Crooked I throws a freestyle at X-man and I-man.

If I have to pick one album to introduce someone who would like to get into jazz, it has to be Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue. No doubt about that.

Even though Blake Lewis held down the Latin vibe for the night, I voted for Sanjaya Malakar so that idiot can stay on top of the roof for a couple more weeks. Damn, I missed Melinda Doolittle’s performance.

After calling Rutgers’ women basketball players “nappy-headed hos,” the grumpy, old Don Imus pointed his finger to hip-hop music for his misogynist and racist remark. Like the protesters yelled, “Imus must go!”

Thuy Duong’s interpretation of “Toi Oi! Dung Tuyet Vong” is my standard of how a Trinh Cong Son’s composition should be sung. If she doesn’t feel despair, than you shouldn’t either. Mad props to the producer as well for the gorgeous orchestration. Love that bass thump.

Our man Trong pitched me Washington Post‘s “Pearls Before Breakfast” by Gene Weingarten over the weekend, but I didn’t get to read it until now. The Post hired Joshua Bell who is a virtuoso classical violist to perform at L’Enfant Plaza during the rush hour to conduct an experience. The outcome was that most commuters would just pass him by without showing any appreciation. The fact that people ignored him not because they had to move on with their daily jobs, but no one gives a damn about dead music.

The article does remind me of the street vibes in NYC. It’s the similar kind of street musicians and performers that gives the city its liveliness. I remember one late night I was coming back to Poughkeepsie from Grand Central, there was this old saxophonist blowing alone in the empty station while the train passing by. He was not a great player, but he had this really dark and raspy tone like Ben Webster. He closed his eyes and played John Coltrane’s “Greensleeves” in a very slow tempo with minimal vibrato. I didn’t stop and listen either because I had to catch the train or else I had to wait two more hours to catch the next one.

Trinh Cong Son’s music has been reinterpreted many times before, yet no one dares to make his songs sound “sen.” Well, not until Manh Quynh covers “Xin Tra No Nguoi.” He has done a pretty damn good job of killing the song. I can’t listen to it anymore even from the incomparable rendition by Tuan Ngoc. These days every singer still comes out with a Trinh’s songbook, but if Manh Quynh releases one, I am sure everyone else would stop, and we might as well burry his tunes.

Well, I hope you enjoyed John Coltrane’s holy sax for the spiritual weekend. I’ve done drive myself and the folks around me insane listening to the entire collection (four more songs like “Acknowlegement“).

As for my weekend, like my man HmL said, “life is good” despite the lacking of cherry blossoms. Big up to my VA big brothers for that savory bun mam. I was thirsty as hell afterward, but it was still banging, baby. I really don’t mind dropping another critical breakdown for another bowl of bun mam. Right Brother D?

I am not a Christian, but I don’t have to work tomorrow, thank God for Good Friday. So an “Acknowledgment” of divine power goes up to the man above for granted me the day off. You are my sweet Lord.

When it comes to celebrate the resurrection of Christ, who else could bring more spiritual than John Coltrane? In fact, his music is so powerful that could blow your mind. So be careful when experiencing the tune. Don’t say that I didn’t warn you. Happy Easter!

“Sammie, you should to be a doctor when you grow up.” I told my seven-year-old niece. “Why?” She asked. “So that you could help people, including grandma, your mom, and me.” I responded. “Yeah, but I am going to be a fashion designer.” She insisted. “That’s impressive! How did you decide that?” I questioned. “Sophie [her cousin who is two years older than her] wants me to.” She said. “Sophie wants you to?” I puzzled. “Yes. She wants me to be her assistant.” She replied. I was speechless.

Didn’t I say rappers dig Amy Whinehouse? Ghostface remixed “You Know I am No Good,” and now Pharoahe Monch rhymes over “Rehab.”