomplished over the past thirty years in America and around the world. The video also brings up some controversial issues, but let just stay with the musical performances. While Thanh Thuy, Le Thu, and Thanh Tuyen continued to sway us with their timeless voices, Phan Van Hung captured our soul for the first time appearring on Asia with his own heart-wrenching composition, “20 Nam.” Mad props to Asia production for putting on a Ngoc Lan’s dedication. While Y Phuong and Thanh Truc had done their best to bring back the indelible image of Ngoc Lan. Tuan Vu and Son Tuyen took us back to the good old days when “Nguoi Yeu Co Don” touched every lonely heart of Vietnamese American. From Ngoc Huyen to Thien Kim to Don Ho, each singer provides emotional strength to the show. Even Trish has written an emotional song for the event. Once again, Asia has created one of the best DVDs of the year.

Vietnamese-songbird Khanh Linh flies freely on her debut Hoa Mi Hot Trong Mua (Nightingale Sings in the Rain). Unlike Ngoc Khue’s Ben Bo Ao Nha Minh (By Our Pond), Hoa Mi Hot Trong Mua does not strike the shocking chord, but the strength is in the relaxing and easy-listening experience. Khanh Linh’s soft, sweet and sensuous voice gives Duong Thu’s folk compositions a fresh rebirth, even though they have been successfully covered by notorious names like Hong Nhung, Thanh Lam and My Linh.

Hoa Mi Hot Trong Mua consists of five tracks from Duong Thu and five from Ngoc Chau who is Khanh Linh’s older brother. Ngoc Chau is also responsible for the splendid production for the album. The flute and the piano on the title track, “Hoa Mi Hot Trong Mua,” are simple but seducing, and Khanh Linh makes the song sounds as if Duong Thu has written it exclusively for her. Her soprano voice is impressive when she emphasizes the word “hot” (bird sings). She almost sings opera but with a much lighter touch. The new-age vibe on Duong Thu and Nguyen Cuong’s “Hoi Tho Mua Xua” (The Breath of Spring) is sharp and ingenious. The exhilarating-saxophone break gives the song a drop of smooth jazz. On “Bai Hat Ru Mua Xuan” (A Lullaby of Spring), Khanh Linh starts off with a soothing a cappella then follows by a breathtaking fusion of horn and strings.

On Ngoc Chau’s compositions, Khanh Linh flows her heartfelt emotion effortlessly into “Dieu Khong The Mat” (Something Can’t Be Lost), a beautiful devotion to the mothers. The modern version of Miss Tam (“Co Tam Ngay Nay”) has both the traditional folk melody (the flute) and contemporary fresh tempo (the beat). Embedded in between the old and new sounds, Khanh Linh’s weightless vocals make “Co Tam Ngay Nay” an attractive hit. However, the record departs from the folk standards on “Qua Tang Trai Tim” (A Gift for the Heart), in which the guitar riff gives a rock attitude. Then the album-closer “Tam Biet” (Good Bye) leaves listeners with a slow pop. Hopefully, these two tracks are only her experimentations. She sounds best on soulful folk, not trendy pop nor hard rock.