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.