Now that the roaring thunder of “Bonjour Vietnam” has subsided, Pham Quynh Anh releases the official version in English accompanied by a video. Although the studio track is much more polished, the emotional impact comes nowhere near the raw demo. From the beat to the vocals to the lyrics, the newer version doesn’t strike a chord the way that the previous version did.

If I were to hear the English version first, I wouldn’t have been as motivated to create the slideshow. Gone are the simple, melancholic strumming guitar, yearning vocal delivery and exquisite French lyrics that made “Bonjour Vietnam” such mesmerizing nostalgia. While the new production adds more sugar to the song, Quynh Anh’s phrasing sounds more restraint and less passionate in English than French. The quality of her voice remains unchanged, but the soul-searching desire to connect to her root has diminished. Furthermore, the English words don’t sound as lyrical. For instance, “One day, I’ll touch your soul / One day, I’ll finally know your soul,” can’t do the justice for: “Un jour, j’irai là bas / Un jour dire bonjour à ton âme.”

The differences between “Hello” and “Bonjour” proved that sometimes an unfinished, unpolished and unedited work should remain untouched. Miles Davis paid his musicians not to practice and he wanted every recording to make it on the first cut for one reason: the feeling.

Cau Chuyen Tinh Toi can’t be a Thu Phuong record. Not the Thu Phuong whose jazz-inflected concert in Toronto last October still mesmerizes me. How could someone who was so passionate in her performance even with just a small group of audience put out such a tedious album? What a waste of talent.

The album-closer, “Comme Toi,” is the only real Thu Phuong cut. The Bollywood-remixed beat is invigorating and this is the only time that she seems a bit exciting. With the rest, even on the belt-out “Co Nho Dem Nay,” she sounds tired, worn out and passionless as if she was obliged to record them. Worse are the medleys. When she sings, “Yeu anh vi ta chan doi” in Le Huu Ha’s “Yeu Em,” you can actually hear the lifelessness in her delivery. In Nguyen Vu’s “Loi Cuoi Cho Em,” she just screams on the hook as if she is bored out her fucking mind.

If these tracks do represent the love stories of her life, she must have had some extremely dull relationships. With the weightless arrangement accompanied by a murmuring electric guitar on Pham Huu Tam’s “Mong Phu Du,” she comes close to what the song is about: drifting off to sleep. She needs some excitements to spice up her tales.

I used to have a thang for Lam Thuy Van: the big sexy babe with the big sultry voice. Although she covers mostly slow, bittersweet pop tunes and rarely departs from her comfort zone, she knows how to capture the listener’s heart with her high pitch, gorgeous tone, and most importantly, ability to bare all. I am referring to soul not skin. Thank you!

Her latest Dau Yeu Ngay Nao once again contemplates on love, life and tons of heartaches. “Anh da di roi, em van con day / Co don trong can gac doa day,” Lam Thuy Van starts off “Diep Khuc Buon” in deep sorrow. She wastes no time getting to the poignant core with her soulful crooning. By the time she reaches the bridge, you’re already in despair with her. On “Lien Khuc Tinh Phu,” her voice is mournful, melting the lyrics around the melody while the subtle orchestration provides a melancholy backdrop. The medley sound like an ode to Ngoc Lan who was both of our heroine.

By now the natural combination between Don Ho and Lam Thuy Van shouldn’t even be a question. Their voice is a perfect complement to each other. The mesmerizing moment on “Mal De Toi” is when Lam Thuy Van flights on a swelling crescendo against Don Ho’s warm, low tone like a switching effect from the lowest keys on left to the highest keys on right of the keyboard. Their duet on “Toi Khong Con Yeu Em” and “Ngay Tinh Yeu Den” are both exceptional.

Although Lam Thuy Van doesn’t step up her style, she does refine her technical skill. From breath control to melodic phrasing to lyrical interpretation, she sings like she means it even without the confirmation on the outro.

Inspired by shopping music in Manhattan, my man Don Ho, in collaboration with Lam Thuy Van and Thanh Ha, released Hen Ho, covers of old ballads dressed in new, computer-generated sounds. Is this another one of those electronica shits? Upon several spins, the album is absorbable.

What makes Hen Ho worked is the minimal approach to the arrangements. Unlike Ha Tran’s Communication ’06, in which she had to fight against the beats, the electric grooves are kept to the minimum so they don’t overpower the vocals. The title track, Pham Duy’s “Hen Ho,” is a juicy duet between Don Ho and Thanh Ha. While their sensual vocals weaved together to take you on a trip of nostalgia, the music pulls you to a space-out territory. Mr. Don Ho sure has his way with the ladies. Not only with Thanh Ha’s, but his slightly raspy voice is also a perfect foil to Lam Thuy Van’s high and soulful quality. Their rendition of Pham Dinh Chuong’s “Nua Hon Thuong Dau” is both fresh and doleful. Unfortunately when three get on the same track, the hypnotic spell breaks. Their Vietnamese interpretation of “Killing Me Softly With His Song” should not have made it on the album.

The clean, subtle production works, but not on every track. Don Ho’s solo tracks in particular are way too slow. From Pham Dinh Chuong’s “Nguoi Di Qua Doi Toi” to Ngo Thuy Mien’s “Tu Giong Hat Em” to Thong Dai’s “Ai Ve Song Tuong,” the snore-worthy flossing in his delivery is perfect for lulling listeners into submission. Normally I would prefer Don Ho’s solo album, but the ladies have saved his ass this time.

Forget Trinh Cong Son. His lyricism is still over people’s head. The more you listen to his songs, the more confuse you get. Nowadays you don’t even have to listen to a song to know what it is about. The title alone tells it all. You don’t need a GED to figure out “Toi Khoc Cho Em Ai Khoc Cho Toi.” Can you get any more straightforward than “Em Gian Doi Sao Mong Toi That Long?” And the best part about these songs is that you don’t have be a trained musician to articulate the lyrics. If a girl broke your heart, you can them. If a girl used you, took your money and left your ass, you can sing them. Lam Chan Huy is obviously an amateur (you can tell by his breath control and karaoke phrasing), yet the tastelessness in the lyrics works despite the cheap, staled and dated productions.

A concept album for Lunar New Year has to capture the spirit of Vietnamese’s most celebrated holiday; the key element Quang Dung fails to deliver on his latest release titled Xuan. He sounds mechanically dull and the cheap studio productions only make it worst.

Let’s face it. Tunes that are suitable for a kid, a grown-ass man like Quang Dung shouldn’t even consider. His lame-out version of “Mua Xuan Oi” doesn’t even come close to little Xuan Mai’s. On “Cam On Mot Doa Xuan Ngoi,” he sings like he could fall asleep in any second. Gone is the charming prince who pretended to be so sincere in “Vi Do La Em.” With “Neu Xuan Nay Vang Em” he sounds like a bored married man who does what he has to do to make his wife happy even though he means the opposite of what he say. The title suggests, “If you won’t be here this spring,” but what he truly mean is “Please don’t be here this spring.”

Needless to say, Xuan is as mundane as it gets. If his sudden marriage was a big disappointment to the ladies, this album is his big disappointment to the fans.

You have to be a Miles’s freak to get through The Complete On The Corner Sessions. The six-disc set, which clocks in almost seven hours, details the experimentation of electric Miles. The music goes nowhere (no chord progression and no harmonic variation) as if the group just played until they wanted to stop. From the funk grooves to rock riffs to alien noises, the tracks still sound as fresh as when they were recorded more than thirty years ago. Miles obviously was ahead of his time.

Thelonious Monk. The first word comes to mind is originality. Even when he played a ballad, he made it his own. In Monk’s Dream, he reinvented the soothing “Body & Soul” with his unique, fractured chord changes. The second word comes to mind is witty. His improvisation on “Bolivar Blues” sounded like a child hitting one key at a time, yet the sequence is brilliant. He was indeed a genius with a sense of humor. Monk’s Dream also displays the fantastic collaboration between Charlie Rouse’s fluidity and Monk’s angularity.

What is there left for musician’s musician Tuan Ngoc to prove? He has a profound influence on the new generation of singers. Like Jay-Z, he is married to one of the hottest chicks in the game. Most important of all, he gets the utter respect from both musicians and listeners from in and out of Viet Nam. As a result, it is not a surprise that he turned toward nostalgia in his liveshow Rieng Mot Goc Troi.

Backed up by a full-size orchestra, Tuan Ngoc performed songs of Trinh Cong Son, Ngo Thuy Mien, Tu Cong Phung, Pham Duy, Doan Chuan and Tu Linh like taking a trip down to memory lane. In “Ngam Ngui,” his voice was gentle but filled with emotion and he knew how to make the lyrics into a personal statement. “Khuc Thuy Du” and “Phoi Pha” were both remorseful and doomed as if he had been through it all in life, and he had the damnedest way of breaking down the lyrics. On the light-swing “Ghen” and sensual-bossa nova “Ao Lua Ha Dong,” he gave a Sinatra-liked, offbeat, cool flavor. Mad props to Hoai Sa, a sufficient jazz pianist, for some savory, delightful touches on the right hand.

His signature “Rieng Mot Goc Troi” remained unmatchable. Despite how many times he had sung it, he still cut to the emotional core of the tune in a way that makes you believe he meant everyone word he delivered. The closeout “Moi Ngay Toi Chon Mot Niem Vui” was a wise choice that left the audience something to take away with.

1960 to 1965 marked the darkest time of Miles Davis’s life. The white police busted his head open. His parents passed away two years apart. His drinking and snoring cocaine increased. His wife left him. Yet on top of all, in his own word, “[T]he music wasn’t happening and that was fucking me up.” But Miles Smiles again when he finds the sound from the young players: pianist Herbie Hancock, tenor Wayne Shorter, bassist Ron Carter, and drummer Tony Williams. When playing with these youngsters, Davis recognizes that, “this was going to be a motherfucker of the group.” This album helped pushed Davis’s career out of the slump period. The group plays together in an endeavor to bring its music to a higher level. For detail readings of each track on Miles Smiles, the last two chapters of Jeremy Yudkin’s Miles Smiles, and the Invention of Post Bop are highly recommended. Yudkin’s meticulous explanations show what goes on in the studio during the recording sessions.