Not only a remarkable return, but also a songwriting master-class that will hopefully see BC Camplight embark upon a second act worthy of his talents.

It doesn’t feel like completely new territory, but it certainly resonates.

It isn’t completely nonny-less, but it’s folk more in the tradition of Topic’s Voice Of The People series of pub-sourced field recordings than in the tradition of Orwell’s sandal-wearing, fruit-drinking nudists.

Richly garnished by fiddles, bottleneck and accordion, the rejuvenated Slim Chance may conjure echoes of Lane’s The Passing Show, but ultimately seem to be emerging with a rough-shod, rollicking sound of their own. On this form, they can be sure their old mate would be leaning at the bar, nodding approval.

Baird has created an album that moves flawlessly from ruby to flint to kaleidoscope without breaking.

On an initial spin, the listener likely won’t understand Juarez’s cult appeal or indeed Allen’s own obsession. However, as superbly documented by the excellent liner notes and art prints (reproducing the 1974 lithographs that accompanied the album’s initial 50-run release), repeated listens will quickly have Juarez clawing at the brain and the heart.

Bismillah and Karam add gentle layers of spiritual jazz and afrobeat to the mix. Best though are the tracks which plot a less quiet path; Indefinite Leave To Remain begins with intermittent, raindrop-like piano flourishes over recorded vocal snatches before guitar and drums build into a monsoon-like barrage.

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.

Become Zero is an affecting and profound work that inspires great empathy.

A Common Truth is mountainous and haunting, yet also exhibits a certain vulnerability.

Easy Machines allows Baird’s vocals to shine, a hushed album, possibly the more introspective.

Showcasing her delicate vocals over a smorgasbord of kosmic soundz, it’s a surprisingly coherent affair.

Ridiculous and ridiculously thrilling, Super Natural reasserts Jones’ mission with riotous fervour.

On the whole, I Romanticize is both a simple update of Evans’ versatile songwriting abilities, as well as a grand introduction to his music for newcomers.

Listen with dad for maximum uneasy, immersive and moving effect.

Divorced from the times, though, it’s always the torpedo-damning oddballs who really stand out in any self-respecting compilation and here C88 comes up trumps in digging out Scottish proto-shoegazers Prayers’ gritty Sister Goodbye and cranky Mancunians King Of The Slums’ (literally) bile-soaked The Pennine Spitter.

Part of Death's triumph is its unadornment, which allows the songs to glimmer as rough diamonds.

The nascent stirrings of Japan’s independent music scene can be divined here; the first comp to offer a detailed overview of the country’s fertile early 70s folk and rock movement.

From The Trees is simple and unadorned, with generous ladling of his legendarily wayward backing vocals. Skeletal, appealing melodies support tales of inertia (“Torpor rolls upon me in a fog, settles like a sweat upon the skin”), lost love (Girl To The North Country’s “just like that, she’s gone”) and the wane into old age (“only yesterday you were pegging out your tent”).

What strikes you as the cast of thousands run through the Guthrie repertoire on these three discs is just how singable they were--Woody played fast and loose with his melodies, but his words still score and sear.

Four Stones is not quite as immediate as his previous collection, but McPhee’s work is remarkably underrated and all well worth hearing.

From the heartfelt rhumba of I Don’t Wanna Be Without You and the title track – the perfect showstopper for the Harlem Square Club crowd--to Blisters, a captivating shuffle, and How Long, a going back to church blues, every song’s a winner.

A thoughtful and subtle gem.

The King Crimson archive is a thing of genuine wonder: it feels as though there isn’t a single picosecond of their career that hasn’t been somehow preserved, and the meticulous largesse with which this archival cache is curated and packaged sets an intimidating benchmark.

The live In Concert/MTV Plugged may lack the obvious, rambunctious energy of Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band Live/1975-85 and only (subdued) E Street favourites Darkness On The Edge Of Town and Thunder Road feature in the set, but the cheeky obscurity Red Headed Woman and an electric Atlantic City (from Nebraska) still capture Bruce’s magnetism as a performer. ... The remastered LPs sound pristine. ... It makes for a pretty boss bundle.

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.

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.

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.