Lean, precise and purposeful, its 12 tracks whistle by in little more than 35 minutes; its production, in keeping with the limitations of lockdown, is deliberately pared down. There are other flutters of experimentation – the title track is an unfastened groove that struts like Ian Dury on a mystical funk trip – but it’s the simple melodic strength that binds the songs together.

Historically The Who Sell Out hasn’t always been given the serious critical attention afforded its successors Tommy, Who’s Next and Quadrophenia. Yet, it’s just as significant a touchstone in the Who canon, a pointer to, in particular, Townshend’s desire for the band to test both themselves and their audience. It makes this extensive and richly textured ultimate edition a “ragbag” worth rooting through.

It’s a record that increasingly rewards with each play, the subtleties and subtext revealed slowly, teased into view by deceptively unobtrusive musical accompaniment. Ellis’ punctuations of the words serve a similar purpose to melodic hooks in traditional pop songs, setting the groundwork for the lyrical beauty of the source material to haunt our thoughts long after the album’s over.

At times they overstretch – the tail-end of Part One drifts like fish and chip wrapper in the breeze – but a visit to Coral Island elicits the intangible pull of a place in time etched forever in the mind. Roll up, roll up.

Endless Arcade represents the biggest demand on their followers the band have made for some time, with pensive contemplation underpinning an eclectic, experimental set of songs. But they have long earned the right to venture off in whichever direction takes their fancy. They are still growing, still evolving and still learning. Endless Arcade is a brave record by a brave band. There are few of Teenage Fanclub’s ilk.

It is an album, certainly, that carries the magic and surprise that belongs only to strange times, that belongs to this moment completely: a record of the way we saw the world, once, the way it sounded, the way it felt, as we all stood still and watched.

This most genuine version of herself is more than good enough to stand on its own.

Filthy, funny, affecting, Arab Strap sound like a band with a future again.

The Super Deluxe edition of Vol 4 supplements a crisp remaster of the original album with extra discs containing alternative takes and revelatory studio outtakes (“What’s it called?” “Bollocks”), plus an entire set’s worth of live tracks from their March 1973 UK tour, a poster and a booklet so hefty you could tether a bull to it.

As The Love Continues inevitably finds purchase on our tumultuous moment in its deftly summoned suggestions of sorrow and fear, resilience, and close-guarded hope.

This set, which has been remastered from the original analogue tapes, features sleevenotes by the unmatched Amanda Petrusich, as well as an interview with Sinatra and unseen photos from her personal collection. It’s nothing less than her supreme career warrants. Here’s to the queen of danger-pop, and to Light In The Attic for getting the belated celebrations started.

It’s hard to imagine a more prescient-sounding record than one that explores how nascent technologies affect our motivations as modern consumers at a time when we’re all frantically buying online to stave off the effects of lockdown. The songs dealing directly with this are The Future Bites’ most captivating. ... There’s no need for the buyer to be wary here. The Future Bites is guaranteed to weather the ravages of time.

For all its musical sophistication and all its lyrical heart, Ignorance is a confident, almost bolshy statement of intent.

Wainwright has returned with a generous and positive record that suggests a more mature, philosophical perspective, thankfully without losing his impish sense of humour and taste for lavish arrangements.

Earth To Dora re-establishes Everett as one of the finest and most distinctive songwriters today – one who can make sorrow sound joyful, but who also knows that, without sadness, happiness wouldn’t be the same experience.

Those wanting a more authentic experience (whatever that means) will be glad to know the band’s psychedelic groove is still very much present (see the swirling Gabi or Assadja) while those wanting less retroisms should head to Pour Toi with its insane disco trucker’s shift. But at its heart, Optimisme deals in the same joyous protest music Songhoy Blues are known for, only now bolstered with a grit that matches the multi-lingual lyrics.

It’s a stunning record – from the album artwork down to the perfectly-weighted running order, nothing is out of place and nothing jars. Matt Berninger didn’t want to write a solo record. But thank god he did.

More rewarding re-evaluation than celebration for long-termers, it all provides a mightily attractive artefact for Stones diehards.

What remains is a tightly-focused snapshot of an intensely creative period in Prince’s career: perhaps the most generous single-album box set of all time, for an album that itself just keeps giving.

Across six albums in less than a decade, Richard and Linda Thompson may not have entirely rewritten the folk handbook but they left some intriguing scrawls in the margins. There’s even more to study in this long-in-the-making, elegantly packaged set, with the inclusion of 31 tracks never before offered up for public consumption.

It’s the longer pieces that really glisten, and they come in several forms. ... Moore’s band, it should be noted, sound increasingly powerful, growing ever groovier and more confident with each release. Their guitars may have unusual tunings, but the players are certainly in-tune with one another, mentally and musically speaking. In summary, cacophonies ahoy!

A joyous blend of dumb fun and sonic smarts with the talent that Stevens has been peddling for nearly 20 years to glue them together, this feels a fresh start in a career that didn’t exactly need one. Somehow, a wonderful surprise. Wow.

More than the sum of its parts. ... In returning to half-finished songs of the past with the renewed verve of the present, Callahan is constructing a future that looks likely to provide some of his best work.

From the off, Flaming Pie sounds like the work of a man comfortable with his past. ... The 2CD and 3LP sets will appeal to those not willing to shell out hundreds – they cherry-pick the best of the home demos, outtakes and B-sides.

Heart’s Ease is ample evidence that Shirley Collins still has the ambition, passion and guts to not only document where folk has come from but where it’s going. A lodestar, indeed.

It pulses with synths and electronic soundscapes overlaid by harp and violin, as if the early, experimental Pulp re-emerged as an electro Velvet Underground.

You can almost smell Power’s building confidence throughout. Melodies boast a previously little-seen directness, while somehow retaining their delicacy.

As with any Car Seat Headrest record, there’s always a whisper of a phrase, or an unusual lyric that passes you by and later stops you in your tracks. Likewise, there are plenty of musical layers and varied instrumentation that draw your ears one way and another.

What continues to both disarm and comfort about Williams as she glides into her late 60s on the crest of an extraordinary career now entering its fourth decade, is how adept she remains at shifting mood, tone, emotion and musical palette at the drop of a plectrum

Among the burning forests and boiling oceans, it's reassuring to know that raw beauty can still be found within the groove of vinyl, of which this--the Newcastle band's fourth long-player--provides rich evidence. [Mar 2020, p.110]

Over the course of an hour, Straight Songs unloads a lifetime of pain. But there is a happy ending to this story. Whereas much of the album has him merely “hanging on”, by Eden Lost And Found – a track built from a mobile phone recording of his wife messing around with an old Casio keyboard – he has embraced survival and moves towards his new dawn with, if not quite piranha teeth, then a mischievous, Cheshire cat grin.

Song For Our Daughter is, well, so uncannily, unreasonably and astutely beautiful that it meticulously sets aside every last one of your emotional checks and balances to wrap your core in a firm embrace.

Suddenly is at its best when blending head, heart and feet to make another smart party album – among Caribou’s best yet.

Expands Pigs’ palette further.

His knack for alchemising an engrossing trip hasn’t deserted him yet.

The Night Chancers tackles big themes within tight restrictions – namely, masculinity at the start of the 2020s. But though filmic in its scope, these 10 vignettes are economically plotted (the album is just 30 minutes long), with a through-line that takes you just far enough before leaving you to your own conclusions about these characters’ motives.

This marvellous set captures every funky, florid facet of their initial golden run in the spirit in which it was created.

Even if Clapton is the only member surviving to see it, at last they get to say goodbye on a suitably representative monument.

Mavis Staples is an international musical treasure, and here you’ll find the recordings that cemented her standing as a living legend.

It’s Allison’s ongoing development as a songwriter that really shines here. Clean now feels like preparation for the emotional and musical strength of this record: a quiet acknowledgment of the tough times that life throws at you.

Mind Hive is especially groundbreaking. In fact, several of its best tracks (the restless, motorik drive of Cactused and the jagged, staccato bursts of the menacing, 154-ish Be Like Them) quite openly flirt with familiarity. Yet, as always seems to be the case with this crew, these tunes are invested with enviable reserves of contemporary energy which ensure they’re served up fresh and minus the merest hint of parody.

It’s a lot to take in, and fresh corridors reveal themselves with each listen; it’s questionable whether they lead to any answers, and Fay would be the last person to claim they do, but it’s an intriguing exploration every step of the way.

The generosity of the endeavour can’t be faulted: hours on end of largely unheard/unseen audio-visual content relating to the era encompassing A Momentary Lapse Of Reason, The Division Bell, Pulse and The Endless River, new 5.1 mixes, a 60-page photo book, replica tour programmes, two 7” singles featuring a Pulse tour rehearsal version of Lost For Words and the 2007 Syd Barrett tribute concert version of Arnold Layne… and, ye gods, even more.

16 Lovers Lane arguably even shades the triumphant Liberty Belle… when it comes to defining the Go-Betweens apogee. The extras, meanwhile, are both plentiful and tantalising.

Hearing these oddly innocent songs (and his speaking voice) can’t help but reignite that overwhelming sense of loss, and also wonder, since Bowie passed on nearly three years ago: has any artist been so loved or missed by so many? Even with all its frolics, fumbles, filler and foibles, Conversation Piece can only be welcomed and celebrated.

There’s rich pleasure everywhere you look: Peter Case’s heartfelt delivery of I Don’t Worry About A Thing, a spectral The Way Of The World by Anything Mose! and Taj Mahal’s nimble, forceful version of the sardonic opener, Your Mind Is On Vacation. The latter offers a thrilling pointer about how high we are going to fly, and includes Bonnie Raitt’s stunning version of Everybody’s Cryin’ Mercy, where her passionate take skilfully unfurls the raging force underpinning the song. Elsewhere, there are blasts of controlled power such as Ben Harper/Charlie Musselwhite’s fiery take on Nightclub.

The charm of Thanks For The Dance can be found in the tidemark between the lapping waves of Cohen’s poetic self-effacement and the shoreline of our appreciation for his lyrical accomplishments.

As the original album did for Prince’s artistic progression, so this super deluxe edition does for the posthumous reissue series: refine a vision, making good on all the promises of the past while pointing to a future full of possibilities. Whatever expanded edition comes next, if it builds on this it cannot fail.

Put together with love and care, it’s all a grand tribute and beautiful vindication for a once-despised band. Those witless saps who savaged them may be long forgotten but Motörhead are up with the greats. We’ll never see their like again.

They may have been the unwilling faces of a barely-there movement, but De La Soul planted the seeds of something beautiful. Collections like this allow us to reap the rewards.

It is a wonderful record – fascinating and engaging. Pure art. Give it the time it deserves.

For the most part, the Cash sessions are a fun listen you might not return to often, their voices too far apart to really work, despite the obvious kinship. Still, it’s fascinating hearing Dylan as the junior partner – Cash seems much more on the ball – and previously-unbootlegged treats like Bob running through Wanted Man and the Staples’ Amen.

Vocally, Leaving Meaning is especially strong, with an atypical abundance of words appearing to have pushed Gira to experiment with their delivery.

It can only tower when it comes to naming this decade’s great albums; miles above and light years ahead of anything else.

It is simply one of the most beautiful records ever made and anyone who hasn’t experienced it needs to stop reading and do so immediately. But for those of us who have, while they have already heard the best possible version of No Other (as we tend to learn from all box sets of this ilk, the best version got released), in these newly-discovered versions there is much to learn about and love.

One of Will Oldham’s strongest albums in recent times, if not ever. .... It’s thoughtful, beautiful fare, along with a few singalong stormers (Mama, Mama will get a crowd swaying at 30 paces) as you’d expect from Oldham, but it’s in the lyrics that he succeeds in his desire for self-reflection.

This is possibly Dawson’s best work. Yes, it’s tough-going – you’ve probably realised he REALLY doesn’t dig this country of ours right now – but the blend of smarts, art and heart is more than enough to demand your ears on repeat.

The one-time folkie’s fourth album exorcises romantic demons by taking another bold leap forward.

In trying times, Wilco have found some joy in creativity and made another album true to themselves, full of “poetry and magic” to console and inspire.

The whole thing works beautifully and, if you shop carefully, you will end up with superb value for money and a repackaging of a great album that for once isn’t stuffed with redundance.

Jenny Lewis and The National’s Aaron Dessner guest this time out but to be honest, the spotlight is increasingly and deservedly Taylor’s alone to enjoy. Surrender now.

Though some of the high-tech production gadgetry sounds dated now, back in 1985 it was a fiercely contemporary record. But while time might have blunted its cutting edge, Rubberband, for all its flaws, still fascinates.

It’s a persuasive, heartening, softly seductive little basket of light; and as such is welcome anytime round here.

Those more straightahead tunes hint a sonically-reduced winter could be coming, but right now bask in i,i’s deep autumnal glow.

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

Love Will Find A Way is very special: an ego-free celebration of the tune, the big-name guests all working with Bailey to realise his vision.

I Was Real’s resulting stew is even more disparate than what came before – this time out, you can add boogie (Tetuzi Akiyama), jigs (WZN#3 (Verso)) and pure drone to the mixer – but still with the singular vision to bring everything together into one harmonious, joyous, borderless whole.

A debut album that suggests anything is possible.

Purple Mountains is no return to form – Berman left us in 2009 with no discernible lapse in quality – but a surprisingly welcome return, given the shift in quality contained herein. A purple patch, if you will, but a far deeper one than you would expect. Deep purple it is, then.

With its cohesive vision, it also proves that, properly curated, the material in Prince’s Vault contains a body of work that would rival Dylan’s Bootleg Series for both quality control and cultural importance. The next volume can’t come quick enough.

Western Stars is Springsteen at his most novelistic, scratching out pocket portraits that owe as much to the printed word of John Steinbeck, Raymond Carver or even Jack Kerouac as they do a lineage that would boast weather-beaten troubadours like Kris Kristofferson, Jimmy Webb, or his younger self.

Songs reflect on his outsider past (The Ballad Of The Hulk, Young Icarus), deal directly with the writer’s block he feared happiness would bring (Writing) but now boast a welcome immediacy and intimacy as he lays his new life proudly bare. ... It sure took a while, but the Smog has finally lifted.

Overall, Bird Songs Of A Killjoy is the sound of someone recording exactly what they want to. Nothing here feels out of place, or sounds like a pastiche of another era. Bedouine has found herself a winning formula.

Further may not take Hawley anywhere new, but it succeeds in drawing you back into his world. Not a bad place to be.

While this isn’t an album of chart hits, a pop sensibility is evident in the way that they treat music-making as primarily a challenge of curation. So, myriad high-pedigree producers and instrumentalists abound, and yet somehow, a cohesive aesthetic emerges.

At 68 minutes long and 16 tracks, its length becomes an issue during a third quarter which drifts. But as an exercise in breaking with consistency, I Am Easy To Find shows The National remain open to new possibilities after all.

The gorgeously wistful All Of Our Yesterdays and Skyless Moon lament time’s passage, but Here Comes… barely wastes a second of its sweet, tender and winningly off-piste, high-plains drift.

A profound and poised third album, UFOF makes digging deeper seem like a natural calling.

A strong contender for album of the year. ... Titanic Rising is remarkable for its breadth, effortlessly shifting from the 90-second ambient wash of the title track to Picture Me Better’s homespun take on the cosmic cowboyisms of Kacey Musgraves. Then there are Merings’ lyrics, evincing a similar shift in scale and scope.

Overflowing with cultural, mythological and artistic allusions and a prepossessing unrest, Life Metal is an album that insists upon provoking imaginative thought, and is sure to do more for your gut motility than any prune.

The truth is finally out. People are talking about the music. People are dancing. People know Fat White Family are better than maybe Fat White Family themselves think they are.

Like the skull ring and handcuffs on the sleeve, some things never change and, with its seductive bite and defiant energy, Talk Is Cheap is still a compelling centrifugal presence amid the bells and whistles. It remains the best Stones-related solo album.

Badbea fair glows with uncomplicated affirmations, literally buzzing with Collins’ unique wasp-tone guitar interjections--a sound that no one else has come close to approximating.

While you couldn’t place it--or anything else on You’re The Man--up there with his finest work, as an exploration of Gaye’s creative process, it more than earns its position on your shelf.

Lead single Feel So Great doses up on the psych medicine and, with many a song culminating in a wig-out, Natural Facts boasts a grubby sheen that Cosmic Cash was missing.

While you couldn’t say Inside The Rose goes beyond the furthest reaches of moments such as V (Island Song), from its predecessor, neither does it play things safe. Newcomers may feel that elements of Kate Bush circa Hounds Of Love or Hansa Studios-era Depeche Mode provide reference points, yet nevertheless, a track such as Beyond Black Suns is nothing but pure TNP: overlapping motifs, doom-laden beats, interweaving vocal lines and a song that resolves nothing, but does so with the utmost confidence.

The Long Ryders should be proud--they’ve made a fine album that’s a worthy follow-up to their 80s oeuvre.

The lyrics continue to take a few listens to fully digest (beyond the regular laugh-out-loud moments), as do Fearn’s often misleadingly direct grooves. His basslines sound particularly mighty here, and Williamson’s vitriol (which fills most of the record) continues to be very much needed in contemporary Britain.

The Route To The Harmonium feels like a return to the warmth of some of his earlier outings--not that he’s exactly satisfied--with a more mature Yorkston having crafted perhaps the album of his career.

Inferno, then, may not afford Robert Forster the mainstream acceptance that’s eluded him for so long, but it gets him back in the game and proves he’s recaptured the magic he once needed to keep ahead of his best buddy in his metaphorical rear-view mirror.

The comp is thoughtfully subdivided by mood/demeanour, with each disc respectively entitled Rock Off!, Tubthumpers & Hellraisers and Elegance & Decadence. The successfully realised intention is to demonstrate that there was more to glam than just implacable, sequin-shedding, mindless stomping--though some of us would be perfectly content with three discs’ worth of just that.

The Specials remain adept at appropriating the songs of others to further fuel their message.

Such is the unrelenting flood of language and emotion from this remarkable performance that it’s difficult to take everything in on first viewing and repeated listens become essential to experiencing the fullness of it all. ... We can just be glad that this particular spell of lightning was bottled so beautifully.

To overly analyse the motives or intentions behind any of these revelatory tracks (87 in all) is to risk missing out on their more implicit, primal joys. This is Dylan at one with his domain; explorative, inventive, persuasive and, as is almost always the case, enigmatic.

Unprecedented in 1968 and unparalleled still, Electric Ladyland has bequeathed us no end of spoils. A fine celebration of Hendrix’s most kaleidoscopically-realised endeavour, this 50th anniversary set even restores his originally intended cover photo. Dig.

It’s a fuller, more contemporary-sounding mix that is fascinating on first listen, but unlikely to replace the original mixes in fans’ affections. ... Still, the extras are why we’re really here and that’s where this reissue really delivers. By becoming a fly on the wall at their sessions we have the chance to feel closer to The Beatles; to better figure out how they did it and become privy to their casual chats. Close your eyes, suspend your disbelief and you’re there as they make history.

While this collection spans three decades, the focus is skewed towards the later years.

While few would suggest that there’s material here rivalling Bowie’s 70s peak, there are more than enough elegant, standout moments. You may not exactly fall in love with it, but you’ll certainly strongly admire the work here.