Reading Miles Davis’s Autobiography I could imagine what he would sound like in real life. My man used obscenity in every other word. But that’s the Prince of Darkness, and he spoke his mind whether the subject is music, women, drugs or racism. He held nothing back. One of the skills that made Miles a jazz legend was his leadership. He not only was able to get the sounds he wanted from his musicians, but he also was capable of bringing out their chemistries working together as a unit despite their distinctive styles. He had issues with the police and white men when it came to politic, but was fair and square when it came to music. Davis wouldn’t pick out a black player over a white one just because of the skin color. He would go for the cats that could play jazz. While I respect him as an artist who constantly pushed his art to another level, and who listened and learned from the older (Bird, Diz, Monk and Bud) as well as the younger (Tony, Wayne and Herbie) musicians, I detested him as a misogynist who mistreated and even slapped women. Before reading this book, I picture Miles Davis as a cool brother. After reading it, I still find him to be a cool musician, but not quite a cool gentleman.

Milestones is another savory classic from Miles Davis’s sextet. The jump-off, Jackie McLean’s “Dr. Jekyll,” showcases not only Davis’s flying speed on trumpet (Diz’s style), but also the delicious dual saxophones from John Coltrane and Cannonball Adderley. The tilte track, which comes from Davis’s pen, is a masterpiece. In contrast to the swift solos from his saxophonists, Davis’s plays fewer notes, but his blowing is so damn cool in the modal style. The album closes out with an invigorating rendition of Monk’s “Straight, No Chaser,” in which William “Red” Garland on piano, Paul Chambers on bass and “Philly” Joe Jones on drums have done a fantastic job of keeping the rhythm section swinging for Trane to lay down his sheets-of-sound signature. Tony Williams, one of Davis’s favorite drummers who loved to play the title track, once told his chief that Milestones was “the definitive jazz album of all time” because “the spirit in it of everyone who plays jazz.” Miles was astonished and replied, “No shit!?”

Last week, I presented a collection of Thanh Thuy. Today, iLoveNgocLan.com’s music box plays tet-related tunes Ngoc Lan had covered. Listening to their versions of “Canh Thiep Dau Xuan,” I like both of their unique approaches. While Ngoc Lan gives it a light feel with her angelic vocals, Thanh Thuy thickens it with her dark-voiced qualities. They have warmed up my heart and soul in this cold, bitter winter and given me that wonderful vibe for the New Year celebration.

On an unrelated note, I come across a well-written essay, “Crystal Sunshine,” in which the author, Thomas D. Le, discusses Trinh Cong Son’s “Nang Thuy Tinh” in great details. He writes,”Going over the lyrics again and again, I slowly realize that this song comes closest to being a painting, an expressionist painting. I have to come to grips with it on its own terms if I am to gain any kind of appreciation.” He has some interesting point of views, and he has done a superb job in translating the lyrics into English. I would say French too, but I don’t know the language, so I don’t pretend that I do. After reading his piece, I went back listening to Ngoc Lan’s rendition of “Nang Thuy Tinh,” and all I can say is that who could articulate the beauty of sunlight better than the sweetheart with a crystal voice and sparkling eyes herself? The way she phrased the lyrics made it seemed as if she knew Trinh was painting her portrait:”…your eyes round with ectasy / Scintillating in the sun’s crystal golden shrouds.” The experience is breathtaking, especially with the support of Thanh Lam’s exquisite, colorful sax sound.

Back to Vietnamese New Year, I wish everyone a less-stressed year ahead. If you weren’t stressed this year, you are one lucky soul.

A.Z., the Visualiza, once rhymes, “Life’s a bitch and then you die; that’s why we get high / Cause you never know when you’re gonna go.” That’s a street hustler’s tale, but everyone, including a regular guy like me, has a story to tell. In fact, I have many stories, but who would care what I have to say about my ordinary, if not boring, life? Phu Quang, on the other hand, has thirteen simple—but unforgettable—stories in his songbook, Chuyen Binh Thuong, I am sure many people would love to hear. Each piece expresses his feelings, reflects his reminiscences or shares his life experiences in a gorgeous lyrical and musical style.

Who could tell a simple story better then a minimalist herself? Hong Nhung is incomparable on “Khuc Mua.” The way she maneuvers her vocals in and out of the blues-inflected chord and around the bossa-nova rhythm section simply takes my breath away. “Tinh Khuc 24” is also a remarkable performance in which her phrasing is irresistible—especially her effortlessness in carrying those long notes. In addition to Hong Nhung, My Hanh and Ngoc Anh are also featured female vocalists who help Phu Quang convey his story to the audience. Although both singers have a raspy voice (Ngoc Anh’s timbre is thicker), each has a distinctive sound and unique style. My Hanh’s powerful delivery is perfect for the rock-inflected “Dau Phai Boi Mua Thu.” She gives both “Thuong Lam Toc Dai Oi” and “Sinh Nhat Den” a heartfelt, expressive delivery. Though the performances could have been even superior if her breath wasn’t audible. Likewise, Ngoc Anh’s rendition of “Mua Thu Giau Em” could have been finer if she could keep her respiration to a minimum level. Speaking of breath-control technique, Quang Ly is the master. Even when he phrases the high notes on “Da Khuc,” his falsetto is flawless. Furthermore, his sensational vocals, gentle tones, and passionate deliveries go together with Phu Quang’s compositions like bread and butter.

Besides the singers, the producers deserve the credits for their behind-the-scene contribution as well. Viet Anh and Duc Tri have done an ingenious job of arranging simple but vibrant sounds for the vocalists to lay down the lyrical contents. And mad props go to Tang Thanh Nam for his rich, crisp sound on the violin—particularly on “Bang Quo,” in which Phuc Quang tells his story himself. 13 Chuyen Binh Thuong proves that life doesn’t have to be a bitch, if we appreciate its simplicity and live it to the fullest, which doesn’t have to involve getting high either.

French sure is a romantic language. Although I don’t understand what she sings, the soft, sweet and sensuous vocals of the young Vietnamese-Belgian Quynh Anh captivated me on “Bonjour Viet Nam,” a French ballad written by Marc Lavoine.

I love the drums as much as I love women. Drums are heartbeat of music, and women are, well, heartbeat of men. So what will happen when naked, sexy women play the drums? Find out for yourself. The rhythms are hot; the women are blazing. Nude Taiko is definitely an exquisite form of art from sound to visual.

I never liked Anh Khoa when he appeared on Paris By Night‘s videos back in early 90s. He wasn’t bad looking, but the man always seemed as if he was about to cry during his performances. At the time, I had enough problems in my real life, especially in school where I was the only Vietnamese kid who spoke a word or two of English; therefore, I couldn’t stand watching him weeping on stage. I needed up-tempo and dance-pop tunes to get my mind off the damn school drama. That was the reason I liked young cats like Don Ho, Kenny Thai, and Thai Tai. In fact, I used to envy Thai Tai when he performed that Elvis Presley’s “It’s Now or Never” with Dalena, a Caucasian girl who could sing Vietnamese flawlessly. Thai Tai was a flyboy, and he was jamming and holding hands with this fine white girl. The dude wasn’t my idol, but I wouldn’t mind being in his position at that moment.

Back to Anh Khoa. Although his stage presence never grabbed my attention, I have always liked the mellow, gentle, and affectionate qualities in his voice. After many years on hiatus in Hungary with his family, he recently recorded Khuc Thuy Du, an album with nothing but romantic ballads including Trinh Cong Son’s “Tuoi Da Buon,” Ngo Thuy Mien’s “Ban Tinh Cuoi,” and Nguyen Tam’s “Rong Rieu.” What makes the album listenable is Anh Khoa’s relaxed approach to the standards. He hardly pushes his delivery, yet somehow his soul finds its way into the songs. Almost anyone—from Khanh Ly, Tuan Ngoc, Thanh Lam, Nguyen Khang, Thu Phuong, Quang Dung to Dam Vinh Hung—who had sung Trinh Cong Son’s “Mot Coi Di Ve” had poured every piece of aching heart and soul into it, except for Anh Khoa. He takes it the opposite direction—like Miles Davis responded to bebop—by sounding calm and cool, and he pulled it off beautifully. Unfortunately, the banal production from Bao Chan brings his performance down a notch. The album would have been much tighter if Duy Cuong was behind the board. Anh Khoa needs to get a hold of Duy Cuong in his next release. While his unruffled-the-feather style worked brilliantly on “Mot Coi Di Ve,” it didn’t quite fit “Ban Tinh Cuoi” because he didn’t switch to high register and hold his voice at the bridge, which is the highlight of the entire song.

The worse part is when Anh Khoa performs in English. His rendition of Viktor Lazlo’s “Stories” kicks off with a woman who has a weird accent reciting the poem. No, not reciting but just simply reading off the paper because she puts no emotion into it. Then followed by Anh Khoa’s thick-accented, pathetic singing. Why did he even bother recording that track? Beat me. What is he trying to prove? Beat the hell out of me.

Listening to Thanh Thuy’s rendition of “Pho Dem” on a snowy day is deep-aching.

Word is bond. Street’s disciple meets business’s hustler. Nas is now hooking up with Jay-Z for his next four joints.

Big up to Diem Thuyen Tran, Miss Vietnamese Ao Dai Arizona 2006. You deserve it!

Jazzy got her groove on “Chains of Love” with the GBJ band.

Ngoc Lan‘s and Khanh Ly‘s MP3 collections. Get your hi-speed on!

Tu Cong Phung, Tuan Ngoc, and Duy Cuong in one album, what more could we ask for? Giot Le Cho Ngan Sau, a Tu Cong Phung’s songbook, is a timeless material that leaves no filler’s spot. Recorded in 1994, the music is as fresh and crisp as it was upon first release—thanks to Duy Cuong’s master of orchestrations. I have heard countless version of “Mat Le Cho Nguoi,” but Duy Cuong’s classical-inspired arrangement combined with Tuan Ngoc’s meticulous delivery sets it apart from the rest. The way he caresses, holds, and discharges the long lines on the title track, Tuan Ngoc’s flawless falsetto proves that he has both technique and soul, and he expresses Tu Cong Phung’s work to its fullest. This album is, without a doubt, a quintessential Vietnamese music.

Tam Su Goi Ve Dau is another classic material from Tuan Ngoc recorded in late 1990. The album featured Tuan Ngoc’s signature performances including Tu Cong Phung’s “Tren Ngon Tinh Sau,” Truong Sa’s “Roi Mai Toi Dua Em,” and Ngo Thuy Mien’s “Ao Lua Ha Dong,” which have been recovered by numerous today’s singers, but none has come closed to the musician’s musician. Again, Duy Cuong plays an important role in the production, noticeably his exhilarating piano’s ostinato on Trinh Cong Son’s “Chieu Mot Minh Qua Pho.” It is one of the most elegance arrangements I have heard for this popular piece, and Tuan Ngoc’s voice is as calm and cool as it gets. The record also gives listeners a glimpse of Duy Cuong’s scoring skills. Check out the intro and outro!

Translating Vietnamese into English is hard; translating Vietnamese folk poems into English is much harder, or nearly impossible. I applaud John Balaban for taking on the challenge, but some of his interpretations in Ca Dao Viet Nam don’t do it for me. The folkloric tradition, witty wordplays, and lyrical esthetics are lost in transformation.

He translates, “Gio dua trang” as “The wind plays with the moon.” Why plays, and not swings? When he switches the order of “Lon len co hoc, em oi” to “Study hard, little one, grow up,” he has changed the meaning of the sentence, and it sounds quite awkward. As if we’re telling the little one to hungry and grow up so that we don’t have to take care of him anymore, instead of telling him to study hard when he grows up.

“Perhaps I must leave you” is too disruptive and harsh compares to “Co hoi nay anh danh doan bo em.” And “Bad beer soon sends you home” is nowhere near the lyrical harmony of “Ruou lat uong lam cung say.” Why bad beer for ruou lat, and not plain wine? Yet, what baffles me the most is: “Uong an kham kho biet phan nan cung ai? / Phan nan cung truc, cung mai” (“The body is pain. I can’t complain. / My food is bamboo shoots and plums”). Where do the bamboo shoots and plums come from? Besides, those two aren’t classified as kham kho (poverty-stricken) food either.

I am in no way of trying to castigate Mr. Balaban for what he did. In fact, for a foreigner to come up to the people during the war and ask them to sing their favorite folk tunes takes tremendous courage, and he did it. I have respect for him; therefore, I am just simply pointing out the things that don’t work for me. So it is nothing personal.