TTBlues once again got me hook on an avant-garde jazzcat who shares our birthplace. What makes Cuong Vu stands out to me is his wicked and wild emotionalism emerged from his trumpet. On “Pitter-Patter,” Vu’s quiet-but-chaotic growl navigates itself into the groove laid down the funk rhythm section. When he reaches the top register, Vu’s extended phrases create a serene ecstasy. Again and again and again, all I can is that the motherfucker can blow.
You’re probably sick and tired of hearing and seeing the name Imus already, but Bakari Kitwana’s “The Style, But Not The Substance” makes out some points about the misuse of hip-hop slang:
The result is what cultural critic Greg Tate addressed in his 2005 book, “Everything but the Burden.” That is, far too many American consumers of black popular culture don’t take the time to decode the complexity of black life that produces a 50 Cent, a Jay-Z or a Russell Simmons, multi-millionaires all, who peddle rap music riddled with the language of the street.
He also nailed the part where Imus pointed the figure at hip-hop:
Imus – and his defenders who claim they learned this language from hip-hop – are only partly correct, even as they are wholly dishonest. They would do themselves and the country a service by owning up to at least three facts. 1) Imus took liberty with a culture that he didn’t fully understand, and when he got called on it, rather than coming clean, he pointed the finger at hip-hop to take the weight. 2) Clearly those far more powerful than rappers are complicit in bringing pimp and ho talk to the American mainstream. 3) If indeed Imus is a hip-hop fan, innocently consuming its language and aesthetics, that doesn’t remove him from the responsibility to understand hip-hop cultural and political roots in all their complexity.
Mong Thuy who is previously unknown to me has a hell of a high pitch. The superb soprano—minus Thai Thanh’s girlish annoyances—from her voice puts Bang Kieu to shame. She brings the dramas alright, but not to the point where she’s about to jump off the Brooklyn bridge. Proof? In her Pham Duy songbook, Tram Nam Ben Cu, she performs every song with full emotional power and she’s capable of swooping up high notes in effortless control.
What impresses me the most is that she has cut an album I’ve been dying to hear. In every recording, the only instrument backing her up is a piano, something I encouraged a singer to do, but he thought it would be too boring for an entire album. Well, Mong Thuy has proved him wrong. With a prodigious pianist behind her, she paints Pham Duy’s compositions with vivid lyricisms, luminous textures, and elusive harmonies. From the clarity of execution in the accompaniment to the clarity of feeling in the voice, pure aesthetic is what being accomplished in this tight and personal setting. Furthermore, the nuanced touch from the keyboard and the light touch from her phrasing make the album perfect for rainy-day introspection.
If you’re like me, sick and tired of the current popular Vietnamese music from big productions like Thuy Nga, Asia, and Van Son whose main interest are nothing but mucho dinero, Mong Thuy’s album offers a much greater alternative. Often times I wonder to myself, am I being anal to Vietnamese singers and productions? After listening to recent releases, I thought these producers are either deaf or they just simply don’t give a fuck, but album like this has reassured me that I am not being too damn demanding.
Download: “Duong Chieu La Rung“
The Hawaiian ‘Tiny Bubbles’ crooner, that is.
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Can’t get any cuter than this, baby!
The night he was born the moon turned a fire red. His poor mother cried, “The gypsy was right!” and she fell down right dead. Jimi Hendrix was a “Voodoo Chile.”
Even Cassandra Wilson cries about Vietnam. Damn, I must be feeling blue today.
The spell is back. Fleetwood Mac’s rendition of “Black Magic Woman” is hipnotizing.
Is all that I want you to do, baby. Loving Etta James’ huge-ass voice on “Baby What You Want Me to Do.”
