John Coltrane ripped the shit out of his horn. He had the meanest way of breaking down the chords and he played like a man on fire bursting with adrenaline rushes. Again, not recommended for casual listeners with the exception of Jimmy Garrison’s arresting bass solo in “Introduction to My Favorite Things.”
I am not ashame to admit that I am totally gay for Thuy Vu’s Thang Sau Troi Mua. He has such a marvelous tenor of a voice. His cello-like tone gets me every song. In particular is Trinh Cong Son’s “Diem Xua” where he holds the long notes in “Mua van hay mua cho doi bien dong…” and “Xin hay cho mua qua mien dat rong…” It’s so hypnotizing. This album has been my companion on the road. Viet Anh’s “Khong Con Mua Thu” cuts through the autumn’s misty morning and Trinh Cong Son’s “Dem Thay Ta La Thac Do” cuts through the night’s pathos. I have never been hooked on a ballad-covered album this long.
Jennifer Lopez’s new album, Brave, reminds me of a fascinating story from my colleague. To cut time reading her MBA’s course materials, she would scan the texts, drop into a text-to-speed program, and then export to audio so she could listen while on the road. She even doubled up the speed, which, she said, sounded like a chipmunk, to keep up with her overloaded homeworks. Ms. Lopez sings like a speech reader with a mild Spanish accent. On the up tempos, she reads at a double time. On the mid tempos, she shows no range or emotion. Maybe she has no relationship dramas with Marc Anthony and just wanted to make an album to beat her marriage boredom. Not sure if the couple would last forever, but for now: “Stay together is the new breakup.”
Thanh Lam has been flirting with jazz throughout her career, but never cut a jazz record until now. With her new album, Lam Blue Ta, she has no shame labeling it as “Vietnamese jazz” as she’s attempting to establish her position in the Vietnamese jazz scene. Unfortunately, she can’t move beyond her pop territory; therefore, Lam Blue Ta is more like a pop album with a tint of blues rather than the other way around.
The jump-off track, Nguyen Cuong’s “H’Zen Len Ray,” has a nice, subtle, swing groove and Thanh Lam rides the beat in a minimal flow, but she simply can’t scat. In his “Trang Khat,” Le Minh Son has cleverly rearranged the country blues for Thanh Lam that bears no resemblance of Tung Duong’s rendition. He also replaced the piano for a driving saxophone. To stir away from Tung Duong’s fierce delivery, Thanh Lam wisely restrained her fire to give a different feel. From Tran Tien’s “Ngau Hung Song Hong” to Le Minh Son’s “Con Trai Be Bong” to Duong Thu’s “Bong Toi Ly Café,” however, the album started to lose the blues flavors once Thanh Lam moves into her pop zone.
Tran Tien’s “Tuy Hung Ly Ngua O” returns to the swing rhythm to wrap up the scratching-the-surface effort. Thanh Lam has potential, but she will success only if she is willing to take the time to absorb the blues. Bessie Smith, Dinah Washington and Muddy Waters are some of the true blues legends to learn from. If she wants to scat and swing, Ella Fitzgerald and Anita O’Day are among the singer’s singers to draw inspiration from. If Thanh Lam could only take jazz this far, we need some serious development or might as well let it go and quit calling “Vietnamese jazz.” To be fair, Thanh Lam isn’t the only one to be responsible, but also the musicians.
Even after fucking up her vocal cord, Phuong Thanh could roar better than she could sing. On her new album, Sang Mua, she either belts or drags. Whether she shrieks her tone until it cracks on a rock tune (Dung Da Lat’s “Mua”) or lags the shit out of a slow ballad (Thai Thinh’s “Tinh Tuyet Vong”), what keeps the record together is the irritation in her needling voice.
The problem of Vietnamese music is obvious. New singers pop up every day while songwriters fades away. Dieu Huong who made a few hits, including the notorious “Vi Do La Em,” is a talented lyricist, but a limited composer. Her new album, Hu Ao, sounds dull partly because of the cheap arrangements, but mostly because of her restricted range.
Musically, “Cho Mot Lan Quen” has a melody that is a reminiscent of a dozen of songs Quang Dung had covered. “Coi Doi Vui” is one of those cheersy (cheerfully cheesy) tunes that always assigned to the forever-young Don Ho. “Cho Em Hoi” is a slow ballad that progresses steady all the way until the end where Diem Lien gives a hair-raising belt out. The lazy-rumba “Tinh Mai Theo Ta” allows Y Lan yet another opportunity to do her namby-pamby delivery.
Trong Bac who is unknown to me handled the title track. He has a charming voice, but similar to Anh Tuan with lesser power. Although Nguyen Khang gives a great performance of “Mot Nua Tam Hon,” it sounds like some of her more popular tunes, especially the chorus. Not sure why Dieu Huong covers “Vi Do La Em” herself since the song is better presented in a male viewpoint.
One of the major weaknesses of Hu Ao is the crowded vocalists. The result is more like a piecemeal slapped together than a coherent production. Maybe her intention was to have a mix of voices to mask the similitude between the tracks, but still didn’t work.
Though each record of Diana Krall is remarkable in its own way, a collection of her Very Best is a retrospective to her long-lasting career. From the seducing-bossa nova “‘S Wonderful” to the swinging-in-concert “Fly Me to the Moon,” these so called “very best” tracks are debatable. What stood out to me is her previously unreleased rendition of Tom Waits’ “The Heart of Saturday Night.” She does what she does best: covering a ballad with her own touch.
Tung Duong does not give a fuck what you think. You can call him gay, feminine, freaky or whatever, but you have to respect his musical sensibility. While most of the young singers can’t break away from the pop bubbles, he takes his music to another planet. Working with Do Bao, an imaginative producer, Tung Duong reinvents himself once again on Nhung O Mau Khoi Lap Phuong.
Since his jazz-breakthrough Chay Tron debuted three years ago, Tung Duong has established himself as one of the idiosyncratic performers in the Vietnamese music scene. He has no fear for turning himself into the characters in his song through visual appearance and vocal manipulation. He not just sings about a particular character; he is the character. In the bizarre “Noi Khat,” he transforms into a kid voice to express Huyen Ngoc’s weird lyrics about a woman thirsting for a child. The arrangement gets creepy; his voice gets creepier. Listening to the title track, which written and produced by Do Bao, is like taking a trip to a kaleidoscopic ecstasy where Tung Duong drowns his soul into a pool of bleak, serene chaos. Tran Tien’s “Nhuc Nhoi” paints an odd image of a lonely soldier returning from the war and a woman lusting to be touched. The upbeat production and his painful moan “oi a” served as drug music.
NOMKLP is obviously not cut out for everyone. Different folks like different strokes. Some like Pepsi, some like Coke. Comparing to Chay Tron, this album is much harder to chew on. Tung Duong is way out there and Do Bao’s productions are much more intricate (with the mixture of new age, chill-out, rock, electronic) than his infamous work on Nhat Thuc.
Nguyen Khang’s new album, Ta Muon Cung Em Say, is a cop-out: He stays in his comfort zone; he covers candy tunes; and he abandons artistic daring for formulaic boring. With such a unique of a voice, he could push his craft into a higher level, but instead he chooses to play safe, which is a damn shame.
TMCES begins with the dated “Café Mot Minh.” Why bother rerecorded a song that not only every Vietnamese singer had sung, but also in the same acoustic guitar sound and the exact written melody every Vietnamese singer had done? The basic rule of cover is to make an old, popular tune sounds new. He redelivered Dieu Huong’s “Vi Do La Em” with an equivalent blandness and monotone he did the first round. On “Diem Xua,” his flow is slicker on the refreshing arrangement, yet lacking the rawness of emotion he brought to Trinh Cong Son’s lyricism before. “Tro Ve Mai Nha Xua” would have benefited from a string ensemble rather than a club remixed, but he desires to enter the popularity contest more than he would like to raise the musical bar. Fame is blinding him.
On the album cover, he sports a black tuxedo looking like a pimp surrounded by his hotties. His long-time collaborator Diem Lien returns with Quoc Hung’s “Vi Sao Em Oi.” Their duet is once again an opposite attraction where good girl goes for bad boy, and Nguyen Khang beefs up vocals to sound like a badass. Ngo Thuy Mien’s “Niem Khuc Cuoi” turns out to be not so great, even though Ngoc Ha and Nguyen Khang are two of the best vocalists among their peers. What didn’t work is that they don’t seem like a believable couple. The only thing they might have in common is their height. Surprisingly, Nguyen Hong Nhung, his partner in crime, steals all the duets. Truc Ho’s “Gio Da Khong Con Nua” is a lustful pleasant from a sensualist-meets-bohemian romance.
TMCES is actually not a bad album, but rather a disappointing one. He chooses to commercialize more than to challenge himself.
My latest hip-hop’s gratification is the southern soul from the Underground Kingz. With heavy, hypnotic productions, meticulous flows, lustful lyricism, and a handful of guest list including OutKast, Too $hort and Talib Kweli, the dynamic duo from Port Arthur, Bun B and Pimp C, delivered a double joint that filled with guilty pleasures. From the catchy keyboard tinkling on “Tell Me How Ya Feel” to the luscious guitar sampling on “Trill Niggas Don’t Die” bring back the authentic vibe of the underground south. Still, twenty-nine tracks straight is simply too much. The album would have been tighter if the dull fillers had left off.