If you thought Duc Tuan’s rounded tone and over pronunciation in Vietnamese were hair-raising, wait to hear you hear him sings in English. Music of the Night is Duc Tuan’s worst concept album up to date simply because he covers Broadway tunes in English. His voice gets under my skin right from the opening track. The only reason I could get through the album is the sensational productions from Ignace Lai. The good thing about Duc Tuan is that his accompaniment has always been top quality. This album could have worked if the lyrics were translated into Vietnamese and he straightened up his quiver delivery. He has a gorgeous tenor for Broadway songs and great orchestration backing him up. Duc Tuan needs to open up his ears and listen to himself.

I have always wanted to do a motion piece for my mother, but I haven’t found the right song do pull it together. “Long Me” was obviously my first choice, but that song is like the national anthem for Vietnamese mothers. I needed something more personal.

A couple weeks ago, Cu Dao got up around three in the morning and didn’t want to go back to sleep. Half asleep, I took him down to the living room trying to get him to close his eyes. I reached for a CD without even looking at the title and it was Ngoc Tu Anh’s Nhin Noi Niem Troi. I have listened to the album a while back and was impressed with her lyricism. That night in particular, “Me, Ngan Doa Hoa Doi,” struck my chord. The opening smooth sax intro turned me off, but Hong Nhung’s heartfelt delivery tuned me in. Cu Dao slept in my arms, but I couldn’t help repeat the song again and again.

The next day, I began to hunt down all of my mom’s photos and started the slideshow. This is very much a personal piece and I just had to work with what I had. I started off incorporating types with images, but the types were distracting so I scrapped the words and just let the photos speak for themselves.

With Mẹ, I just want show my love and appreciation for the sweet lady who brought me into this world and has always been there for me. Love you, ma.

Michelle Maykin who struggled with Acute Myeloid Leukemia, a cancer of the blood, and inspired so many people through her web site died yesterday. She was 27. Rest in peace, Michelle.

As we were looking at Duke’s recent photo, I said to Dana, “Our boy got swag.” My wife had no idea what I was talking about. Just look at that face, no one on the corner has swagger like Duke and he just turns three months yesterday.

Time flies by so fast and everyday with him is a joy. A smile on his face washes away all my stress. Since the day he was born, nothing could bring me down. He’s the reason I stay up at three in the morning and he’s also the reason I get up at 5 in the morning. He’s the reason I strive everyday to bring him a comfort life. My job as a father is just starting. I still have a long way to go, but seeing smile every time I talk to him reassures me that I am doing a fine or at least so far so good.

These days I have become a frequent reader of the mama’s blogs. Mad love goes out to chi Quyen who has always giving advice whenever I have baby issues, Chuoc Con’s mama for letting us see the little girl grows day by day, May’s mama for deep personal thoughts, Tully’s mama for some cultural experience, and of course the mama-to-be. Thanks all and keep blogging, mamas!

As if Ngoc Dai himself isn’t bizarre enough already, he recruited two berserk vocalists, Thanh Lam and Linh Dung, to bring life and depth to his music. While the group’s self-titled debut is not easy to absorb, loving Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, Cecil Taylor, Ornette Coleman, Bjork, Tung Duong and Ngoc Khue makes it feel right home with Dai Lam Linh and its avant-garde direction.

The leadoff track, “Cay Nu Tu” displays the band’s eccentric skill of weaving jazz, rock, ambient and traditional Vietnamese folks into uncompromising vocal deliveries. Near the end of the piece, the duo vocalists sounded like two voodoo chicks tearing out each other’s hair. Backing up by spare piano, thumping bass and soothing Vietnamese zither, “Chieu” starts out calm, but progressed into the type of chaos that help folks get their freak on.

On “Det Tam Gai,” they completely erased Tran Thu Ha’s version and make it their own. Whereas Tran Thu Ha caressed and massaged a pretty melody, they simply fuck it up with their buck-wild dissonances. The voices move beyond words and become instruments on “Dua Tre” to evoke the sentiment surrounding loss and death. Ngoc Dai didn’t bring them on board to sing his tunes. They lived, breathed and sometimes make luscious love to them.

In the age when pop imitation ruins the Vietnamese music scene, it’s a real treat to hear something not just out of the ordinary, but way out there. These tracks will burn into your ears like no other. I am gamed.

Take a peep at Dai Lam Linh’s live performances.

Last night, we put Cu Dao to bed around 9. He woke up an hour later and we thought it’s going to be another long-waking night. After Dana nursed him, she put him back to his crib around 11 and we didn’t hear him cried until 5 in the morning. We both couldn’t believe it. Duke slept 6 hours straight. I wish he pulls more nights like this because daddy can’t play at three the morning anymore.

Cu Dao’s acne is also going away. I guess the salty water from the beach works. He looks so beautiful this morning.

When Kristin Bair O’Keeffe approached me to design a web site for her debut novel, Thirsty, I was excited, but also a bit hesitant. It’s the story of one woman’s journey through an abusive marriage, and I wasn’t sure if I could convey the message. The only way for me to understand the story was to read the book. Although Thirsty is not yet published*, I requested the manuscript. After reading through fifteen pages, the concept jumped right out at me. I wasted no time putting the mockup together, and it was exactly what the author had envisioned.

What helped me to come up with the visual design for the web site also kept me engaged to read the entire book: the cinematic scope and lyrical force that Bair O’Keeffe brings to the novel. Right off in the first few pages, her way with words is illustrated through the description of the woman’s eyes: “They were odd, but beautiful—green like the skin of a grape just before picking. Bright and luscious.” Her writing gets juicier in the scandalous sex details: “She put his hands on her ass and begged him in deep throaty pleadings to bite her nipples, harder, she said. That redhot fire crawled up her thighs and spread through her pussy so hard and so fast that she nearly tipped over taking off the petticoat.” Her ingenious, filmic storytelling comes to life in the dark moments of the book like the battering scenes and the accidents that occur at the steel mill.

Though Thirsty is a dramatic novel, Bair O’Keeffe manages to lighten up the gloomy corners with a sense of hope and humor. I still get a kick out of her very hilarious “Amen” story. Through her poetic pen and literary sensibility, Bair O’Keeffe has penned an art of fiction that taps into human emotion, brutalization, and compassion.

(Thirsty will be published in October 2009 by Swallow Press.)

“Tinh Viet Kieu” alone is worth the price of the album, which amounts to a cup of Ramen.

Moving from Chinese-translated ballads to Vietnamese sentimental ballads, the dull duo collaborated on an album that primarily designed to let people take an afternoon nap.

George Washington University professor Mark Lynch has an insightful piece comparing Jay-Z’s power in the rap world to the U.S.’s power in the world:

As Jay-Z got older and more powerful, the marginal benefits of such battles declined and the costs increased even as the number of would-be rivals escalated. Just as the U.S. attracts resentment and rhetorical anti-Americanism simply by virtue of being on top, so did Jay-Z attract a disproportionate number of attackers. “I got beefs with like a hundred children” he bragged/complained on one track.

NPR picked up the story as well. “Rapper Feud Mirrors World Politics” is worth a listen.