Throughout, shimmering walls of guitar give way to echoing, spacey psychedelia; riffery and frantic drumming; tuneful asides and emotional rampage.

There’s enough originality, guile, and plain old-school hip-hop verve here to make this stand on its own.

It’s a sturdy, muscular affair wherein Lydon rants energetically about everything from blocked toilets to Botox and the iCloud, on quintessentially cranky, ruck-friendly fare such as Double Trouble and I’m Not Satisfied.

The album isn’t radically different from the five other records Motörhead have made with Webb since Inferno, in 2004.

When in sharp focus, the sound is utterly charming, with Le Bon’s almost trademark Welsh tones a fine match for the amp buzz and Presley’s meandering guitar lines. Too often, though, it spills into whimsy, lacks direction and frequently infuriates.

Available on vinyl for the first time, and heralding the reissue of Jansch’s entire catalogue, Live At The 12 Bar is a cut above many of the similar live captures of Jansch’s work.

The band lace all 14 tracks from Psychocandy with attitude, adrenaline and volume: their collective belligerence peaking during Never Understand and the relentless metallic KO of Inside Me.

Things become a little more introspective later on, with acoustic guitars, abstract soundscapes and restrained percussive patterns taking the fore, but, thankfully, the material remains hypnotic throughout.

It’s hard not to be cynical about such repackaging, even if the music within is so special.

It’s the kind of album that’s easy to grow very attached to: a personal, secret soundtrack likely to be loved by many.

On his 11th album, that gloss is pared down, revealing just how well-crafted and intricate Bejar’s songs have become.

The whole is a little too tethered to the (partially incomprehensible) songs to drift off effectively, and is too morose to uplift, yet The Telescopes continue to own a certain core sensibility--and the capacity to surprise with how they express it.

You’d be hard pushed to find a more beguiling soundtrack for late summer evenings.

At the very heart of Elitism…, however, are The Modern Dance and Dub Housing: the two extraordinary slabs of wax upon which Ubu’s reputation largely rests. The result of a brief liaison with major label Chrysalis, Dub Housing arguably enjoys the better production, but it’s on The Modern Dance that Ubu thrillingly realised their self-styled avant-garage sound.

Despite scoring plenty of high moments, there is a sameness to this collection, which can become trying on repeat listens.

It’s a fabulous voyage that delights at every unexpected turn.

It’s an absorbing, plaintive record that gets under your skin.

Despite being classed as a mini-album running to eight tracks, this is DeMarco’s most fulfilling and cohesive release to date.

What’s significant about this box set is that it illustrates the major phases of Miles’ career in a live context, charting his journey from hard bop--via modal jazz and free bop--to jazz-rock and avant-funk.

Musically, the Virginians deliver a thrash/groove metal brew broadly similar to that of their previous albums, but that’s not to say there isn’t a wide range of textures, from all-out blasts to subtle acoustic tones.

Dalton gets her dues and other voices gain welcome exposure.

How Far Will You Go? is generally closer to The Rocky Horror Picture Show... and is accordingly tremendous fun.

They’re a classic singles band, but Jason Williamson’s pit of needle-sharp, evocative lyrics seems bottomless, so here comes another meaty full-length selection.

Some of the material threatens to drown in a mire of painfully bland songwriting and sleepwalking guest appearances.

Radial, a 17-minute symphony in three parts: first, a foreboding, dark-tinged awakening, replete with nonhuman sounds in the vocal register; after six minutes the band comes in with another trademark minor-key song; then a final, tense, otherworldly coda hinting at stranger worlds to come.

On paper, such an ambitious sonic reinvention could easily be dismissed as an overblown conceit, yet in reality this new Classic Quadrophenia soars.

What could have been an embarrassment is a quiet triumph.

A welcome return to form.