Not her best, but never dull. [Jun 2024, p.103]

Throughout the curation of his archives, all but two of these recordings – that slower Sedan Delivery and the regretful Too Far Gone – have already been released elsewhere, across original albums and newly restored collections, making this official Chrome Dreams an exercise in fan service that would have been a worthy Record Store Day title – or, we hope, an indication that the Archives Vol III box set is approaching.

An official release of lost song Sunshine Woman will please completists, but it’s difficult to escape the niggling doubt that this is little more than a cash-in opportunity, with lost versions tacked on the end of what was a perfectly good record first time around.

Led by Paul Janeway's dramatic vocals, the Birmingham band's material is more hook-laden, partly due to their collaboration with Eg White. [Nov 2025, p.105]

It's clear that the lines so easily drawn between this and the Fleetwood Mac epics to come give this not only a familiarity but a slightly spurious contemporary feel. [Nov 2025, p.90]

My Woman is an odd, somewhat mismatched collection of good and then great songs that could have been more ghostly.

The 10CD version is a patchy collection of familiar highlights and sometimes enjoyable outtakes.

This reissue’s seven bonus tracks will excite completists and include Waco, initially slated for inclusion on the album’s 2002 release before being given away online. But, in truth, the original album’s heartfelt, immediate and tape-hissing guitars and cutely executed melodies excite the most.

By its very nature, RTVD is eclectic, and there is an obvious element of hit or miss to contend with. The sequencing isn’t fantastic, and the compilation does lose focus at times. It does however do what it sets out to do; it explores, and gives a good sense of the ways in which African-American music of the late 60s and 70s splintered off in different directions and absorbed outside influences.

Ultimately, you don’t quite get the sky-scraping, genre-blending bangers mustered in the past, nor the negative synergy and diminishing returns of many collaboration-heavy, late-career albums.

While the music is frequently revelatory, capturing the post-Cale line-up chilled and stretching out, as on the 40-minute Sister Ray with Lou’s guitar on overdrive, most tracks have appeared before; on 1974’s 1969 Live, 2001’s The Quine Tapes and the third album reissue.

More abstruse and cerebral.

It’s true, Love & Hate will win no prizes for innovation. But this s more than just gussied up heritage soul to peddle to nostalgic baby-boomers.

In between more scattered wibblings, (sometimes overly) damaged yet lush textures abound on this long but often rather good and shoegazing-influenced record, the vocalist’s true worth finally being illustrated on the naked Purpose (Is No Country).

Fans will have all these recordings already, but it’s nonetheless fascinating to chart the band’s shift in sound over this time period.

Focusing at times on loss and life's cruelty, the tone is often sombre though always dignified. [Aug 2025, p.103]

This material represents the label’s least easily translatable zone, startling to--and still held dear by--an 80s audience only just adjusting to drum machine funk, but now dated in a way that Adrian Sherwood’s more earthy reggae recordings and totemic pieces with name acts are not. That is not to say that it is unworthy of investigation, though.

There’s a taut, garage-like sensibility to the arrangements, a discipline lacking from the originals, in a satisfying, worthwhile salvage expedition. [Jan 2026, p.101]

The album would have benefitted from a slightly wider variation in pace, with an additional up-tempo song or two. [Jun 2024, p.103]

It becomes quickly apparent that Weirdo is a more personal record - gut-punchingly so, at times - but for all the pain that inspired it, it feels like a celebration too. [Jun 2025, p.105]

If there’s a sense that some of Kouyate’s charm has been lost through his newfound worldliness, the experiments bear exquisite fruit on Ayé Sira Bla.

While certainly not all things to all comers, this deluxe edition makes a good fist of it.

A third of the way in, there’s a sequence of up-tempo dreampunk numbers harbouring brattier attitudes and melodies of a more generically slapdash nature, at which point this reviewer’s notebook became overly burdened with ditto marks. The quality picks up later with a couple of shimmering near-ballads. As far as power duos go, that’s not a bad ratio and it certainly beats those impotent hacks known as The Black Stripes or The White Keys or whatever they were called.

At their best when the music fires along to match Chubb's lyrical catharsis, Sprints occasionally falter when the pace drops: even Chubb sounds anonymous among Literary Mind's more considered atmospherics, while Shadow Of A Doubt promises to build to a crescendo that never quite arrives. [Jan 2024, p.101]

It’s disjointed--clumsy, even--with only glimmers of consistency, but the hardcore will appreciate that this is the way the band works: nothing comes easy and rewards are hard-won. Those listening out for singalongs, heartbreak and any solidity are better directed to the best of.

While MVOTC doesn’t represent a seismic leap from their earlier material, the general feeling is of a much more considered collection, with greater emphasis on song craft.

Iris Silver Mist gently wafts through the metal space of a listener. [Jun 2025, p.103]

While the lyrics are typically sharp, reflecting righteously on "Systemic Extortion", the parlous state of truth and more, the music unspools along almost cosily familiar tracks. [Jun 2025, p.105]

Segall is all over the place across these 19 tracks which are too much to absorb in one sitting, if ever. Most of his carefree pastiches, bonhomie homages and sloppy costume-party shenanigans merely induce a craving for the long-awaited studio comeback of the mighty Ween.

Clean, sophisticated and with nary a bushy beard in sight, it turns raditional ballads into something that could be chart-friendly today, sitting them alongside a couple of self-penned numbers.

A take on the Star-Spangled Banner provides a waymarker here, but its playful cadence offers little warning of the unholy commotion to come.

It's a sleek, hypnotically danceable collection of nicely-crafted tunes; a pan-Afro-pean pop record undercut with electronic ingenuity. [Apr 2024, p.102]

A few more typically sparse arrangement - as on What's Left To Lose, a standout that fades too early - might have leavened things. But long-time fans will not be disappointed. [Jun 2024, p.103]

While the subject matter is never less than serious, Carving The Stone can be commended for its boldness in addressing it without losing sensitivity, conveyed through Balfe's skillful lyricism. [Sep 2025, p.103]

A fun, compelling caricature of 80s heavy rock which will be enjoyed by those whose favourite version of Iron Maiden is when they really go overboard. [Dec 2025, p.101]

This fine album is further evidence of the innovative artistry of contemporary folk-related performers. [May 2026, p.101]

Returning to their core of stupid fun. [Jun 2025, p.105]

Ultimately, Woods deserves the hype, though more consistency would deliver fully on her talent.

There's promise here, but further Theroising might require firmer definition in practice. [Feb 2025, p.105]

Produced by Daniel Lanois and newly mixed by Glyn Johns, there’s a more soulful side to Griffin on the shuffling lament Sooner Or Later, while One More Girl veers towards the folky introspection of early Joni Mitchell.

Shauf’s musical ability is impressive, tackling all but the strings, but his vocal tone, much like a bore at a party, is unwavering, Elliott Smith-esque and never with the variety you’d expect meeting 10 new individuals.

It’s all very pretty and pleasant, but whereas Smith Westerns burned with the emotions of their songs, Whitney seem rather more detached from theirs. Which, as easy-going as these 10 songs are, renders them more as temporary, unconvincing background music. It’s nice for a while, but their effects soon give way to the winds of truth and reality.

This reissue fails to add much to entice fans other than packaging.... Anybody hoping for a dramatic discovery of a high-quality version of this long-bootlegged show [ Live At Second Fret, Philadelphia, 1970] will be disappointed; it’s hard to discern any real improvement from the frustratingly bad quality of the circulated boot.

After the lengthy wait, at over 20 tracks and about an hour long, Wildflower doesn’t skimp on quantity even if it does resemble a pent-up outpouring of everything The Avalanches have completed (or at least legally cleared), rather than a meticulously curated collection.

There are strong post-rock and metal overtones throughout the record, but it doesn’t pigeonhole itself; the influence of minimalist music can be detected in Stetson’s playing, and the album is not short of rhythmic swagger.

While some songs are slow-builds - though alt-ballad I get Lost is delicately untouched - the likes of God Of Everything Else and You Will Come Home take on an overwhelming intensity at a stroke. [Dec 2024, p.108]

Odyssey finds the ambitious Garcia pushing herself harder, taking on the role of orchestrator as well as composer, resulting in a magnificent large canvas project where her molten saxophone melodies are framed by the lush but never syrupy strings of the Chineke! Orchestra. [Oct 2024, p.101]

Vocally, Williams experiments more than ever before, almost to the point of jazzy improvisation; she drawls, mutters and often leaves phrases hanging in the air, at times reminiscent of Mary Margaret O’Hara. It’s a welcome development and helps to make the album feel like her most accomplished in many years.

Futurology is a much more polished and decidedly odd record featuring some of the band’s most enjoyably gonzo work since debut Generation Terrorists, as well as their most forwardthinking music to date.

This album bristles with anger, desperation and disbelief. Hopeful resilience is occasionally brought to the fore as well, and guest backing vocalists from acts including The Magnetic Fields are on hand to help Superchunk feel less adrift and alone.

The album's experimental second half verges perilously on sketchy, but serene motorik closer Space Station Mantra offers a finely modulated sow of its maker's tastes and instincts. [Mar 2025, p.103]

[The] third album's title is a funfair metaphor for life - sometimes scary, sometimes cathartic. The record stands firm in between. [Jul 2025, p.103]

Like its precursor, this sophomore release is deeply rooted in the musical traditions of the late 60s, but while it would be hard to accuse him of pushing too many boundaries, the influences are both tastefully chosen and utilised with consummate skill.

Hutchings fashions a series of pastoral soundscapes dominated by breathy flutes. It's not all a case of sonic stasis and folky bucolic minimalism, though, as Body To Inhabit proves, lit up by rapper Elucid's verbal fireworks. [May 2024, p.105]

The songwriting and its deadpan delivery are still engaging but the overall feel is so understated as to be frustratingly bashful. [Feb 2025, p.103]

Essentially cinematic in scope and deliciously varied, the main man is somewhat reminiscent of Robert Hunter in that he digs up nuggets from a wealth of sources.

The music boasts a crunchy (but pleasantly sweet) production sheen that owes a debt to classic British power pop. [Oct 2024, p.103]

It's an often dense listen, but with enough light and shade to ease the passage of its makers social conscience lyrics. [Apr 2024, p.103]

QOTSA can still devastate and his lyrics still tread that delicious line between romance and nihilism, but ...Like Clockwork either runs too slickly, or the mechanism feels forced.

The songs, all from Nelson’s pen, are what really sells this terrific record, knocked into shit-kicking shape by a drum-tight band who effortless play with delicacy or venom, and all points in-between.

Ty Segall itself reveals--even more so than Emotional Mugger and Manipulator before it--a willingness to park the DIY or garage rock tag, however momentarily.

Shackles Gift reveals a tougher, more concise group than before; though, on the likes of opener Rigid Man and I Want You To Know, they appear to have morphed into--to these ears at least--a less interesting proposition: a relatively straightforward rock band.

There’s a nervous energy throughout, as if his whole wide world might collapse at any second. Yet, at the heart of the sonic mayhem is his ever-dependable literacy, a knack for a tidy little phrase that rings with truth above the fuzz and feedback of his guitar.

It contains some stupendous playing from both men, whose repertoire covers old bop numbers and several original tunes.

The results are simple, subtle arrangements that highlight their song craft.

While there’s a compelling dark energy to the stark, fuzz-riffed uptempo tracks (the bass-driven God Song oddly recalling U2 when they strip things down), the telepathic power of the ensemble is best realised on spectral slowies such as I’m In Love Tonight, featuring deeply resonant viola from Bad Seed Warren Ellis, and epic Never Feel This Young.

Subtly and unobtrusively produced by Fugazi’s Guy Picciotto (as Goats was), Black Peak then finds the envelope pushed further still. If the concept sounds impenetrable at first--off- putting even--keep at it.

The Beaches get their points across by grafting moody alt-rock textures - looking at you, The Smiths-esque Dirty Laundry and Cure-reminiscent Sorry For Your Loss - with explosive chorus hooks. [Oct 2025, p.130]

The robotic, new wave sheen of Quiet Americans fares slightly better, but on the whole, this record falls somewhat short of Shearwater’s usually excellent capabilities.

Along with the melodic, melancholic vocal mumblings and minimalist drum beats, the overall atmosphere is that of a hazy, underwater dream.

Too many of the witty lines feel forced to scan, and the electronics, once subtle and suggestive, are heavy-handed. There are charms though. Down Here is lusciously Eels-like, and Tracey Thorn’s star role on Disappointing vamps with a definite strut. It’s just, after PGG’s fabulous right turn, for this album to plough forwards in the same direction seems a wasted opportunity.

A mature and complex collection.

You’re left feeling that much of Painted Ruins could be a slow-burn grower, if those studiously painted collages were more emotionally inviting.

Over When It's Over flirts with the dance floor while the hushed Whatever You Want is worthy of Tapestryeta Carole King, as a driven and articulate artist confidently finds her feet again. [May 2024, p.105]

It’s certainly fun, and a charming period piece. However, the most revelatory moments are the solo Pop Profile interviews, two at the end of each CD.

This tribute has been a long timing coming, but it doesn’t quite do justice to an artist whose integrity ultimately saw him turn his back on fame.

Ostensibly half an hour of instrumentals, recent Walker converts should tread carefully but long-time watchers should come along for the latest excursion in this evolving ride. Things could get wild.

Although a couple songs don't fully capture Neale's compositional skills, the closing track There From Here is a tremendous highlight. [Sep 2025, p.105]

The sassy European and fraught, fatalistic Bilbao also have their moments, though there’s too great a reliance on mid-tempo numbers and the proto-punk aggression hinted at sadly fails to materialise.

It’s a solid, sturdy listen, with flourishes of electronics that bring sparkle, but much less of the pop sheen that was evident on Here Come The Bombs.

The biggest triumphs lie in the quietly assured orchestration of Body To Flame (a matching mole for Jeff Buckley’s Grace) and the title track, which calls to mind Yankee Hotel Foxtrot-era Wilco).

They're good at what they do but when songs like Double Negative kick in, those with older record collections might find their hands instinctively twitching towards their Wire LPs. [Feb 2024 p.103]

A woozy, jazzy soundscape. [Apr 2026, p.98]

Their fourth album’s trembling vocals address mortality, heartbreak, collapse, resilience, different extremities of weather, running to someone and leaving the city at night. Such earnestness is offset nicely by jaunty synthesizer sounds and admirably expressive drum work. It remains unfortunate that Wolf Parade have never reached the fascinating twitchiness of their heroes Modest Mouse.

As with the name (the band is actually from NYC), there’s a satisfying contrariness throughout a curious and sometimes excellent set.

If the title track is effectively Bowie's It's No Game (No 1) on steroids and Druantia has you checking the label copy for an Eno credit, there's an intensity of commitment and a density of sound to both that wrestles you into submission. Things let up on redemption ballad I Belong To. [Oct 2024, p.103]

For the most part, this album of amiable desert blues lacks the fire that lit up its predecessor.

If Condition does not herald a radical artistic reincarnation, it does involve a subtler devolution into a slightly more primitive form.

If you ever liked Spain, Galaxie 500 or Mazzy Star, this is for you. Smoky, reverb-heavy melodies that gently noodle off nowhere slowly, this compilation of released tunes and salvaged demos contains much for the heads.

Depending on whether or not you’ve encountered him before, this is either an infectious comeback or one seriously charming introduction.

Her evocative vocals are stunning, heard on tracks such as Strange Delights and Finding Mirrors. Just occasionally, her voice and harp are too submerged, notably on Through The Din, where the rhythmic groove feels overwhelming. However, the glorious instrumental Cloudbreath blends the album's rich components brilliantly, as do the next tracks, Garden and Into The Sun. [Feb 2024, p.101]

The brisk Don't Forget You're Mine harbours a dicier wake-up call ("A good slap is what you need"), though the Wurlitzer-enhanced La Nageuse Nue reunites with The Choir to advocate "a cleansing": becalmed advice for a troubled world on a coolly composed album of healing and harmony. [Mar 2024, p.105]

It's most intriguing when Lennox deviates from catchy pop nuggets. [Apr 2025, p.103]

Recorded with Grammy winning producer Matt Ross-Spang and a host of Mississippi sessionerati, Sweet Kind Of Blue is perfectly soulful and understated.

You unpeel this 12-song collection’s layers track by track, with repeat listens yielding new surprises as rifts and melodies that you missed first time around float to the fore.

A worthy addition to the Kuti legacy. [Sep 2025, p.104]

For the most part, though, it’s a hugely enjoyable and very welcome return.

Though Acoustic Recordings doesn’t quite offer a parallel discography, it is a reminder of some easily overlooked moments in White’s ever expanding discography.