What is going with the Vietnamese male singers these days? Most of them sound so dieu (rounded). Le Anh Dung ruins his debut, Duong Cam Thu Khong Em, with his word-molding phrasing. He wrecks the gorgeous semi-classical arrangements with his flowery flow. His take on Tran Hoang’s “Em Nghi Gi Khi Mua Xuan Den” is simply too wimpy. His vocal instructor should have cracked his ass every time he sounded like boneless bitch. Eventually he would straighten up.
How does Pink deal with a heartbreak? She rocks it out. Right from the opening lines of her latest album, Funhouse, Pink wastes no time addressing her breakup: “Guess I just lost my husband / I don’t know where he went / So I’m gonna drink my money / I’m not gonna pay his rent.” Pink has divorced from her husband, but not from the pop hook. Even her emotion is married to the hook. For the most part, Pink buries her bitterness under the sweet beats and punchy lines with the exception of “One Foot Wrong,” in which her powerful voice becomes raspy and husky as she bares out her soul and raw emotion.
Not a bad start at all for a Vietnamese jazz record. Le Thanh Hai’s Shadow in the Dark gives Vietnamese ballads a jazz interpretation. The good thing about covering old tunes is that listeners are already familiar with the melodies. The only challenge part is to take the tunes out of their written notes with improvisations.
Van Phung’s “Toi Di Giua Hoang Hon” gets a simple, straightforward, mid-tempo swing. The keyboard and guitar kick off with the original melody on the first two sections. The keyboard returns with a solo and then back to the melody. The band drops out to let the keyboard continues its brief improvisation. The bass, guitar and drums take their turn to solo, and then everyone come in to take the tune out. Except for the stilted, forced guitar solo, the tune as a whole works out well on the minimal structure. The smooth saxophone on Huynh Anh’s “Thuo Ay Co Em” is on the verge of being jazzy, but the infectious bass lines save the track. Likewise, the thumping bass brings rhythmic and liveliness to the bluesy vibes on Nguyen Anh 9’s “Co Don” and Duc Huy’s “Con Mua Phun.”
Although Filipino singer Arlene Estrella has a dark, smoky voice, her English takes on Duong Thu’s “Bong Toi Ly Café” and “Em Di Qua Toi” aren’t convincing. The authenticity is lost in translation. The tunes should have sung in Vietnamese. Nevertheless, the direction in Shadow of the Dark is definitely an excellent initiative in merging jazz and Vietnamese music. It sure beats the kind of crap that have been pumping out by big productions lately.
You can put lipstick on a pig. It’s still a pig. No, I am not comparing Nhu Loan to a pig. She looks too damn sexy to be a pig. I am referring to her limited vocals. Unlike her breasts, which are visually stunning thanks to augmentation, her voice remain unchanged no matter how much digital enhancement it has gone through. She can hide, but she can’t sing.
Once again, her sophomore release, Trai Tim Da Duoc Yeu, testifies that a hot chick can’t make a hot record. The title track begins with her Auto-Tuned acappella. (Trust me, you don’t want to hear her voice naked.) The smooth, snoozing saxophone picks up and her cottony voice floats like air over the tiresome, shiny beat. Her voice gets thinner and lighter on Christian Bautista’s “The Way You Look at Me.” On Sy Dan’s “Hat Nang Con Lai,” the producer has to incorporate fart noises to distract attention away from her weak vocals. “Que Huong,” a dedication to her mother, is the most horrendous rendition ever recorded. Her emotionless flow and monotonous phrasing make you feel like her homeland is an extremely boring place where you just want sleep.
Don’t give me wrong. I am not a hater. In fact, I have mad love for Nhu Loan. Thuy Nga’s stage wouldn’t be the same without her presence. I am sure many of the fellows will miss her too. Although she can’t bare her soul, she has something else to bare.
To Be Free: The Nina Simone Story is an extraordinary box set that captures Simone’s artistic personality, versatility and audacity. Through 51 tracks, listeners will get a taste of her boundless musical repertoire ranging from jazz, blues, folk, funk, pop, soul, rock, reggae, Broadway, movie soundtracks, French chanson, standards to protest songs. With her smoky contralto, fearless interpretation and limitless imagination, Simone mastered all the styles effortlessly. Although the collection features a handful of studio hits, the real treats are the live recordings. Simone was not only an amazing live singer, but also an astonishing pianist. This fine set is not to be missed.
Van Son production is dead. The latest release, Que Huong Gap Lai, is a proof that the production has no creativity left. I try my best to find something nice to say, but can’t even come up with one. Not even a single music performance or a skit I could enjoy. Yes, it was that bad.
Van Son’s music is plunging even deeper than the Dow Jone. It’s beyond recession and more like depression when Che Linh and his clones dominated the stage. From Che Linh to Che Phong to Truong Vu, I thought I was watching Vietnamese Groundhog Day. Listening to Linda Chow’s Chinese-Vietnamese shouting (not singing), I was wondering how in the world did she land the contract? She is not that hot looking either. The only reason I could think of is that Van Son is trying to compete with Asia’s Thai Doanh Doanh to see who is the worse of the worse. Even Diem Lien’s rendition of Pham Duy’s “Nha Trang Ngay Ve” was a disaster. She almost turned the reflective tune into a drama opera and the band tried to swing behind her. The music and the voice didn’t even blend.
The comedies, which had been Van Son’s strongest selling point, had turned into desperate clowning for some cheap chuckles. I didn’t know if I should laugh or cringe when two grown-ass men running around the stage with nothing but banana leaves wrapping around their body. Please Viet Thao and Bao Liem, I beg of you to stop making embarrassing shtick. If it’s an obsession, get help.
Mr. Van Son, do us all a favor. Cease and desist exploiting the Vietnamese pop culture whether you have intended or not. It really is a damn shame.
Let’s face it. Kanye West is not a great rapper and can’t sing for shit, but he doesn’t let his limitations get in the way of his ego. On 808s and Heartbreak, Kanye ditched rapping and picked up crooning about the lost of his mother and the crumbled relationship with his longtime fiancé. He used Auto-Tune as a clutch for his voice and the Roland TR-808 drum machine for his beats. His musical direction is inventive, but his singing gets in the way. Although the pitch-perfecting tool created an alien-like voice to complement his dark, futuristic, rock-influenced productions, you just want to beg him stopping singing already. The entire album of Auto-Tuned crooning is just way too much. You definitely feel his pain, but he doesn’t seem to feel yours.
After getting through thirteen live recordings of Pat Metheny Trio, I could see how Metheny had the audacity to savaged Kenny G’s style as: “lame-ass, jive, pseudo bluesy, out-of-tune, noodling, wimped out, fucked up playing.” He has the virtuosity to back up his statement. With Larry Grenadler on acoustic bass and Bill Stewart on drums laying down the strong and spontaneous rhythm section, Metheny demonstrates his intricate picking techniques, improvisational skills and fearlessness in taking chances. “Question and Answer” is a beautiful 19-minute improvisation where Metheny shows off his inventive chromatic lines and elegant phrasings. “Counting Texas” displays his soulful blues picking. My personal favorite is “Faith Healer.” The heavy-metal riffs and the space-out sounding make the rock-jazz fusion so damn hypnotizing.
On their latest collaborative effort, Nhu Giac Chiem Bao, Tuan Hung and Le Quyen share a dream: to belt out on the poppy, syrupy hits. Because of their raspy, authoritative vocals, the two have done rather well on the solo tracks. Le Quyen comes off bittersweet and sultry on Luong Bang Vinh’s “Dang Cay.” Likewise, Tuan Hung sounds sentimental and tormented on Hoang Trong Thuy’s “Doan Khuc Cuoi Cho Em.” As a duo, however, they aren’t quite compatible. On Tuong Van’s “Hanh Phuc,” they both sound bored and dreary. Because their voices share similar qualities, they don’t have enough contrast to complement each other. Yet what bring the album down aren’t their vocals, but the lackluster, mechanical productions.
Even Miles Davis was envied of Herbie Hancock for the phenomenal success of Head Hunters. Davis started the fusion movement, but only a few understood his musical direction at the time. With the mega hits of “Chameleon” and “Watermelon Man,” Hancock proved not what an instrument could do for him, but what he could do with it. Over the funk-out groove, Hancock cooks up some of the most luscious solos on his electronic devices. From the funkified bassline to the jazz solos in double time, “Sly” is a damn fine tribute to Sly Stone. No wonder this breakthrough album had put Hancock on the map of avant-garde fusion.