To Be Free: The Nina Simone Story is an extraordinary box set that captures Simone’s artistic personality, versatility and audacity. Through 51 tracks, listeners will get a taste of her boundless musical repertoire ranging from jazz, blues, folk, funk, pop, soul, rock, reggae, Broadway, movie soundtracks, French chanson, standards to protest songs. With her smoky contralto, fearless interpretation and limitless imagination, Simone mastered all the styles effortlessly. Although the collection features a handful of studio hits, the real treats are the live recordings. Simone was not only an amazing live singer, but also an astonishing pianist. This fine set is not to be missed.

Van Son production is dead. The latest release, Que Huong Gap Lai, is a proof that the production has no creativity left. I try my best to find something nice to say, but can’t even come up with one. Not even a single music performance or a skit I could enjoy. Yes, it was that bad.

Van Son’s music is plunging even deeper than the Dow Jone. It’s beyond recession and more like depression when Che Linh and his clones dominated the stage. From Che Linh to Che Phong to Truong Vu, I thought I was watching Vietnamese Groundhog Day. Listening to Linda Chow’s Chinese-Vietnamese shouting (not singing), I was wondering how in the world did she land the contract? She is not that hot looking either. The only reason I could think of is that Van Son is trying to compete with Asia’s Thai Doanh Doanh to see who is the worse of the worse. Even Diem Lien’s rendition of Pham Duy’s “Nha Trang Ngay Ve” was a disaster. She almost turned the reflective tune into a drama opera and the band tried to swing behind her. The music and the voice didn’t even blend.

The comedies, which had been Van Son’s strongest selling point, had turned into desperate clowning for some cheap chuckles. I didn’t know if I should laugh or cringe when two grown-ass men running around the stage with nothing but banana leaves wrapping around their body. Please Viet Thao and Bao Liem, I beg of you to stop making embarrassing shtick. If it’s an obsession, get help.

Mr. Van Son, do us all a favor. Cease and desist exploiting the Vietnamese pop culture whether you have intended or not. It really is a damn shame.

Let’s face it. Kanye West is not a great rapper and can’t sing for shit, but he doesn’t let his limitations get in the way of his ego. On 808s and Heartbreak, Kanye ditched rapping and picked up crooning about the lost of his mother and the crumbled relationship with his longtime fiancé. He used Auto-Tune as a clutch for his voice and the Roland TR-808 drum machine for his beats. His musical direction is inventive, but his singing gets in the way. Although the pitch-perfecting tool created an alien-like voice to complement his dark, futuristic, rock-influenced productions, you just want to beg him stopping singing already. The entire album of Auto-Tuned crooning is just way too much. You definitely feel his pain, but he doesn’t seem to feel yours.

After getting through thirteen live recordings of Pat Metheny Trio, I could see how Metheny had the audacity to savaged Kenny G’s style as: “lame-ass, jive, pseudo bluesy, out-of-tune, noodling, wimped out, fucked up playing.” He has the virtuosity to back up his statement. With Larry Grenadler on acoustic bass and Bill Stewart on drums laying down the strong and spontaneous rhythm section, Metheny demonstrates his intricate picking techniques, improvisational skills and fearlessness in taking chances. “Question and Answer” is a beautiful 19-minute improvisation where Metheny shows off his inventive chromatic lines and elegant phrasings. “Counting Texas” displays his soulful blues picking. My personal favorite is “Faith Healer.” The heavy-metal riffs and the space-out sounding make the rock-jazz fusion so damn hypnotizing.

On their latest collaborative effort, Nhu Giac Chiem Bao, Tuan Hung and Le Quyen share a dream: to belt out on the poppy, syrupy hits. Because of their raspy, authoritative vocals, the two have done rather well on the solo tracks. Le Quyen comes off bittersweet and sultry on Luong Bang Vinh’s “Dang Cay.” Likewise, Tuan Hung sounds sentimental and tormented on Hoang Trong Thuy’s “Doan Khuc Cuoi Cho Em.” As a duo, however, they aren’t quite compatible. On Tuong Van’s “Hanh Phuc,” they both sound bored and dreary. Because their voices share similar qualities, they don’t have enough contrast to complement each other. Yet what bring the album down aren’t their vocals, but the lackluster, mechanical productions.

Even Miles Davis was envied of Herbie Hancock for the phenomenal success of Head Hunters. Davis started the fusion movement, but only a few understood his musical direction at the time. With the mega hits of “Chameleon” and “Watermelon Man,” Hancock proved not what an instrument could do for him, but what he could do with it. Over the funk-out groove, Hancock cooks up some of the most luscious solos on his electronic devices. From the funkified bassline to the jazz solos in double time, “Sly” is a damn fine tribute to Sly Stone. No wonder this breakthrough album had put Hancock on the map of avant-garde fusion.

By the time Round About Midnight released, Miles Davis had disbanded his group and moved on to a new musical direction. Nevertheless, this album is one of his finest works. His Harmon-muted solos on Thelonious Monk’s “’Round Midnight” are just achingly beautiful. Every note he played is streamlined and refined to create a deep emotional impact. Unlike Charlie Parker, Davis stripped down everything on “Au Leu-Cha” and only played the most essential notes. It’s the thoughtfulness in his phrasings that made him stood out.

Miles Davis couldn’t cut a bad record if he wanted to. Even his experimentations were good. Circle in the Round is a compilation of his conceptual ideas from 1955 to 1970. Starting out with up-tempo “Two Bass Hit” from the Kind of Blue session and ending with David Crosby’s space-out “Guinnevere” from the Bitches Brew session, this album showcases Davis’ expansive musical sketches.

On the day Barack Obama won the 2008 presidential election, Seal’s rendition of Sam Cooke’s “A Change is Gonna Come” hit YouTube. The timing was perfect and the cover was promising. Unfortunately the album, Soul, doesn’t live up to the lead-off track. Seal is a fine singer with a fantastic tenor of a voice, but he hardly brings anything fresh to the classic souls. When it comes to soul, the production has to be slow, simple and sensual. Too many embellishments would get in the way of the vocalist. Seal’s soulful voice is drowned in the polished orchestrations and mid-tempo beats. His version of Ben E. King’s “Stand By Me” is instantly forgettable.

Bao Yen’s new release, Chieu Ha Vang, under Asia production is surprisingly good. She has the ability to maneuver her way across pop hits and sentimental ballads. Her phrasings aren’t over-the-top dramatic like most “sen” singers and the raucousness in her voice helps cutting away the syrupy crap.

Over Asia’s streamlined productions, Bao Yen soars like a bird with a wounded wing on Tran Thien Thanh’s “Mot Doi Yeu Anh” and cuts to the pathos of Truc Phuong’s “Thoi Doi” as if she has lived the lyrics. Elsewhere she brings the pain on the Tuan Khanh’s shouting-rock “Tra No Tinh Xa” and gives a sensual rendition of Quoc Dung’s “Coi Mong.”

Although the album is all over the place, Bao Yen has proven that she could take on whatever being thrown at her. From the opening title track, Nguyen Ba Nghiem’s “Chieu Ha Vang,” she seduces us with her “Hue” accent. On the closing “Niem Co Don Cuoi Cung” (Sy Dan and Vu Tuan Duc), she mesmerizes us with her rockability. And finally she makes us love “sen” ballad without having to feel embarrassed about it.