My Dzung’s sweet, slightly raspy voice and her nonchalant manner are a perfect combination for nhac sen (over-sentimental ballads). Unfortunately she commits two major crimes on her new release Tu Luc Em Di.

First, not hiring the best producers to accommodate her voice is like not hiring the best lawyer to defend her case. Her vocals on Ngan Trang’s “Mat Nhau Roi” is so heart-wrecking that you could just feel her pain, but the cheap, poppy beat makes the song mediocre. It’s a damn shame that the dull production ruins what could have been a chill, emotional rendition of Truong Xa’s “Xin Con Goi Ten Nhau.” Hoang Trong’s “Khong Bao Gio Quen Anh” suffers even more. The mechanical production works against her expressive delivery.

Second, she makes a huge mistake of inviting Dam Vinh Huong for a duet of Tran Thien Thanh’s “Lau Dai Tinh Ai.” The drama queen drags her down the soapy gutter with his saccharine, over-emphatic delivery. Tu Luc Em Di is a heartbreaking album not for its content, but for its wasted opportunity from such a potential vocalist.

Like Tran Thai Hoa, Ngoc Quy has a fine baritone and a taste for pre-war classics. Unlike Tran Thai Hoa, Ngoc Quy is not limited to Thuy Nga’s perfunctory productions. In his new release, Hon Co Mo Xa, Ngoc Quy covers good old standards with fresh, luscious arrangements.

Backing up by Tran Manh Hung’s exuberant semi-classical orchestration, Ngoc Quy gives a marvelous interpretation of Cung Tien’s “Huong Xua.” His effortless flow on the high register displays his vocal ability to sing classical-inflected music. With Doan Chuan and Tu Linh’s “Gui Gio Cho May Ngan Bay,” he maneuvers his way around Luu Ha An’s intoxicating jazz arrangement. His version of Pham Trong Cau’s “Mua Thu Khong Tro Lai” is tender and mellow. The bossa-nova groove adds a nice touch to Le Trong Nguyen’s “Nang Chieu.” The decision to keep the saxaphone to the minimal level when accompanying the vocalist is a wise one.

With its classiness and warm intimacy, Hon Co Mo Xa is perfect for late-night relaxation. So put your kids to bed, uncork a bottle of wine, sit back and enjoy the album with your partner. Let the music and the spirit put all your worries behind.

With Pho (small town not the well-known noodle soup), Tan Son has come up a clever concept. He covers 10 of Trinh Cong Son’s songs in which listeners will get to hear the songwriter’s love, memory and passion, compassion for the small town. Tan Son also recruited Dang Khoa, Thien Quoc and Hong Dieu to craft some modern-pop productions and electric arrangements to back up his gentle vocals.

The issue is that Tan Son is being way too modest with Trinh’s compositions. He stays faithful to the written melody. His flow is rigid and he delivers each tune dead on. “Roi Nhu Da Ngay Ngo” clocks at 7 minutes with gorgeous, spacious arrangement but his singing is so static that the tune sounds like the ending never comes. He doesn’t shift keys, accent on a weak beat or get inside the harmony, which make me think of Tung Duong and what he can do to this arrangement.

With that said, Pho is a decent cover of Trinh’s well-worn standards including “Trong Noi Dau Tinh Co,” “Chieu Mot Minh Qua Pho” and “Yeu Dau Tan Theo.” The quality surpasses big, mechanical productions like Thuy Nga’s and Asia’s. The problem is that Trinh’s music has been covered this way so much already years after years. There are rooms to move beyond. In one of Trinh’s interviews, he pointed out that he liked both Khanh Ly’s and Hong Nhung’s rendition of his songs. They brings different colors and tones to his songs; therefore, his music continues to live on. So yes, he did encourage singers to take his music to a new level.

Thai Chau is apparently very old school. His new release, Bai Tinh Ca Cho Em, is what you would expect from the man with the cool, ageless baritone: good old time ballads that either grooves you or gives you nostalgia.

The album kicks off with Khanh Bang’s “Sau Dong,” one of the Vietnamese’s favorite party jams. Thai Chau shows off his flawless breath control and slick, effortless flow for the cha-cha-cha beat. The next track, Nguyen Anh 9’s “Ai Dua Em Ve,” slows down the vibe, but on Lam Phuong’s “Co Ua” is when he gets real sentimental with the support of Ngoc Anh whose smoky contralto is a perfect match to Thai Chau’s charming baritone. Their rendition of “Co Ua” is as hypnotic as the version of Don Ho and Lam Thuy Van. In fact, their version could be even more intoxicating if the programmed drums were left out and just let the piano backs up their vocals.

On Manh Chuong’s “Thuong Hoai Ngan Nam,” Thai Chau sings like a bird with a broken wing. He glides up and down the octave in such an easygoing effort. Sadly, the mechanical production brings the song down a notch. On the other hand, his up-tempo duet with Loan Chau on Duc Huy’s “Yeu Em Dai Lau” is horrendous, as if an old man trying to take a young girl to the club. The dance remake of Anh Bang’s “Nhung Tam Hon Co Don” is also horrible thanks to Back Kieu whose falsetto on the high register makes the song unbearable.

Bai Tinh Ca Cho Em is without a doubt a throwback to the good old time. Sure, Thai Chau’s voice doesn’t really need any update, but he needs to take his beat to a higher level. Thuy Nga’s robotic productions simply do him no good. They are a waste of his soul and talent. He should definitely put more thoughts and investment into the arrangements.

Truc Lam and Truc Linh’s Con Duong Mau Xanh is a perfect example of how not to make old songs sound new. The Truc sisters try to give Ha Huyen Chi and Tran Trinh’s “Le Da” a fresh makeover with a mid-tempo production. They ended up taking the soul out of the tune. Likewise Do Le’s “Sang Ngang” gets an electric cover that sounds as flat as the sister’s ab. The good thing is that Do Le’s so-damn-depressing lyrics no longer make you want to kill yourself. The beat makes you want to dance instead. As a result, the song is not so miserable after all. The sisters also turned Lam Phuong’s “Thanh Pho Buon” into a happy city with the upbeat production.

One of the advantages of making these sentimental tunes into party jams is to mask the sister’s karaoke singing and limited range of less than an octave. The slow songs like Trinh Nam Son’s title track, Truong Sa’s “Xin Con Goi Ten Nhau” and Lam Phuong’s “Phuc Cuoi,” show that the sister’s are more suitable for baring their skin on videos than baring their soul in the songs. They understand the art of seduction much more than the art of interpretation.

Ho Trung Dung has a warm, charming voice, a tad too nice for my taste. In his new release, Hanh Phuc, Ho Trung Dung sings most of his own tunes. Like many Vietnamese singer-songwriters, he suffers the same symptoms: uninspired lyrics with lifeless melodies.

“Khi Nang Chua Day” is sentimental and romantic, but the rest of the tracks also carry similar pop-hook formula. The spotless, mechanical arrangements aren’t doing his clean, good-boy voice any favor either. His songs are so consistent that there are hardly any harmonic changes. “Doi Khi” and “Tinh Khong Muon Mang” stand out simply because he brought Thanh Ngoc and Ha Linh in for the duets.

“Never Too Late” is included at the end as if there’s a new rule that Vietnamese singers have to include an English track on their album. It’s not a bonus. It’s a bogus.

Mai Hoa has a husky contralto that is reminiscent of Le Thu without the pitch issues. In Duong Cam, she covers eight extremely well-known ballads like “Le Da,” “Thu Quyen Ru” and “Hoai Cam.” Mai Hoa brings nothing new to these tunes other than her distinctive voice. As a result, the album becomes boring and predictable by the third track. With such dark, hypnotic vocals, she could do much more than that such as turning these songs into soulful blues rendition.

Last year before Christmas, I was at Lang Van music store in Eden Center looking for some Vietnamese children DVDs for my son and overheard a guy who was at least my age or older eagerly asking the saleslady for Minh Tuyet’s latest album. With excitement, he told her that Minh Tuyet’s newest album should have been released on that day. He appeared to be disappointed when the lady told him that the album was not in store yet.

Over the weekend, my in-laws took a road trip to Foxwoods Casino. I played Minh Tuyet’s Xin Loi Anh in the car and my sister-in-law’s husband who came to the U.S. when he was two and could only understand limited Vietnamese commented on the title opening track, “It sounds like a perfect Chinese pop song.” In one sentence, he basically summed up Minh Tuyet’s collection of bubble gum duets that comes with many artificial flavors ranging from sour (Bang Kieu) to tender (Tran Thai Hoa) to everything in between. They complement well with Minh Tuyet’s sweetener vocals.

From the pure-Chinese “Du Am Tinh Ta” (featuring Trinh Lam) to bittersweet-ballad “Vi Ngot Doi Moi” (featuring The Son) to the over-sentimental “Bai Ca Ky Niem” (featuring Quang Le), Xin Loi Anh is the bubble gum du jour. The melodies are catchy and the story lines are shallow enough for everyone to get hooked. Minh Tuyet is indeed a bubble gum pop queen with a long-lasting flavor.

Pianist Vijay Iyer brings his solo chops to a variety of compositions ranging from Thelonious Monk, Duke Ellington, Michael Jackson as well as his own. Solo kicks off with an elegant rendition of the King of Pop’s “Human Nature.” By taking an opposite direction Monk’s spacious approach, Iyer completely reworks “Epistrophe” with his blazing harmonization. With “Black & Tan Fantasy,” he stays close Ellington’s left-hand stride, but creates some soulful blues melodies with his right hand. “Patterns,” which starts off gentle then progresses into swells of notes, reveals Iyer’s very own compelling style. Solo, as a result, showcases both Iyer’s versatility and personality.

Guitarist Marc Ribot is a minimalist master. In Silent Movies, he makes every note counts. What causes his solo guitar so damn intoxicating is that he picks only the most telling notes and yet manages to squeeze tremendous emotion out of a single string at a time. The opening “Variation 1” and “Empty” are exemplary examples of Ribot’s spare technique. The setting is so closed and intimate that you get the feeling he is playing right in front of you in a dimmed room. From the striking, finger-picking rhythm on “Delancey Waltz” to the gorgeous, distorted glides on “Natalia In E-Bemol Major” to the beautiful ambient vibe on “Postcard From N.Y.,” Silent Movies is a must-listen if you’re in the mood for some pure, atmospheric, melodic and cinematic soundscapes.