Music

I’m a sucker for new music. So when I saw the debut album Mickey of newcomer Tu Minh Hy, I just had to give it a spin. As it turns out, this curvaceous eye candy can rock like no other on the fast tracks. It is the slow tracks, however, that exploit her vocal weakness.

Playing puppet for washed-up doll Thanh Thao, whose record label Music Box Entertainment sponsors and boasts exclusive rights to the young artist, TMH proves that she can fill the shoes of her mentor and then some. On the title track, she asserts herself as a prolific wordsmith by translating the 1982 US hit by Toni Basil. Her lyrics flow easily and freely. Accompanied by a line of percussions, she seems perfect for the song, as her soprano vocal rides the beat and flirt with the scampering keyboard effortlessly. The techno-inflected “Loi Lam” is another instance of a fine marriage of vocal and chords. The tonal mangling of Antares’ Auto-Tune technology (known as the “Cher effect”) alters TMH’s voice at the precise chords to deliver a raw nightclub experience. Bossy Thanh Thao joins TMH in “Dung Hua Voi Em,” a complete rip off of Minh Tuyet’s rendition in Paris by Night 89. Next to the little tyke, Thanh Thao’s voice carries much more substance, even with the annoying, ineloquent Vietnamese rapping along side.

The album also profiles two of TMH’s own compositions. In “A, Em Mo” she reminisces after dreaming of a distant lover. The electric and acoustic guitar picks are intoxicating, and by the end of the song, you wish that you were that lucky guy. Her second composition “Con Co Em Trong Doi,” however, is an abrasively bad piece. The song tells of a homeless orphan scavenging the streets, accompanying by, get this, the drum beat of Queen’s “We Will Rock You.” Which genius thought of that combo?

Interfering the rock fest are 3 slow ballads, which were totally mutilated by TMH’s bland vocal and lack of resonance. As much soul as Thanh Thao and Lam Chi Khanh have brought to “Dem Tu Ly,” TMH sucks all the life out of that song along with her listeners. Rather than replaying it the second time, you’ll feel less pain trying to remove your earwax with needles.

With flowing song-writing ability, wicked handwork on the acoustic, and a sultry body, TMH resembles the young My Tam. However, unlike My Tam who can also cover soulful titles like “Duong Nhu Ta Da” and “Uoc Gi,” TMH can only entertain her audience with rock tunes. She needs to show versatility and master the soft ballads if she’s going to achieve the same level of super stardom.

The rasp in his voice on this song is quite entrancing, and his syncopation elicits a total nostalgia for a lost love. Can’t stop listening! Enjoy and good night!

Em sang ngang rồi
Chôn kỷ niệm vào thương nhớ
Hôn lên tóc mềm
Lệ sầu thắm ướt đôi mi
Xin em một lời
Cho ước nguyện tình yêu cuối
Thương yêu không tròn
Thôi giã từ đi em ơi

Fresh from his marriage to beauty queen Jennifer Pham, Quang Dung cuts his sixth solo installment Xuan, another one-word title, for the forthcoming Tet season. From the track listing, the album promises to be a masterpiece. Listening to the tracks, however, suggests otherwise.

Given an incredible lineup of chirpy favorites ranging from the cutesy “Diep Khuc Mua Xuan” to the vibrant “Xuan Va Tuoi Tre,” Quang Dung fails to convey the aesthetics of these songs. His bravura and virtuosity is irrefutable, but here, he lacks the hypnotism and emotive energy to bring these tunes to life. A prime example is “Xuan Da Ve,” where he attempts to deploy his languendo vocal over the agitado accompaniment. And his rendition of “Don Xuan” sounds more like a Dieu Huong composition than a Tet classic. Still, the strangest track is “Xuan Hop Mat,” where he tries to embellish something that isn’t there. It’s not clear whether he’s harmonizing or leading when he lips “Xuân ĐÃ về / Xuân vẫn mơ màng” as “Xuân ĐÁ về / Xuân vẫn mơ màng.” The only passable track is Nguyen Duc Trung’s “Hay Mang Den Nhung Mua Xuan.”

Perhaps Quang Dung is feeling the destructive consequences of marrying a prissy hottie. Despite a terrific song selection, Xuan contains clumsy arrangements and annoying backup chorale while lacking vibrance. If this is the caliber of his future releases, I can think of only one fitting title for his next album, “Im” (shut up).

What sets Bang Kieu apart from all other Thuy Nga performers is that he can actually sing. His tenor vocal registers an amazingly high tessitura, often several octaves above on the diatonic scale. However, over utilizing such talent can lead to an irritating experience for listeners, as evident in his latest album Linh Hồn Đã Mất.

From the first title to the last, Bang Kieu howls through each note with deafening atonality. Instead of creating emotions, he induces an ear-splitting tinnitus and one heck of a migraine so that after the third track, you’re compelled to bitch-slap the sissy and tell him to STFU.

As if one whinny bitch isn’t enough, the album features 3 others (Minh Tuyet, Van Quynh, and Nguyen Hong Nhung) to accent the screaming orgy. With lyrics like “Màn đêm đã buông dần \ Đèn hiu hắt cô quạnh \ Nhớ em anh muốn hét lên trong đêm dài,” Bang Kieu tries too hard to show off his skill. Yes, we recognize your wicked falsetto, but spare us the headache and don’t jam it in our ears at every chance you get.

With December off, I finally acquire the leisure and quietude to catch up on some tunes and screen a few new releases for the holidays.

After drowsing through Cam Ly’s sapless shot at “nhac sen” in Khi Đã Yêu like a narcoleptic on Benadryl (seriously woman, stick to Minh Vy’s ballads and leave the classics to a more sonorous singer like Huong Lan), subjecting to the eardrum-wringing torment of Phuong Thanh’s Chanh Bolero, yet another suicidal shot at “nhac sen”, and surviving Dan Truong’s 24 pimping tracks with 12 female collaborators in Thập Nhị Mỹ Nhân, I finally discovered a diamond in the rough in Phuong Thanh’s 7th album Sang Mùa.

The album opens with the temperamental strokes of the piano, by which Phuong Thanh’s voice melodiously floats with solitude in Duc Tri’s “Sẽ Không Trở Lại.” With lyrics like “Ngày tháng lúc trước sẽ không trở lại / Lời hứa lúc trước sẽ không trở lại / Chỉ còn trong em từng ngày bơ vơ / Em muốn khóc muốn quên quên đi một người,” she lures her listeners into her melancholy world of wretched memories. She traverses further down the memory lanes through her soulful cover of “Mưa Buồn Dĩ Vãng,” “Tình Tuyệt Vọng,” “Vay Trả Nợ Tình,” and “Sang Mùa.”

Perhaps my favorite track is Le Quang’s “Trả Lại Anh Tình Đầu,” where she skillfully rides the crescendo to cry out her forlorn dejection: “Mình yêu nhau giờ là dĩ vãng / Giọt nước mắt nhạt nhòa tiếc nuối / Còn đêm cuối chờ bình minh tới mất nhau trọn đời.” The naked picks of the guitar alone impart an awesome loneliness, a silenced vulnerability so strong that pierces through even the coldest of hearts.

Sang Mùa combines a solacing voice with enticing lyrics that add to a tasteful blend of sounds and soul, altogether proving that Chanh still got the juice!