Perhaps the most talented "son act" in pop music, Jeff Buckley combined the often harrowing eclecticism of estranged papa Tim Buckley with the rock acrobatics of Robert Plant. This posthumously released collection of four-track demos and sessions helmed by Tom Verlaine indicates that Buckley's astonishing full-length debut, Grace, was no fluke. The young singer-songwriter puts his falsetto to good use on an extraordinary collection of original material, from the soulful "Everybody Wants You" to the psychedelic "Murder Suicide Meteor Slave". And while his bluesy take on Porter Wagoner's "Satisfied Mind" may not be as revelatory as his earlier version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah", this album offers ample proof that Buckley was among his generation's most gifted voices. -Bill Forman.

More hard-boiled tales from Tom Waits, who manages to sing lines like "Everyone I know is either dead or in prison" in a raw, whiskey-soaked rasp that sounds both comical and deadly serious. Waits doesn't break any new creative ground here but continues to refine his down-and-out persona. It's booze and broads, sex and violence, laughs and heartbreak. This 1978 album opens with an astonishingly desperate version of "Somewhere" (from "West Side Story"), performed like Louie Armstrong with a migraine. From there it's the usual Waits mix of crackpot wordplay and the cocktail lounge jazz likes of "Romeo Is Bleeding". -Steve Appleford.

Though The Proclaimers have been having hits since 1987, when "Letter from America" became an unlikely but welcome chart-topper, they have recorded only sporadically. So while the time feels right for a Best Of collection, this is mostly drawn from just four albums. In what is either an apology, or a genuine attempt to provide value for money, or both, three fine new songs are included, plus The Proclaimers' justly popular cover of Roger Miller's "King of The Road" (a collection of cover versions by The Proclaimers remains one of the best albums never made). What is clear from this 20-track retrospective is that The Proclaimers have not developed at all since they first picked up guitars. Craig and Charlie Reid seem to believe they got it right the first time, and it's difficult to argue otherwise. Certainly, there has never been anyone else like them: The Proclaimers have stuck doggedly to their guns, refusing to forsake their treacle-thick Scottish accents (a decision they sang about on "Throw The R Away") or their worldview (how many self-proclaimed rock & roll outlaws would dare to sing a song called "I Want To Be A Christian" or "Let's Get Married"?). In their perverse and obstinate way, The Proclaimers are about as rock & roll as it gets. These are simple and direct songs, but they're great simple and direct songs, performed with unashamedly earnest passion by two extraordinary singers-their harmonies merit comparison with those of the brothers Louvin or Righteous. The Reids' awkward appearance made them a staple of parodists, but the way they look should not distract anyone from the way they sound. Anyone who fails to weep at "Sunshine on Leith" is dead, or might as well be. [+]

Wingspan could be the collection that finally gives Wings the respect that they've long been due. Some people are wary of Wings simply because knocking them is the done thing. Others are dubious because they've actually tried listening to London Town or Red Rose Speedway all the way through. It's a truism that without a vociferous writing partner, Paul McCartney's sense of quality control could be rather lax, but it's easy to overlook how many fine tracks he and Wings produced from 1970 to 1983, the period covered on Wingspan. Compiling 40 of them on a two-CD set is a smart move-it allows you to purchase pretty much every post-Beatles McCartney song you could ever possibly want, all at once. The hits crowd together on the first disc, while the second cherry-picks album tracks and oddities; forget the inevitable "Mull of Kintyre", let "Maybe I'm Amazed", "Waterfalls" and "Back Seat of My Car" remind you of just what Paul McCartney could always do when he tried. -Taylor Parkes.

Henley-arguably the most talented member of the Eagles-had toyed with playful pop hooks on his I Can't Stand Still solo bow in 1982. Two years later he got down to business on this brainy, politics-themed sophomore disc, which indicted his native Hollywood as venomously as "Hotel California" once did. Surfaces were still somewhat glossy-there's no denying the foot-tapping elan of "Boys of Summer or "All She Wants to Do Is Dance". But the vitriol rolling just beneath those surfaces was deep, intellectual stuff. Henley, as he continued to prove with the more eloquent The End of the Innocence a few years later, is someone his fans can neither underestimate nor predict. Can we say the same of Glenn Frey or Randy Meisner? -Tom Lanham.

The Basement Tapes can be heard as a manifesto for the 1990s underlying Americana agenda or as the greatest album never intended for commercial release. Homegrown 1967 recordings taped in the Band's fabled Big Pink hermitage in Saugerties, New York, many of the 24 songs resonated across American and English rock and folk long before their belated 1975 release, through studio interpretations by the Byrds, Fairport Convention, Manfred Mann, Peter, Paul & Mary, and numerous other acolytes, as well as through myriad unauthorised bootlegs. Good as the covers were, Dylan and the Band rolled their own with an extraordinary coherence that sounds only more authentic in these rough-hewn, intimate, always musical performances, which dovetail with Dylan's stark John Wesley Harding and the Band's stunning debut, Music from Big Pink as well as the presciently lo-fi The Band. At a time when most rock culture was entranced with its post-atomic origins, these songs sounded timeless, plunging into pre-industrial folk, turn of the (20th) century barrelhouse and blues, and crackling, vintage rock and roll excursions with offhand verve and a thrilling disregard for what was hip. Time has only reinforced their visionary power. -Sam Sutherland The Basement Tapes can be heard as a manifesto for the current decade's underlying Americana agenda, or as the greatest album never intended for commercial release. Homegrown 1967 recordings taped in the Band's fabled Big Pink hermitage in Saugerties, New York, many of the 24 songs resonated across American and English rock and folk long before their belated 1975 release through studio interpretations by the Byrds, Fairport Convention, Manfred Mann, Peter, Paul & Mary, and numerous other acolytes, as well as through myriad unauthorized bootlegs. Good as the covers were, Dylan and the Band rolled their own with an extraordinary coherence that sounds only more authentic in these rough-hewn, intimate, always musical performances, which dovetail with Dylan's stark John Wesley Harding and the Band's stunning debut, Music from Big Pink as well as the presciently lo-fi The Band. At a time when most rock culture was entranced with its post-atomic origins, these songs sounded timeless, plunging into pre-industrial folk, turn of the (20th) century barrelhouse and blues, and crackling, vintage rock & roll excursions with offhand verve and a thrilling disregard for what was hip. Time has only reinforced their visionary power. [+]

The signs were good. He'd been getting into Neil Young, smoking joints and making pilgrimages to Nick Drake's grave, but nothing could have prepared us for quite such a return to form. The mood was autobiographical, most notably on "Has My Fire Really Gone Out" and the title track-both of which dealt with the writer's block that plagued Weller after The Style Council. And yet, Wild Wood is anything but morose: flutes and sundazed guitars adorn more pastoral moments; "Shadow Of The Sun" takes stock of youthful idealism and finds redemption in the wisdom of years; and "Sunflower" remains a superlative burst of psychedelic powerpop. But more than actual songs, it's the instrumental passages and interconnecting refrains that truly reveal their author's attention to detail-and give Wild Wood an edge over the rest of his solo material. -Peter Paphides.

A good overview of Sting's radio hits and popular album tracks with no major omissions, Fields of Gold also offers three previously unreleased songs. "This Cowboy Song" and "When We Dance" appear on no other album, while "We'll Be Together" is an alternate interpretation. The import version of this collection offers a substantially different and expanded track listing, dropping "Fortress Around Your Heart", "Be Still My Beating Heart", and "Why Should I Cry for You"; and adding "Nothing 'Bout Me", "Mad About You", "Seven Days", "It's Probably Me", "Love is the Seventh Wave", and "Demolition Man". -Gavin McNett.

"Well I guess it would be nice, if I could touch your body. " Given George Michael's restroom high jinks in early 1998, those words from "Faith" sound pretty funny, but they sounded fresh and exciting blasting out of car radios in 1987. Michael's stunning solo debut (after four years in the lightweight British duo Wham!) sold seven million copies and yielded a plehora of hits. Some of those were among the decade's best pop, including the hiccuping title track, the heartfelt ballad "Father Figure" and the wicked R&B groove of "I Want Your Sex". Unlike so much 1980s treacle, this album hold ups surprisingly well-even if Michael hasn't always done so himself. -Michael Ruby.

The abnormal has become the norm for Tom Waits, so, once again, Bone Machine is laden with odd timbres, archaic acoustics, and raw vocals. This time, however, Waits has built his songs around a Harry Partch-inspired fascination with primitive percussion. With a crew of Northern California musicians along to add spare adornments, Waits fashions pretty, sentimental tunes ("A Little Rain", Whistle Down the Wind") and hellish stampedes of clanging metal and hoarse shouting ("Earth Died Screaming", "Let Me Get Up on It", the latter the 53-second distillation of Bone Machine quintessence-just Waits distorted bellowing and banging. Bone Machine is both appalling and appealing. There are elements to this album that seem designed to drive away the faint of heart, and then there are melodies that melt in your hand. -Steve Stolder.

Like so many before him, the Verve's ex-frontman Richard Ashcroft is destined to be the victim of his own success. That the Verve's final album, the universally applauded Urban Hymns, with its down-tempo laments and thoughtful lyrics captured a space in time and was taken to a nation's hearts, makes it a tough act to follow, even for the man who was the creative force behind the Verve. And Richard Ashcroft's solo debut Alone With Everybody doesn't really compare at all. The thoughtful country-tinged ballads "Brave New World" and "I Get My Beat"-strummed acoustics, melancholic strings and lyrics that run like a conversation with himself-confirm Ashcroft's ability to pen a captivating melody. Meanwhile, singles "A Song For The Lovers" and "Money To Burn"-positively up-beat by his standards-may not be as emotive or touch the same nerve as Urban Hymns' "The Drugs Don't Work", "Lucky Man" or "Bitter Sweet Symphony", but they're still infectious. And the eerie atmosphere and raw edge of "New York" reassure that there's more to him than plodding, sentimental acoustic tunes. The Verve would never have pulled off an Urban Hymns Volume II, which is why their leading light has been wise not to try to either. -Dan Gennoe.

Bob Dylan has always been incredibly prolific, only releasing a fraction of what he records. Such a policy has made him a prime target for bootleggers over the years, finally prompting this sanctioned 1991 triple-disc dive into the Dylan vaults. It consists of rare tracks, unreleased outtakes, early versions of classics ("Times They Are a-Changin'", "Like a Rolling Stone", "I Shall Be Released"), and alternate versions that sometimes cut the originals ("Idiot Wind"). A measure of Dylan's depth is his list of discarded songs ("She's Your Lover Now", "Blind Willie McTell", "Series of Dreams") that would be the crown jewels of most catalogues. These 58 tracks serve as a shadow history of one of our most important artists. -Ben Edmonds.