I have seen the term “nhac sen” being tossed around in various blogs and Web sites. Not only people don’t like to admit that they do listen to “nhac sen,” but they also hate to acknowledge that they don’t know what “nhac sen” is. So when being asked, they just throw out names like Truong Vu, Tuan Vu, Nhu Quynh, Manh Quynh, Manh Dinh, Ngoc Son, and Ngoc Ha. (Wait! Not the little chick with the big-ass voice. Let me take that back before somebody jumps on me.)

According to Thanh Nien‘s “Nhac ‘Sen’ La Gi?,” they argue that the word “sen” comes from “sen” (without the accent), which means maid. Because the music is being categorized in the lower class, the lyrics have to be easy to understand. Musically speaking, “nhac sen” has been written mostly, but not always, in bolero form. If you pay close attention to “sen” tunes, you will notice that the same rhythmic and harmonic are being used throughout the song from one bar to the next. With the lacking of inventions, variations, and improvisations, “Nhac Sen” is easy to spot. And how many times a “sen” singer like Truong Vu switches up his flow? That’s right, zero. Listening to his full album is like watching Chinese TV series. It just goes on and on. But that is what “nhac sen” is all about—a form of storytelling similar to American’s country music, which has been labeled as “cheesy” and “campy.”

If “nhac sen” is written correctly with folks essence embedded, and sung by the right singer, the listening experience could be rewarding. Some of the musicians who had written good “nhac sen” include Hoang Thi Tho, Lam Phuong, Anh Bang, Pham Dinh Chuong, and Pham Duy (yes, even Pham Duy has penned some “sen” songs too). So there is nothing wrong to admit that you like “nhac sen.” Don’t let people dictate your taste.

Whenever you feel hopeless, just put on Trinh Cong Son’s “Toi Oi Dung Tuyet Vong.” It will uplift your spirit. With Duy Cuong’s soothing orchestration, Nguyen Khang gives a soulful presentation.

(English translation by Van Mai)

Don’t despair, dear I, don’t despair
Autumn leaves fall amidst winter time
Don’t despair, beloved, don’t despair
You are I and I am you

The kite soars, but the soul stays empty
The kite dives, sinking the void into grief
Who am I who still conceal my tears?
Who am I who still am too human?
Who am I, am I, am I…
Who so love life

Don’t despair, dear I, don’t despair
Gold sunshine fades like pieces of my soul
Don’t despair, beloved, don’t despair
Be ingenious and you’ll be the sunrise
Here, an endless road under a solitary sunset
Here, a soul in which sorrow rises.

Ma has been making my favorite dishes lately. Yesterday, she made bau luoc (boiled gourd) with egg and mixed fishsauce. I just love the softness of the gourd and its light-sweet juice. Today she prepared kho ca sac (dried, salted fish) with mango salad. I am sure you can just imagine this mouth-watering dish without having to look at the photo. Besides, I don’t want you to drool all over my site when peeping at that sour mango with sugar and fishsauce. Can’t get any better than that, baby! The only problem is that she keeps torturing me with Tam Doan’s Guc Nga Vi Yeu. I don’t know if I should thank or curse Joseph (LOL!). But at least the music goes well with the meals, and help me take a little nap after I eat too.

Billie Holiday sings “Fine and Mellow” with a list of finest jazz players, including Lester Young, Coleman Hawkins, Ben Webster, Gerry Mulligan, backing her up.

My man Count Basie swings with his band in “One O’Clock Jump.”

Duke Ellington’s “Mood Indigo.” His intro is crazy. Gotta love Duke’s mood.

My main men Miles Davis and John Coltrane in “So What.” After blowing his solo, Miles eases back and blows his smoke.

Check out one of jazz’s greatest drummers Jo Jones doing his thang!

(Don’t you just love YouTube?)

The Game is stepping up his flow in the lastest single, “One Blood,” from his forthcoming The Doctor’s Advocate. With the heavy, pounding beat produced by Reefa and himself, Game spits hard as hell, and even throwing punch at Jay-Z: “You 38 and you still rappin’?” Damn! Everybody want a piece of Jigga.

In Laurent Cantet’s Heading South, Albert (Lys Ambriose), a waiter at a tourist hotel in Haiti, confesses what his grandfather used to tell him: “the white man was an animal.” And today (1970 is when the film took place) their dollars is even more poisonous than their weapons. He went on, “Everything they touch turns garbage.” If Viet Nam is the white men’s “heaven on earth” (as I have been told), Haiti is the white women’s paradise. Single, old, white female can throw their dollars around and get the best sex from young, handsome, black Haitian—the exoticness they can’t get from the black Harlem brothers, according to one of the characters in the film.

Heading South revolves around the love triangle between two old white females and a young gigolo. Ellen (Charlotte Rampling) is a 55-year-old, French-literature teacher at Wellesley who spend her summer time at the hotel pimping young boys. Brenda (Karen Young)—a forty-eight-year-old, divorced, woman—returns to the hotel three years after she got her first orgasm from a fifteen-year-old Legba (Ménothy Cesar). She is obsessed with him not because she loves him, but she loves the way he looks at her. Something that no else, not even her ex-husband, had looked at her the same way. And of course, Legba is the sexy guy that made these old women falling head over hill for him. He got the pimp juice, the six-pack, and the seductive smile.

With Haitian’s gorgeous beach, well-crafted story, and convincing performances, Heading South is emotional, erotic, and political as well—not to mention both the soul- and physical- baring scenes. After all, money can’t buy love. You can only get what you paid for. But then again, money still rules. If you have cash, why need love?

In her latest release, Dieu Cuoi Cung Doi Cho, Thu Phuong takes a light, soothing approach to Viet Anh’s romantic ballads. Unfortunately, the easy-going style doesn’t fit her too well. What lost is the turbulence that makes her the drama crooner of pop. The pain and anguish she poured into in Nhu Mot Loi Chia Tay and Em Ra Di Mua Thu had dried up.

In her previous albums—particularly Trinh Cong Son’s songbook—Thu Phuong was in a roller-coaster state of her life. Now that the trouble and glory are gone, she doesn’t seem to be interested in taking the soul train anymore. In “Hoa Co Vang Noi Ay,” she doesn’t even want to maneuver her way around the Latin-inspired arrangement. She just drags her bottle-breaking voice through the track. Her vocals get heavier and more tiresome on the bluesy “Ngay Khong Ten,” and she hardly pushes her flow to give the song a livelier jazz. She could have made these two tunes far more superior than what she had done if she drops her emotion and fervor into them. In contrast, the medley closer, “Khong Con Mua Thu” and “Mua Phi Truong,” is the worse track in the album. The mid-tempo arrangement is trivial, yet what irritating is the computer-manipulated voice. Don’t digitize your voice just to sound different. If you want to sound different switch up your vocal range and play around with your timbre.

The biggest glitch of the album is the song selection. Viet Anh’s music is unsuitable for Thu Phuong’s voice. His compositions lack the tensions and the agonies that are needed for Thu Phuong to articulate her singing. This is not the right way for Thu Phuong to reinvent her style. She needs to bring back the soul and the drama.

I thought Duy Manh’s music is sacrilege, until I come across a song titled, “Nhung Be Gai Viet Nam Lam Diem,” with the lyrics read, “Thirty dollars each, yum yum no bum bum.” Can’t get any sicker than that.

I am “Feeling Good” right now. Sometimes life ain’t so bad!

Nowadays, many Vietnamese female singers scream out their souls to be heard, the new face Nguyen Thao barely glides into her soprano, and yet the light touch in her slightly raspy vocals brings us closer to human nature. Unlike Ngoc Khue or Vuong Dung, she doesn’t bring a new style to the pop scene, but she invites us back to the beauty of serenity in her debut Suoi va Co. With the support from nature-inspired lyricist Duong Thu and tranquil productions from Anh Quan and Son Thach, the album is fantastic for a peaceful, quiet experience. In the opening track, “Uoc Muon,” her voice floats like breezing air over the ethereal, bossa nova-inflected arrangement. In “Yen Lang,” her unctuous vocalization wraps around the luscious piano licks like water cascading down from a quiet waterfall. She has also done a marvelous job of redelivering “Bay Vao Ngay Xanh” (even though Thanh Lam, Hong Nhung, and My Linh had covered it successfully) with the funk-flavored feel. Not bad at all!