When was the last time you heard collard greens being sung about in a Christmas song? Probably never, unless you're a Run DMC fan, or were wise enough to hop on the Very Special Christmas tip. The rappers' contribution to this benefit collection is probably the highlight, although traditional songs covered by now-traditional artists like the Pretenders ("Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas") provide the majority of the material here. Eurythmics turn in a suitably chilly "Winter Wonderland," Stevie Nicks sings a beautifully haunting "Silent Night," and Whitney Houston proves again that she's every woman with "Do You Hear What I Hear"-that is, every woman with a voice strong enough to do the song justice. "Santa Baby," Madonna's contribution, isn't as sultry as it could be, but there's more fun thanks to hell-on-heels, the Pointer Sisters and Bon Jovi. -Steve Gdula.

Before joining the a-list as deskman to the likes of Madonna (Ray of Light) and the All Saints, William Orbit was a jobbing producer working with Laurie Mayer and Rico Conning as Torch Song through the eighties before producing his own instrumental material as Strange Cargo, the first volume of which was released back in 1987. This, the third in the series, has an eastern theme, which extends from the sleeve art through to occasional samples that cut through the bleeping electronics. It inspired an extreme of love it/hate it reviews on its release and was in fact dropped before finally seeing a release on Virgin. Despite all of this baggage, the album has grown to be the most widely acclaimed of the four to date, with the opening "Water From A Vine Leaf" featuring the vocals of Beth Orton the epitome of ethnic ambience while "Gringatcho Demento" clearly sets the seeds to the later Hinterland. Looking for an album that sits between trance, techno, dub and world music? Look no further - Kingsley Marshall.

"Spice up your life", the Spice Girls advise on the first single from Spiceworld, their second album, which was made quickly to capitalise on the movie of the same name. If that sounds more like an advertising slogan than a call for variety, solidarity, and fun, it's not the only time the disc echoes the language of a carefully planned campaign: The chorus of "Move Over" is built around the phrase "Generation Next", the rallying cry of the their Pepsi advert. And if, in turn, you come to the conclusion that this record isn't nearly as much fun as its predecessor, you're right. Any question about the creative input of Scary, Posh, Baby, Ginger, and Sporty into their own music is moot; like "Candle in the Wind 1997", Spiceworld was made to be bought, not listened to. Sure, they trade vocals this time, leaning less on the Bananarama-style gang approach of their debut, and yeah, the Motown-lite confection "Stop" doesn't exactly hurt the ear, but this disc is ultimately a bigger insult than anything a bunch of diehard anarchists such as Chumbawamba could imagine-without the kick of "Tubthumping". It also ends on a note so jarring as to settle the group firmly in the avant-garde with the fake-lounge "Lady Is a Vamp", which unfortunately praises Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe in the same verse, then ups the ante with a shout-out to Sandy Denny(!) as a Spicy role model. All together now: Uh huh. -Rickey Wright.

Having long since shed their image as hip-hop's clown princes, the Beastie Boys now bring what feels like their emeritus recording, a celebratory instrumental memoir of all of the influences (except punk) that brought them to their secure place among hip-hop's fickle elite. The party opens with the aptly titled "B for My Name," its plodding bounce staking claim to the mid-tempo path the album treads almost throughout. "14th St. Break" picks up the pace, especially in the auxiliary percussion breakdown, complete with rally whistle. Then, beginning with "Suco de Tangerina," the album drops into a deep groove cut from dub- and dancehall-tinged ostinati that carry through a full third of its tracks. Among these, "The Gala Event" suffers from a lack of developmental motion that characterises many of these tracks, but highlights still abound. "Off the Grid," for example, departs from the otherwise unbreakable chill and rips the proceedings wide open, blooming again and again in a series of pulsing riffs that celebrate the very institution of the instrumental groove. More than 20 years since Licensed to Ill took a long, irreverent piss into the mainstream, it seems you can still fight for your right to party. -Jason Kirk.

By their very nature, best-of collections lend themselves to nostalgia, and Depeche Mode's instantly identifiable sound and string of pervasive, catchy singles are undoubtedly the soundtrack to many memories-memories served well by this fine collection of beautifully remastered songs. If you've heard any of the band's double-disc rereleases, you'll have an idea of just how good their remastered songs can sound. While there are some obvious omissions ("Somebody," "Policy of Truth"), compiling a career-spanning collection of Depeche Mode's best would be considered a challenge for just about anybody; and as this is Vol. 1, it seems obvious that there's more to come. There are a couple odd choices in the mix ("See You," "New Life") and the obligatory new track ("Martyr"), but the non-chronological mix makes these classics sound fresh and better than ever. The accompanying DVD in this deluxe edition features 23 videos, including nearly every song on the CD, and a documentary-that's worth the price of admission alone. -Alan Wiley.

It's not often that teacher follows on the heels of pupil, but Treddin' on Thin Ice, the debut album from east London MC-producer Wiley will undoubtedly suffer from comparison with the award-scooping 2003 album by his young protégé, Dizzee Rascal. As the godfather of pioneering garage crew Roll Deep, Wiley is essentially the key architect of the stark MC-led strain of UK garage presently known as "grime", "sub-lo", or "Eski". His Treadin' on Thin Ice isn't quite the magnificent statement that Dizzee's Boy in da Corner was. Sure, Wiley is a good MC, but he seems to lack the all-consuming philosophy and breadth of narrative needed on a 15-track album. Still, there's much to recommend here: the production is a triumph of expertly-applied minimalism, skeletal Playstation beats meshing neatly with retro synthesiser bass and warped oriental strings. Meanwhile, Wiley's natural propensity towards melancholy is neatly balanced by a handful of genuinely hilarious tracks that poke fun at himself, his peers and the scene: try the genre-defining "Wot Do U Call It?" ("Garage?/ Urban?/ Two-step?"), frisky money-making anthem "Pies", and "Goin' Mad"-a blend of conversational narrative and genuinely-affecting emotion, delivered in a broad Cockney geezer accent, that's reminiscent of the Streets. -Louis Pattison.