I have always been a huge fan of Don Ho. In addition to his music, I respect his down-to-earth attitude and generous personality; therefore, I give him my unconditional support. I purchase most of his CDs without even checking the track list, and his new release, Mai Di Tim: Love 2, is no exception. I must confess, however, it is the worst album he has ever made.

Don Ho murders his own classics. “Trai Tim Mua Dong” (Truc Ho) and “Tinh Nhat Phai” (a Chinese ballad translated by Nhat Ngan) are two of his most recognizable hits; therefore, he doesn’t need to remind us with the remixed versions. Much as I like what Dong Son had done in the past with his new upbeat productions, he brings nothing exciting to “Trai Tim Mua Dong.” I like the tune slow and intimate just like the way Truc Ho has intended it. If “Tinh Nhat Phai” has yet to fade, the clubbing remake, which featured Giana Nguyen’s sweet-n-sour voice and Justin Timberfake’s wimpy rap, makes it vanish immediately.

But I have to give Don Ho the kudos for trying to do the impossible. Who else would think of giving Trinh Lam Ngan’s “Qua Con Me” a dance-up treatment? The only accomplishment he might have achieved is dismantling its “sen” quality by replacing the robotic bolero with the mid-tempo beat. Yet, the most impossible thing he pulls off is throwing a bonus to one of Vietnamese proudest occupations in America. Dino Pham Hoang Dung’s “Nail” has to be the goofiest shit I have heard in a long time. I just love the chorus:

Nail, nail, nail, ban tay ta phai kheo
Nail, nail, nail, nghe Nail dau co beo
Nail, nail, nail, tien vo day ngan keo
Nail, nail, nail, chac chan se khong ngheo!
Bac si, ky su cung khong bang Nail
Hoc phi ton kem ra truong lai lau
Chi vai tram gio bang Nail ta co
Mai mai, dua dua cu the tien vo!

With the happy-go-lucky beat, elementary rhymes and Don Ho’s childlike hiss and shout, I am having a hard time distinguishing if this is a dissed or dedicated song. I am not even sure why the author has to clarify that “nghe Nail dau co beo.” A job is a job, and if doing nail pays the bills, get your papers on, baby. I am just hoping that kids won’t use this song to make a statement to their parents why they rather file hands and polish feet than write prescriptions or draw blueprints.

Like I said from the beginning, Don Ho is my man, but that doesn’t mean I would shy away from criticizing his work. It could be that I am losing interests in his musical direction with this album. Or it could be that he’s not interested in reaching out to me. I am getting old and he’s still young at heart.

Films on Viet Nam War have been made many times, but never through the lense of the Vietnamese-American people. After three years of researching and writing, director Ham Tran shows the world the life and death experiences of the boat people and the inhumanity of the re-education camps through Journey from the Fall.

The journey begins in April 1975, immediately after the fall of Viet Nam. Like many families, the Nguyens splitted between fleeing to heaven and trapping in hell. Although Ham Tran shifts his camera between Long Nguyen (goes by his real name) who spent most of his time in a rusted box while his mother (Kieu Chinh), wife (Diem Lien) and son (Nguyen Thai Nguyen) floating their lives on the boat, the editor (Ham Tran himself) has skillfully unfolded the story in an out-of-sequence order. The technique makes the experience more chaotic, yet its subtlety never loses the viewers attention.

Like most films on the controversies of Viet Nam War, I tend to leave the political issues at the door before stepping into the theater and just enjoy the work of art itself. Still, when a film reaches deep into human suffering and surviving that closed to your heart, the intense graphics and heartfelt performances could stir up your emotion. The main casts have done such a convincing job that they’ve come across as if they have lived their characters. Mad props to Ham Tran for not only his directing skill, but scripting as well. I’ve seem so many Vietnamese movies with awkward dialogues, but he has pulled it off by making the conversations sound natural. Thanks for taking us into the treacherous journey.

Despite the horrendous saxophone accompaniment, which works on every goddamn nerve of mine, Nguyen Khang has managed to pull off an intoxicating rendition of Ngoc Tu Anh’s “Hay Giu Lay Hon Day.” He has proved that even when the arrangement fails him, he is not unlistenable. It’s gotta be that Khangy flavor.

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Ham Tran’s Journey From The Fall opens tomorrow in NYC.

Yes. I am getting a spring fever.

Haven’t jam to Terry Blaine for a while. Her live concert album is always fun to listen to, especially when she sings rapid-fire tunes like Fats Waller’s “Handful of Keys.” She has quite a rhythmic and melodic sensibility to tackle an accelerated joint like that. But then again, she has Mark Shane, whose stride skill is marvelous, backing her up.

Like other Sinatra impersonators, Tony DeSare has a very charming voice, a bit too charming to jazz. Unlike Franky, Tony lacks that playboy style. His gentleness doesn’t quite sit well with Nat King Cole’s “Gee Baby, Ain’t I Good to You?” He doesn’t have that player charisma in his delivery. If you listen to Louis Armstrong rendition, you know Pops got that pimp juice in him. (Fur coat, diamond ring, and a Cadillac, I got you that shit, ain’t I good to ya?) As a result, DeSare’s latest album, Last First Kiss, feels like a romantic but unenergetic and unenthusiastic experience. After the short-lived swing (thanks to the instrumentation) on “You’d Be So Nice to Come Home to,” the album drifted into that cocktail vibe, so go ahead and break out your wine and cheese again on this one.

Don’t mess with the Little Falla!

Hellovon has some wicked paintings.

I’ve always been intrigued by car’s typography; therefore, CarType is a perfect place to visit.

Gapers Block, a beautiful web publication about Chicago.

2pac’s “16 on Death Row” has such disturbing storylines that I quiver whenever I listen to it. Pac sure was a crazy motherfucker.

Dear mama, these cops don’t understand me
I turned to a life of crime, cause I came from a broken family
My uncle used to touch me, I never told you that
Scared what you might do, I couldn’t hold you back
I kept it deep inside, I done let it fuel my anger
I’m down for all my homies, no mercy for a stranger…

I shouldn’t let them catch me
Instead of livin’ sad in jail, I could’ve died free and happy
And my cellmate’s raped on the norm
And passed around the dorm, you can hear his asshole gettin’ torn
They made me an animal
Can’t sleep, instead of countin’ sheep, niggaz countin’ cannibals
And that’s how it is in the pen
Turn old and cold, and your soul is your best friend
My mama prayed for me
Tell the Lord to make way for me, prepare any day for me…

They tell me the preacher’s there for me
He’s a crook with a book, that motherfucker never cared for me
He’s only here to be sure
I don’t drop a dime to God ’bout the crimes he’s commitin’ on the poor…

Damn, The Beastie Boys’ “Girls” is stuck in my head.

Girls, to do the dishes
Girls, to clean up my room
Girls, to do the laundry
Girls, and in the bathroom
Girls, that’s all I really want is girls

This song sure brings back the good old days.

Honey, I have no explanation for this.