Just happen to stumble upon Thao Music. Even though the site doesn’t give any information about the young Vietnamese girl who has a marvelous voice—raspy and clear at once—it does provide some full-length samples. Love the way she delivers “Hills.” Her singing is both playful and effortless, and she knows how to curl her throaty, bad-girl’s timbre around the waltzing arrangement. Enjoy her clear strumming guitar in “Moped” and “Feet Asleep” as well.
Although the album cover of Thanh Lam-Trong Tan—the most anticipated collaboration of the year—is as impressive as necrophilia, the use of typography tries to hint you something. The white-and-red color and the intertwined type treatment—Red Cross’s style—serve as a warning that you could get a heart attack listening to this album. That’s how powerful the recordings are.
Don’t give me wrong. I love strong voices. Trong Tan has to be one of the most authoritative male vocalists in Viet Nam. In fact, his voice is overpowering. I am talking about the hair-raising, nerve-stinging, in-your-ear kind of power, baby. And Thanh Lam’s voice is no less strident. So what happens when these two amplified crooners consolidate? The outcomes can be experienced on Le Minh Son’s “Hat Cho Con Ngay Mua,” “Xa Xa,” and “Thoi Con Gai.” Just imagine two motorbikes’ mufflers competing for your ears or making out to the sound of a buzzsaw. Trong Tan’s excessive use of vibratos in “A I A” and “Mua” could make bubbles rise in your blood stream. And please Tan, spare me some soul from those opera shit.
Besides the newly written compositions from Le Minh Son, Thanh Lam recovered Thuan Yen’s “Em Toi” and Thanh Tung’s “Giot Nang Ben Them.” Even though Tran Manh Hung’s semi-classical orchestrations breeze new vibes to the aged tunes, Thanh Lam’s breathy deliveries and heavy flows don’t make them sound any better than what she had done before—just another approach of getting things off her silicon chest.
Thanh Lam-Trong Tan is no way a flopped album. Le Minh Son has done his best to weave these two voices together as well as fuse Vietnamese traditional music into western vibes. I just hope that they weren’t overwhelmingly loud. Maybe I am just getting old for rambunctious music, which explains why I still haven’t been able to appreciate the boisterous aesthetics of rock.
“I’m like fuck critics; you can kiss my whole asshole
If you don’t like my lyrics, you can press fast forward.” – Jay-Z
When reading a pathetic piece like Clive Davis’s “Hip-hop: 50 Cent Short of a Dollar,” I understand why Jigga disrespects critics, especially from an old, white, bigoted head who knows shit about the music. I don’t consider myself an expert in hip-hop, but anyone who only uses Black Eyed Peas, 50 Cent, and Kanye West to desecrate hip-hop is a joke. Mr. I-am-too-old-for-hip-hop should listen to lyricists like Rakim, 2pac, Biggie, Nas, Jay-Z, Common, and Ghostface before making such a foolish, generalized statement. Better yet, he should just stick to jazz, blues, and his Motown collections.
Hong Nhung is a minimalist; therefore, she understands that less is more. Her approach to music—the latest Trinh Cong Son’s tribute, Nhu Canh Vac Bay, in particular—is similar to my design’s methodology. We simplify our crafts to communicate the message. We eliminate the unnecessary to allow the necessary speaks. We leave out bells and whistles to focus on the core value: the emotion.
Used to be one of Trinh Cong Son’s protégés, babes, and confidantes, Hong Nhung knows well how his songs to be sung. She also recognizes the strength in his lyrics: simple on the surface, and yet so meaningful in the inner level, especially his skillful wordplays. By stripping down his signature pieces—”Toi Ru Em Ngu,” “Nhu Canh Vac Bay,” “Tuoi Da Buon,” and “Nay Em Co Nho”—to their emotional chord, she expresses life, embraces hope, and caresses love through her honesty and sincerity. Accompanied by either a strumming guitar or comping piano, she takes her time to articulate Trinh’s words, embellish his melodies, and reach deeper into his poetries. The results of her performances are intimate, personal, and approachable. My selfishness is the one-on-one experience. Whenever I listen to a singer, I want to feel that she sings to me only and no one else. That’s the kind of directness I demand, and that’s what she has delivered.
On the more playful numbers—the blues-inspired “Mot Coi Di Ve,” the Latin-inflected “Nhin Nhung Mua Thu Di,” and the bossa nova-grooved “Roi Nhu Da Ngay Ngo”—I wish Hong Nhung has loosen up a bit, even though I adore all of these three pieces. She has done a fabulous job of jazzing up Trinh’s standards with her accomplished, effortless flow; however, there is still room for improvisation. I am awared that she wants to present these songs according to her honey’s intention, but I am sure she could bend his notes, invent rhythmic structures, and play with her vocal timbre to create jazz’s characteristics. As I was enjoying her invigorating rendition of “Roi Nhu Da Ngay Ngo,” I was like, “Come on, throw in some syncopations for me, baby! Forget dear Son for a minute and scat for Donny. Create some new melodic lines.” She could have given these songs a new dimension if she could break free from his original material. An axiom of jazz is that “the more notes are read, the less the jazz.”
My disapointment with Nhu Canh Vac Bay is her aspirate voice. Her breath control on Thuo Bong La Nguoi was flawless, but labored heavily on almost all of the tracks in this new release. Other than that, Hong Nhung’s streamlined approach to Trinh’s music is still refreshing and soothing. Once again, she mastered Trinh’s craftsmenship with her vocal agility and elastic range that empower her to hit a note from different angles.
Oh, what kind of dumb shit is this? A bunch of Asian chicks spitting white-trashed lines with screwfaces, real cute!
What a great sucking commercial.
Do me a favor folks. Listen to the lyrics in this kick-ass video then transcribe them for me. Go! Go! Go!
Hoang Viet Khanh’s “Bien Dong” (Raging Sea) peformed by Bich Van. What a gorgeous voice she has. Dig the mid-tempo arrangement by Hoang Cong Luan too.
“Ho Nhu,” music by Nguyen Minh Chau, lyrics by Quynh Huong, performed by Quynh Lan. Beautiful voice melts inside the intoxicating piano and violin works.
Pham Duy’s “Tam Su Gui Ve Dau” and Vu Thanh An’s “Tinh Khuc Thu Nhat” showcase Nguyen Khang’s live performance: raw, rough, and rugged. Dusty style, baby!
“Nguoi Yeu Dau” Ngoc Lan. Live video.
Duc Tuan’s Doi Mat Nguoi Son Tay is a perfect example of how to cover classic tunes: respecting the original composition, refining the vocal presentation, and reviving the musical production. With that in mind, Duc Tuan brings back Pham Dinh Chuong’s works to both the old and new generations. The two epic pieces, “Tieng Dan Chai” and “Hoi Trung Duong,” alone are worth the value of the album. His versatility allows him to move easily between slow- to up-tempo traditional folktales. The opening “Nua Hon Thuong Dau” kicks off with a scoring of the “Phantom of the Opera” to boast up the liveliness, and then Duc Tuan’s iced-out vocals and gleaming orchestration repolished the old song. Thanh Thuy’s pre-1975 version of “Xom Dem” is an ageless tune I am still holding on to, but Duc Tuan’s version, which accompanied by a simple, crisp rumba rhythm, is intriguing enough to keep side by side. Despite its overwhelming popularity, I have yet to find a stimulating version of “Mong Duoi Hoa,” and Duc Tuan’s rendition is no exception.
With a hoarse, scratchy, guttural contralto and an astounding rhythmic sense, Cassandra Wilson is a fine jazz singer who could maneuver her vocals naturally between word and wordless performances. Accompanied by Mulgrew Miller on piano, Lonnie Plaxico on bass, and Terri Lyne Carrington on drums, Wilson reinvigorates standards—including “Shall We Dance,” “Gee Baby Ain’t I Good to You,” and “My One and Only Love—in her Blue Skies, an album I have been jamming to again and again for her exotic scat-singings. I just can’t get enough of those sultry, horn-like, wordless improvisations.
Duy Manh is incorrigible. His vol. 3, Kiep Ban Do, is another distasteful, disdainful piece of crap. He needs to leave the saxophone alone because he’s using it wrong. He desecrates the instrument and rapes the culture. Manh, if this is a sickness, get some help pulling your shit together.
I have heard quite a few negative comments about song-writer/song-lifter Quoc Bao. To be honest, I only know his music (not that impressive) and not his personality. Not that I am interested in getting to know him, but when I came across his interview, I am more than shock to read his view on women. The sucker said that he’s afraid of women who have confidence in their talent. If women only talk about their “talent,” they will miss many things they wouldn’t know. He suggests that women should only be confidence in their beauty instead of talent. What a sexist bastard!
Every Vietnamese magazine I flip through these days, there’s coverage of Ngoc Lien. Yes, she’s the one that makes The Son looks like her dad in their duet on Paris By Night. No disrespect to The Son because I would look like a grandpa next to her even though I am much younger than The Son. That’s how good and fresh she looks. In a broadcast she did with Truong Ky, she told him that she is influenced by Khanh Ha, Tuan Ngoc, and Ngoc Lan, but she won’t perform music of Trinh Cong Son, Ngo Thuy Mien, and Tu Cong Phung because their music only attracts a small chunk of listeners. So she decided to go for more popular music for the mass audience. You want to slap her, but you sympathize her. Her voice isn’t strong enough to carry out those tunes, and she knows damn well that she can’t express these songs to their fullest potential. Basically, what she saying is that she has a good taste, but her listeners are idiot so she has to dumb down her music for them. Well, good luck. When people get tired of looking at your face, they won’t listen to your voice either.
Who Do You Love is a compilation of Jean Thompson’s marvelous short stories that appeared on major publications including The New Yorker, Mid-American Review, and Ontario Review. The book featured fifteen skillfully-crafted fictions ranging from shocking to reminiscing to disturbing to shattering to enlightening experiences. Thompson’s ingenious pen created engaging characters, amusing moments as well as heart-touching narrations. Each of her pieces—“The Widower” in particular—strikes like lightening: sharp, powerful, and unpredictable. A second reading is required for further appreciation of the splendid details.