Both Molly Johnson and Rebecca Ferguson know too damn well that no one can phrase like Billie Holiday and no one can touch the dark corner like Lady Day; therefore, they reinterpret Billie’s repertoire with their own approach: lighter and less serious.

Whereas Johnson still shows some traces of Holiday’s timbre and texture in Because of Billie, Ferguson draws no resemblance in Lady Sings the Blues. “Fine And Mellow” for instance, Johnson’s version is swinging a bit faster than Billie’s, but Furguson takes it to the retro soul. Both versions lost the emphatic of “Love is just like the faucet / It turns off and on,” in which defined Billie’s signature style. In contrast, Ferguson’s rendition of “Lady Sings the Blues” is closer to Billie’s than Johnson’s, which is a faster blues-swing cover.

Because of Johnson’s and Furguson’s vocals and choices of arrangement, they have created different vibes of Billie’s classic materials. For a wine-and-dine time with friends and family, Furguson’s album is ideal. For a more intimate time with a lover, Johnson’s album is the perfect mood. For an up close and personal experience, Billie’s albums remain unmatchable.

Under the mentorship of Đàm Vĩnh Hưng, Trọng Khương released his debut, Mộng Bình Thường, covering standards. From the bluesy opening on “Gởi Gió Cho Mây Ngàn Bay” (Đoàn Chuẩn and Từ Linh) to the closing duet with Mr. Đàm on “Chiều Nay Không Có Em” (Ngô Thụy Miên), Trọng Khương doesn’t have much freshness to offer, specially in this overcrowded market of recording old ballads. The exceptions are the bright swinging “Cô Bắc Kỳ Nho Nhỏ” (Phạm Duy) and the Latin-inflected “Chỉ Có Em” (Lam Phương). Both tunes have the light, joyful vibe that suggests the simple dream he alludes to in the title. The album would have worked better if he opted for more strip-down productions.

On the surface, Kendrick Lamar is a swift, gifted rapper. In “For Free?,” the second track off his newest release, To Pimp a Butterfly, he rhymes like Ella Fitzgerald scatting over the hard-swing jazz arrangement. At the core, he is a sharp, skilled lyricist. Using the pimping metaphor, Lamar turns his dick on America: “You’re bad bitch / I picked cotton that made you rich / Now my dick ain’t free.” From the funkified groove (“Wesley’s Theory”) to the Compton’s big bass (“Hood Politics”) to the Latin-inspired rhythm (“I”), Lamar has crafted an outstanding album rich in sonics and affluent in lyrics. Lamar should get the creds he deserved for this joint.

Ngọc Anh’s newest release is a predictable, yawn-worthy cover of Lam Phương’s ballads. Like Lệ Quyên, Ngọc Anh brings nothing fresh to the old standards. Even the music productions are dull and lifeless. Listening to Cám Ơn Người Tình makes you want to return to Bạch Yến’s superb interpretation of Lam Phương’s music.

As I am tuning back into hip-hop, I am impressed with the way young rappers stepping up their flow. They can rhyme slow; they can rhyme fast. They can rhyme inside the beat; they can rhyme ahead of the beat. Their expansive flow made up for their limited lyricism. Here are a few recent albums with crazy flow.

T.I. is the veteran of flow and his recent Paperwork is the proof. The album kicks off with “King,” in which he starts out slow then progresses into speedy delivery. The opener is so hypnotic that you wish the track never ends. Strong contenders include the political “The National Anthem” and the emotional “Light Em Up (RIP Doe B).” As with T.I.’s previous works, Paperwork is distracted with tracks for the radio and the strip clubs.

Without guest appearances, J. Cole’s 2014 Forest Hills Drive provides an interrupted experience from start to finish. While he goes hard on “Fire Squad” criticizing white artists for stealing their shines, he becomes a softie on “Wet Dreamz” reflecting on his first love. Cole can rhyme and sing his own hooks, but he still needs to improve his storytelling.

Under Pressure is Logic’s debut showcasing his flow. In the last 20 seconds of “Gang Related,” he spits like a machine gun sweeping the street. His cadence is clear and his flow is breathless, but his storyline could be more vivid.

The opening “Dark Sky” off Big Sean’s third studio release, Dark Sky Paradise, show off his flow (frome slow to fast) as well as his tone (tenor to baritone). “Paradise” is laced with profanity: “I always want to fuck that bitch / Thank you God I fucked that bitch.” Damn, where can I find a God like that?

As with most rappers, misogyny seems to be the easiest target. Although I can’t relate to most of its content (drug, sex, gun, and lifestyle), I still enjoy hip-hop for its art. And flow is one of the elements I love.

Bob Dylan kicks off his 36th studio release with a worn-out rendition of “I’m a Fool to Want You.” His approach, which relies on raw emotion over technique, is a reminiscent of Billie Holiday’s, but not as rough. In “The Night We Called It a Day,” he proceeds in the Dylan signature style: singing off melody. He then turns the jazz standard “Autumn Leaves” into a slow-burning country rock. Shadow in the Night is an intriguing ballad cover from an old rocker.

Để đáp ứng yêu cầu của những khán giả hâm mộ nhạc trữ tình, Lệ Quyên cho ra đời Khúc Tình Xưa 3 với 11 nhạc phẩm quá quen thuộc như “Hoa Nử Về Đêm” (Trần Thiện Thanh), “Kiếp Cầm Ca” (Huỳnh Anh), và “Đêm Tâm Sự” (Trúc Phương) song ca với Thái Châu.

Với phần hoà âm trung bình của nhạc sĩ Tấn Phong cộng với cách trình bài trung thành của ca sĩ Lệ Quyên, Khúc Tình Xưa 3 sẽ không đem đến cho người nghe những gì bất ngờ. Lệ Quyên không nhọc công đem lại những nét mới lạ. Cô chỉ hát cho đúng điệu bolero và ra cảm tình.

Tuy album không dở nhưng nghe Lệ Quyên hát lại “Người Đi Ngoài Phố” (Anh Việt Thu), “Ai Cho Tôi Tình Yêu” (Trúc Phương), và “Sương Lạnh Chiều Đông” (Mạnh Phát) làm tôi thèm được thưởng thức lại giọng hát Thanh Thúy đã thu âm trước 1975.

After making many wild experimental records, the Vijay Iyer Trio returns to jazz-oriented Break Stuff. With Marcus Gilmore’s fluid rhythmic patterns and Stephan Crump’ sturdy tempo complementing Iyer’s various voicings (from rigorous to arpeggio), the group co-constructs a wide range of repertoire. From the fragmented reimagination of Thelonious Monk’s “Work” to the African-inspired reinterpretation of John Coltrane’s “Countdown” to the intimate, heartfelt recreation of Billy Strayhorn’s “Blood Count,” the results are tightly conceptual and yet pleasantly accessible.

More than two decades into the game, Ghostface Killah remains unstoppable. Last year he dropped an excellent concept album detailing his return after being locked up for 36 Seasons. Yesterday he and the BadBadNotGood released Sour Soul. In the live instrumental setting, the BBNG trio lays out the smooth, elegant jazz-hip hop arrangements for Ghost to tear down. “Gunshowers,” for example, begins with the soothing electric guitar strumming. Then the thumping bass kicks in before Ghost rips through with his swag on word: “I bust boundaries son, you just do what you’re taught / My vocab is powerful, spit shit subliminal / Slang therapist, my whole style is criminal.” At times, the laid-back beats could hardly keep up with Ghost’s endless energy. As a result, one of the highlights of the album is “Tone’s Rap,” in which Ghost slows down his flow to the spacious backdrop and muses on his pimping game. Before the instrument takes over, he claims, “Pimping ain’t easy, but it surely is fun.” He could say that about his rapping career as well.

There’s not much to weigh in on Hà Thanh Xuân’s new release, Cuối Tuần Bên Anh. Other than her luscious voice riding cha-cha rhythm as smooth as a glass of Sangria, the album is a typical Asia’s reprocessed productions. Most of the arrangements are dated back to the early ‘90s. As long as Trúc Hồ still holding down the reign, Asia is still stuck in the past two decades. He has more interest in politics than moving the music production forward.

With that said, Cuối Tuần Bên Anh brings back so much nostalgia. A few weeks ago, as I was lounging at the beautiful beach in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic with a Crazy Monkey in my hand and Hà Thanh Xuân’s album pumping in my Sennheiser, I took a trip down to memory lane. That keyboard lick in the beginning of “Ngựa Hoang” is a Trúc Hồ’s unmistakable arrangement. I still remember rocking that instrumental cha-cha medley album while walking from and to middle school everyday. Damn, those good old days are now long gone.

From Vũ Tuấn Đức’s produced “Tình Đầu Dễ Quên” and “Cuối Tuần Bên Anh” to Trúc Sinh’s “Hãy Vui Đêm Nay” and “Cố Quên” to Sỹ Đan’s “Tình Là Sợi Tơ” and “Bé Yêu,” these familiar sounds, which remain intact, make me wonder what the recording process is like in the studio. Probably something like this. A singer looks up the catalog and picks out a song. The producer finds the pre-recorded arrangement, puts it on and tells the singer to get into the booth and just sing into it. After ten or fifteen songs, they have completed a professional karaoke session. Now they just need to take a few studio pictures, send them over to the graphic department, probably one guy, to Photoshop the hell out of the image and whipped up the album design with some horrendous typefaces. Done!