Sure, Luu Chi Vy’s debut album, Mong Nguoi Ta Luon Tot… Luon Yeu Em (Hope He Will Always Be Good… Aways Love You), makes a perfect coffee-shop music. It has all the right hooks, melodies, and lyrics. Yet, catchy as hell is Luu Chi Vy’s charming, sweet, and vestal voice. He sounds more convincing for a pretty boy who has been dumped for the first time than a handsome guy chasing after girls.

The album showcases seven most pathetic songs written by Nhat Trung. After listening to the whole joint, the chorus that sticks out is “Va the la anh sang sang cu café / Va the la anh toi toi cung café / Chi muon gap em de anh xin so phone / Nhung sao anh chang thay em.” Even for none-Vietnamese listeners, they could easily understand the lyrics if they could pick up the words café and phone. Nhat Trung should be able to go to any coffee shop in Viet Nam and drink for free since “Chay Theo Co Be Yeu” (Chasing the Lovely Girl), a cha-cha-inflected groove, is a coffee-shop anthem.

Nhat Trung has not only written some of the elementary lyrics with lengthy titles – “Mong Nguoi Ta Luon Tot… Luon Yeu Em,” “Nguoi Ay va Toi Em Phai Chon” (Him and Me You Have to Choose), and “Hom Qua Khac… Hom Nay Khac” (Yesterday was different… Today is Different) – he has also injected Chinese melodies into his compositions. Every song has the smooth and syrupy Chinese vibes that would enhance the bitter coffee without adding sugar and extra spices.

Even though I don’t like my coffee black, sugary pops aren’t the right flavor for my cup of coffee either. But that’s just me, an old guy who isn’t moved by Luu Chi Vu’s pathos. Ladies are probably crying their hearts out while listening to the emotional “Khong The O Ben Nhau” (Can’t Be Together). The trick is that if he could get the girls to come, the boys will follow. The formula works like a magic stick.

I have underestimated Thu Minh, the chick with a cute face and a voluptuous figure. Her third album, Neu Nhu, has a few hits, and she knows how to revamp old popular songs, such as “Anh Sang Cua Doi Toi” (The Light of My Life), “60 Nam Cuoc Doi” (60 Years of Life) and “Va Con Tim Da Vui Tro Lai” (And The Heart is Happy Once Again) sound new and bouncy without loosing the aesthetic quality. She has an effervescent voice, a stage charisma, and she can work that sexy body too. Yet, I predict that she could not get further then where she has been on Neu Nhu – a trendy album that rocks the crowd for a short period of time. Therefore, when her forth album, Tinh Em, drops (within only seven months apart), I pay no mind to it, until I encounter her refreshing rendition of Van Cao’s “Song Lo” (Lo River). I picked up the album and utterly surprised by how high she has stepped up from her previous work.

Tinh Em (My Love) is not about the average boys-and-girls-romantic love. The album is about patriotism. Now, ladies and gentlemen, don’t get all hype up because I am praising “communist music.” As long as the production is crisp and the performance is tight from song to song, screw the politics. If expatriate Vietnamese can write about their mournful lost, the communist can write about their pride too. As far as I am concern, music has no border. So just listen and enjoy the work itself.

With the politics out of the way, let’s jump right into the blazing tracks. Once again, Thu Minh revives the traditional village music (nhac dan toc) by making “Bong Cay Ko-Nia” (Shadow of Ko-Nia Tree) lively and contemporary with her sultry vocals and ingenious arrangement. The lyrics on “Thuyen va Ben” (Ship and Sea) have some charming metaphors: “Chi co thuyen moi hieu / bien menh mong nhuong nao / Chi co bien moi biet / thuyen di dau ve dau” (Rough translation: Only ship knows / how wide the sea is / Only sea knows / where ship goes and returns), and Thu Minh gives a poignant delivery with her cogent voice. “Dem Nay Anh O Dau?” (Where Are You Tonight?) is about pride, patriotism and love: “Em dang bay vao trong mo / Thay em duoc ra chien truong / Cung anh chien dau / quyet song chet cung co nhau… / Voi niem tin anh thang giac / du bao nam thang / du nang mua em van cho” (Rough translation: I am flying in my dream / See myself in battlefield / By your side / live or die together… / With a belief that you will / defeat your enemy / Even when it rains or shines / I’ll still be waiting). When she sings that chorus, Thu Minh commends our attention with the courage in her vocals.

If “Gui Nang Cho Em” (Sending Sunshine to You) and “Ha Noi Mua Thu” (Fall in Ha Noi) are too sentimental and forlorn, Thu Minh closes out the album with the upbeat remix of “Nho Thanh Pho Hoa Dao” (Remembering the City of Blossoms) to balance out the vibe. So I was wrong about Thu Minh. She is not only a hot babe, but she also has some real talent, and Tinh Em proves it. The album is striking from hits after unexpected hits.

Ngoc Dai’s second installment of his Solar Eclipse series should be called Nhat Thuc 1.5 instead of Nhat Thuc 2. The album has seven tracks total, yet three of them are republished from the first release with the lyrics rewritten. Even though Tung Duong and Khanh Linh have done their best to keep the record on lock, it still falls short.

Fortunately, the remaining four tracks are galvanizing. Tung Duong gives an unforgettable performance on “Mo” (Dream). His voice fits Do Bao’s jazz arrangement like a glove. On “Tu Tinh” (Self Expression), he maneuvers his delivery to match up with the rock fusion, and the result is irresistible. As for Khanh Linh, she invigorates Ngoc Dai’s contemporary-folk “Tam Dem” (Night Bath) with her emotional strengths and playful phrasings. Together, Tung Duong and Khanh Linh transform “Co Trang” (White Stork) into a masterpiece that showcases Ngoc Dai’s craftsmanship. The arrangement is exotic; the voices are exquisite; and the lyrics are eccentric.

Despite how many genres (jazz, rock, pop, and folk) infused into the songs, the album never gets distracted. It still remains coherent from start to finish. If Nhat Thuc 2 continues the journey by going forward and not looking back, it would have been as successful as the first one. Sure, I don’t blame Ngoc Dai for rewriting the lyrics because of the copyright controversy on the first album; however, to reissue them on the second part is not working.

No, not the Thuy Nga’s babe Thuy Tien, I am talking about the twenty-year-old Thuy Tien from Kien Giang who is the newest eccentric female singer in Viet Nam. Similar to Ngoc Khue, she establishes herself a unique style right from the beginning of her career. Axing out the trendy tunes, her debut, Ngot va Dang (Sweet and Bitter), goes straight to the dark and solitude corner.

While young singers, like My Tam, Ho Quynh Huong, and Trish Thuy Trang, write about their banal relationships, Thuy Tien composes simple but poetic rhymes to express herself. On the lullaby, “A Oi,” she sings about her fatherless life – “Ngu ngoan di nhe nao ta khuya roi / Vong dong dua nhe ru doi mo coi” – as she lulls herself to sleep. Also from her own pen, her mournful voice floats on “Bong Toi” (Shadow) like a ghost creeping by our side. The best part about these two tracks is that they do not follow a certain melody, yet they come together in a weird way.

Quoc Bao is the man behind the remaining seven songs on the album. The lead-off “Cho” (Wait) starts off soft, but quickly turns into a hardcore punk rock like it has been waiting to explode. Then “Vui” (Joy) mellows out the mood with just her soulful vocals accompanied by the sonorous piano accents. “Ta Da Yeu Trong Mua Gio” (We Fall in Love During the Wind Season) is another quiet track in which her voice is melting the lyrics around the soft and gentle melody. The a cappella “Dieu Ru Vuc Sau” (The Deep Lullaby) is an innovative folk song that has two voices weaving together in an indelible conversational tone.

Thuy Tien is obviously new, her breath control and inexperienced phrasing show it; however, her passion along with her unorthodox style make her a rare gem among today’s pop singers. Ngot va Dang is an exotic album not only to listen but also to feel. It’s not about technique; it’s about soul.

As a guest appearance on Kanye West’s “Get Em High,” Common flows with anguish, “How could I ever let your words effect me? / They say hip-hop is dead / I’m here to resurrect me.” Now with his latest album, Be, Common resuscitates himself with poetic rhymes and narrative deliveries weaved together by West’s soulful samplings.

Like Jay-Z’s Black Album, Common’s Be is structured in a minimal setting to provide audiences an intimate listening experience. The arrangements are subtle but carry enough strength to hold the album together. From “The Corner” to “The Food,” every song has a story to tell, and Common tells it like it is: “The corner where struggle and greed fight / We write songs about wrong cause it’s hard to see right / Look to the sky hoping it will bleed light / Reality’s a bitch and I heard that she bites.”

Misogynist rappers, such as 50 Cent, Eminem and Cam’ron, often refer to women as bitches and hoes. Common envisions women as something else, “What if god was a her?” Even after breaking up with his girlfriend, Erykah Badu, Common never trashes her like what Em does to Kim and 50 does to Vivica. He is the man to respect, and Jay-Z did that on his song, “Moment of Clarity.” To show Jay the same respect, Common responses with, “My man retired, I ma take over” on “Chi-City.”

Common is a lyricist and he uses his wordplay to elevate the art of storytelling. Scored by West’s lively arrangement, Common built an approachable scene on “Testify” with his cinematic-driven concept. Other than two tracks come from DILLA’s production, West is responsible for all of the beats, and his finest work is the jazz-inflected groove on “Real People.” Because the horn riff is so intoxicating, trying to follow the lyrics is nearly impossible. Wouldn’t it be interesting if Common scats to the arrangement with his scratchy voice?

Be is undeniably a success and almost, but not quite, perfect. The flaws are in some of the hooks. For instance, the repetitive chorus of “Go!” is annoying, and all John Mayer brings to the track is the echoing of “go.” To rhyme with the word “kids,” West raps over the hook, “So I had to did, what I have to did” on “The Food.” Real clever, Kanye. Despite the nursery choruses, Be – be simple, be free and be yourself – is a true hip-hop work of art.

I have to give it to Thuy Nga for turning an emotional topic into their sex standards. The first thirty minutes of Paris by Night 77: 30 Nam Vien Xu is soul-stirring, heart-rending, and spirit-shattering. I was touched by the documentary clips on the boat-escaping adventure, and inspired by those who went out of their ways to help our people. Unfortunately those heartfelt moments quickly dissolved into the air as the video progresses into the sex zone.

It used to be that real singers draw the crowd with their real voices. Nowadays, fake singers get viewers attention with their fake boobs. Ngoc Lan didn’t have to bare her skin to bring her audiences “Tan Tac,” “Nguoi Tinh Tram Nam,” and many songs that were born in the States. She brought them with her heart and soul. Don’t give me wrong, I love hot bodies, but there is the place and time for everything. Thuy Nga invited special guests (mostly foreigners) to pay tribute for what they have done for us, yet our girls bare their skins to show that we have come a long way – from immigrants to sex barbies. Is it me or is Luu Bich turning from sexy into sleazy? For a few minutes, I thought Stifler’s mom is on Paris by Night doing her things with the young dancers. Her recovering of “Uoc Hen” and “Tan Tac” offer nothing new but the low skirt. She is not the only one. Ho Le Thu, Minh Tuyet, and even Thuy Tien are as guilty as charged.

On the bright side, older singers such as Khanh Ly, Le Thu, Hoang Oanh, and Khanh Ha are the appropriate representation of our Vietnamese women. Their singings leave deeper impact than those young faces. Even though male singers are subdued by females’ provocative appearances, they have contributed some memorable contents to the show. Duong Trieu Vu is convincing in “Vien Khuc Viet Nam” and The Son is compelling in “Bai Ca Hoc Tro.” The Son is at his best when he could feel the lyrics. On “Bai Ca Hoc Tro,” he has successfully transferred the writer’s words to the listeners. Here is my loose translation: “Dear professor, this is my essay / an essay is written about the US / I misspelled twice the word ‘America’ / I misspelled twice the word ‘Communist’ / I misspelled twice the word ‘Liberty’.”

If Thuy Nga toned down the tramp appeal and selected more suitable songs, Paris by Night 77 would have been an invaluable DVD. Even though the documentaries are educational, we can’t show our kids the entire presentation without skipping some of the performances.

World music with an attitude is the sound of the Sri Lankan MC, Maya Arulpragasam, who goes by the name M.I.A. Her debut album, Arular, is a hard knock life and beat. Underneath the big and bouncy arrangements are the bold and provocative lyrics ranging from politics to prostitutions. The jungle beats suggest partying and dancing, but her words advocate bombing and rioting. So don’t mistake the petit figure and the pretty face for being fragile. She is nice, but “a nice nice fighter,” and she will “fight you just to get peace.”

What sets M.I.A. apart is her fusion of controversial contents into the playful productions. On “Pull Up the People,” she raps behind the trunk-crusher bass, “Every gun in a battle is a son and daughter too / So why you wanna talk about who done who?” She aslo proves that less is more with her minimalism rhyme scheme. Hiding in between the heavy beat and her wordless refrain on “10 Dollar,” she flows in the British accent, “Lolita, was a man-eater / Clocked him like a taxi meter. Fuck gold, she was platinum digger / Shakin-ass-making moves on a mover.”

When M.I.A. talks about sex, she makes bubbles rise in our bloodstream. On the dancehall reggae “Hombre,” the verses are simple yet disturbing, “You can stick me / Stab me, grind me or wind me / Fuck, we can even ask your wifey / Rich bored at home with a kiddy / She don’t know about you getting nookie.”

The power of her music is rooted in the rough rhymes that are merged inside smooth beats. She wants the body to move, but the ears to listen as well. That’s the M.I.A. thang.

Like a candy shop, My Tam’s Color of My Life is filled with sweet pops. Many young musicians transform their styles to rebirth themselves; My Tam does not have to. Her loyal fans love her just the way she is. Therefore, she spends time blowing her bubblegum instead of popping it. She not only pens some of her own songs, but also gets involve behind the boards, and feeds her idea to the album design.

My Tam is undoubtedly a young and smart entertainer. She knows who pay her bills (if there are such things in Viet Nam), and she knows just what they want from her. Taking clues from the unexpected success of her 2003’s Yesterday & Now, she recycles the scheme by throwing in a song from Trinh Cong Son, two translated popular ballads, a few club joints, and plenty of puppy loves. Although I am living in the States, I can hear teenage boys and girls in Viet Nam flirt with each other using her elementary rhymes, “Oh! First kiss. You make me so happy. You make me so crazy.” The entire lyrics of “Nu Hon Bat Ngo” (A Surprised Kiss) were written in Vietnamese except for that line. She did it on purpose to get the listeners hooked. Despite how exasperating I get every time I listen to that hook, I must admit that the beat is bouncy and the lyrics are catchy, and the song comes straight from her pen. My Tam also proves that she can write both fast and slow jams. She has composed a light lay back melody on “Nho…” (Remember…), and she sings with the calmness of her breath and sweetness of her voice.

My Tam’s own compositions only filled up a quarter of the album. The rest comes from today’s popular songwriters such as Le Quang, Vo Thien Thanh, and Tuong Van. My Tam has given her best shot, without breaking a sweat, to make these songs her standards. On Tuong Van’s “Roi Mai Thuc Giac” (And Tomorrow Wake Up), she knows how to tag her name to it by giving a polished performance. If she closes out the album at track ten, “Nhip Dap Dai Kho” (Foolish Heartbeat), the album would still have been completed. But she goes the extra miles to recover a few popular songs. Unfortunately, her version of the Japanese pop’s “Nguoi Yeu Dau Oi” (Oh, My Darling) is not as rejuvenating as it could have been. With Trinh’s “Em Hay Ngu Di” (Sleep Well Dear), nothing is reviving until the last part where she breaks free from Trinh’s style and injects her own. It’s not the best rendition I’ve ever heard, but it has bit of distinctiveness.

Popular albums work like batteries. They start off strong but get weakening over time. Although My Tam has crafted a tight record in both performance and arrangement, I don’t see myself coming back to Color of My Life over and over again like I do with Thanh Lam’s Nang Len (Sunrise). Then again, young listeners would not give Nang Len a chance.

While many instrumental albums take several spins to reveal their visual aesthetics, Suzanne Z. Shu‘s Love for Homeland only needs one. It must be the power of God. Through her Er-hu (a traditional Chinese two-string bowed instrument) and her love for Jesus Christ, she connects listeners with her music. Using her instrument as a melodic brush, she captures exquisite images with her sound, and God is in the details.

Love for Homeland is like a trip down memory lane for Miss. Shu, and she takes listeners on the journey with her. The album opens with a gorgeous landscape of “Spring in Southern China.” Composed by Chang Yao Zhu and accompanied by Yang Qin’ zither, Miss. Shu’s Er-hu leads us through “the incomparable beauty of Southern China’s river villages” (album notes). The voyage continues with sounds of nature on Lien Hua Liu’s “Birds Singing on the Mountain.” Her intricate fiddling style on this track is simply amazing. Her saws are fast and clear. I am stunned by the variety of sounds that come out of just two strings. The part where she scratches her Er-hu is like a DJ on a turntable, only the sound is much more distinctive and impossible to accomplish with a record.

Miss. Shu and her ensemble have not only created a joyful image on Hai Huai Huang’s “Horse Racing,” but they have also added a dazzling motion to the composition. All we have to do is imagining Ziyi Zhang riding a horse through the green grass plains, and let Miss. Shu’s Er-hu fill in the motion graphics with her wondrous harmonies of nature. In contrast to “Horse Racing” ‘s energetic vibe, “Childhood,” which composed by Shu when she was seventeen years old, is a calm and delightful reflection of her upbringing in China. In this particular piece, her Er-hu is a reminiscent of a human voice, a female vocalist with a sophisticated level phrasing and perfect breath control. The music is quiet, but the image is accessible.

Even though I have never met Miss. Shu, she has inspired me as someone who uses her God-sent talent to serve God. Instead of taking her masterful skill to fame and fortune, which she could easily achieve (Kanye West would be thrilled to sample her sounds), she uses it to praise the Lord. Her rendition of John Newton’s “Amazing Grace” is both uplifting and astonishing. The Chinese instruments give this Western classic a unique harmony. Like the words of God, every sound that comes out of Miss. Shu Er-hu is soulful, graceful, and powerful.

Tran Thu Ha is perhaps the most under-appreciated singer in the Vietnamese-American community, even though she is a pop phenomenon with a style of her own. Ha has always been a boundary breaker, and her work on Nhat Thuc (Eclipse) proves it. Unfortunately, most listeners have a hard time assimilating Ngoc Dai’s eccentric vision. When I rocked that CD at my family’s dinner party, everyone looked at me and asked, “What the heck are you listening to?” Not too many people cherished that rare form of art.

About a month ago, I went to a Vietnamese concert at the Foxwoods Resort Casino in Mashantucket, Connecticut, and Ha’s performance was the least applauded one. When the host, Nguyen Cao Ky Duyen, announced the coming of Tran Thu Ha’s first album in the United States, I was excited. This would be the chance for her to re-establish her fame with the Vietnamese-American audience. Regrettably, Sac Mau, which is a remaking of her popular hits from 1998 to 2003, is not a groundbreaking work.

The problem is that Ha tries to please her listeners instead of following her heart. She gives them what they want to hear, and she takes no risks. As a result, even a colorful arrangement could not give Tran Tien’s “Sac Mau” a new image. With Le Minh Son’s “Chay Tron,” she barely pushes her voice over the fusion of jazz and bossa nova tune, and she hardly transports her passion into the lyrics. Could it be that Ha is deeply in love, and music is no longer her priority? Unlike Thu Phuong, Ha has no drama in her life, and her naked (without instrument) version of Trinh Cong Son’s “Tien Thoai Luong Nan” shows it. She doesn’t bring the thirst into the work the way that Phuong does.

Even though the album doesn’t offer much elevation to Ha’s position, Sac Mau is still a solid work. The lead-off track “Mua Xuan Goi” and “Dong Song Mua Thu,” both composed by Tran Tien, have reviving and refreshing productions. Assisted by Thanh Thuy’s sixteen-stringed zither, Ha gives Viet Hung’s “Mua Thang Gieng” a contemporary folk flavor. Although the rest of the recordings provide casual satisfaction, Ha has wasted an opportunity to epitomize her distinctive talent by playing safe.