Away from his crisis of conscience between church and honky-tonk, Lewis remains one of the few artists able to surf styles without ever embarrassing himself. Throughout this twofer, which emanates from his troubled “Meat Man” period in the early ’70s, Jerry Lee sings with total conviction on southern soul classics like “When A Man Loves A Woman. Elsewhere, his then dissolute lifestyle is encapsulated by the tear-in-a-beer “That Kind Of Fool”. With Johnny Cash gone, perhaps Rick Rubin should now take on “The Killer”?

Literate punk Costello’s country makeover, Almost Blue, sat awkwardly with new wave fans in ’81, but it’s proven durable, with “Sweet Dreams”, “Good Year For The Roses” and “I’m Your Toy” (aka “Hot Burrito #2”) sounding as warm and nasty as ever. No less than 27 tracks grace the bonus disc, including a previously unreleased duet with Johnny Cash (“We Oughtta Be Ashamed”) recorded at Nick Lowe’s house, and four live cuts. Goodbye Cruel World is of-its-time (1984). Langer/Winstanley pop (“The Only Flame In Town”, “I Wanna Be Loved”), with 26 bonus tracks: lives, demos, a Specials cover, a “Baby It’s You” duet with Lowe. Kojak Variety from ’95 was a covers frenzy (Motown, Dylan, Kinks), and the 20 new extras include Springsteen’s “Brilliant Disguise” and Cilla’s “Step Inside Love”

Arguably the best female folk voice of the age, Collins brought a fresh commercial edge to the early-’60s East Coast revival. Her third album was a breakthrough for the genre, with its versions of contemporary songs?Dylan’s “Masters Of War” among them?sitting alongside the cosier readings of Pete Seeger and company. Even here, with a young Roger (then Jim) McGuinn guesting on future Byrds smash “Turn! Turn! Turn!”, the seeds of change are being planted. Dylan’s “Hattie Carroll” is among the songs covered stirringly at Collins’ 1964 live set from New York’s Town Hall.

Prior to the mid-’80s, Einst

“Good evening. WE’RE The Velvet Underground and you’re allowed to dance, in case you don’t know.” So began Lou Reed’s introduction to an album that was once described as “great songs in poor fidelity…and the sound sucks”. While finishing the mastering of their fourth album, the majestic Loaded, for Atlantic, the Velvets?Lou Reed, Doug Yule, Billy Yule (sitting in for the pregnant Maureen Tucker) and Sterling Morrison?played a month-long residency, two sets a night, at Max’s. Some shows were taped by Andy Warhol’s scene-making underground pal Brigid Polk (aka Brigid Berlin), a crystal meth freak and participant in such Silver Factory epics as Chelsea Girls, Trash and Pork.

The resultant LP is unlikely to have been the last VU gig Reed played, but it’s a stunning monophonic documentary of a pivotal New York occasion, an album that has held huge sway over David Bowie, Sonic Youth and R.E.M. among others for the bravura of its mellow, metallic-edged sound, as well as its gloriously decadent atmosphere.

In this deluxe configuration (with six unreleased tracks), Live At Max’s will jolt many memories for anyone who discovered the Velvets backwards, from Loaded to the first album. While Lou, Doug and company turn out rhythmically hair-raising accounts of “I’m Set Free”, “Candy Says” and “Some Kinda Love”, VU freaks will also turn to non-box set takes of “Who Loves The Sun” (sadly, minus its jangly recorded intro) and the gay New Orleans epic “Lonesome Cowboy Bill”. Both are impeccably delivered by the sorely underrated Yule.

The historical/hysterical frisson is bolstered by the asides of NYC poet Jim Carroll as he orders his Tuinol and double Pernods. After “Sweet Jane”, received with the faintest of applause, Carroll gets his priorities in order: “Yeah, I heard it, but it’s pretty new. Did you get the Pernod? You have to go the downstairs bar.” Lazy bugger. August 23, 1970 must have been a great night. You can be there for a bittersweet taste. Don’t forget your 26 dollars.

Not many bands hold a candle to Chicago’s Cheap Trick. Busting out of the ’70s, they turned a fixation with The Move and ELO into an advantage, with a ferociously hard rhythm section rolling underneath guitarist Rick Nielsen’s sharp writing and the full-bore vocals of blond bombshell Robin Zander. Twenty-five years later, the Trick haven’t outstayed their welcome. This two-CD set collates the best of their debut and the magnificent In Color, adds the radio hits “Surrender” and “Dream Police” and finds space for some recent liaisons with Chrissie Hynde and Billy Corgan. Thrilling, audacious and bang on the money.

Often cited, next to The Equals and Blue Mink, as British melting-pot pop, Pye Records’ unpretentious beat’n’bubblegum brigade eschewed flower-power stereotypes by sticking to a clap-happy variant on southern soul. Singer Clem Curtis, and his replacement Colin Young, fronted a sound that swung through TV studios and wouldn’t sound out of place now as cruise ship entertainment. In fact, the title cut closes There’s Something About Mary, so the melody lingers on. This triple-CD set collates tune-heavy hits?”Baby Now That I’ve Found You”, “Back On My Feet Again” and “In The Bad, Bad Old Days”?with B-sides and the odd rarity. One for jukebox nostalgists everywhere.

Although always outgunned by Fleetwood Mac, who even stole Christine McVie (n

Ward enjoyed scant career luck, flitting between labels who weren’t sure whether they had Lindisfarne or David Essex on their hands. More than a one-hit wonder, however, he penned a handful of beautifully brittle ballads, with “Up In The World”, included here, being the finest. Covered later by Garfunkel and Cliff, it’s a delicate tale of class and sex, and thus, like most Ward, very English. Little here can match it: “Secretary” and “Gandalf” is as ghastly as you’d fear, and the title track patronises housewives. Five previously unreleased alternative takes, though, showcase his subtle, soft voice.

The most productive and successful group contracted to Apple, Badfinger occasionally even scaled the same dizzy heights as their benefactors. Signed in 1968 as The Iveys, they were renamed after “Badfinger Boogie”, the working title for “With A Little Help From My Friends”. Most prophetic, since the association with their mentors ran deep: Badfinger played on Ringo’s It Don’t Come Easy, the Imagine LP and George’s All Things Must Pass, plus back-up duties for Concert For Bangladesh. McCartney jump-started their career, though, handing them a surefire hit in “Come And Get It” for Magic Christian Music. It honed their sound and helped define a whole sub-genre, namely power-pop?ascending melodies, contagious hooks and signature Beatle-esque harmonies.

The first two albums (1969 and 1970) were piecemeal affairs but by No Dice (also 1970) they hit their stride, including further power-pop perfection “No Matter What” and the wondrous “Without You”, later bettered by Nilsson.

Straight Up (1971) benefited from two-handed guidance?first George Harrison and then, after he was sidelined by the Bangladesh affair, Todd Rundgren, who got to live out the full Beatles fantasy. Tom Evans, Joey Molland and Pete Ham crafted 12 equally pleasure-drooling songs and then seemingly set Abbey Road as the benchmark for execution and production. And hit the mark they did?notably Ham’s “Day After Day”, with George’s trademark slide guitar intro, and “Baby Blue”, resplendent with ringing chords and a middle-eight worthy of Rubber Soul. It was the best album The Beatles never made. The extras on this and No Dice include seven rejected recordings, among them the segued tracks “Money/Flying”, with discarded George Martin-arranged strings.

This London-based quintet, all crumpled Oxfam shop suits and NHS specs, appeared out of time among Britpop’s cocky glare. Unfortunately their yearning, hyper-literate twilight pop (Leonard Cohen romanticism multiplied by The Teardrop Explodes) only compounded their isolation. Yet in those pre-Parklife days, Animals That Swim’s intelligent barfly persona, particularly the bizarre imaginary tale of Roy Orbison on “Roy” and the doleful “King Beer”, made them a haven from gormless grunge. The 1996 single “Faded Glamour” got them some radio play, but 2001’s Happiness From A Distant Star effectively sank. This judiciously selected collection highlights their ennui-soaked glory perfectly.

Ten early live tracks and radio sessions present a fascinating insight into the freak of nature that was the man’s voice in the teenage body of Steve Winwood. Mirroring all the fuss over Joss Stone, Winwood was just as young when he recorded these dynamic versions of such R&B classics as “Dimples”, “I Can’t Stand It” and an unbelievable “Georgia On My Mind” that rivals Ray Charles for soulful passion. Incredibly, he was still only 18 when he quit the band in early 1967. By then, he’d written “Gimme Some Lovin'” and “I’m A Man” as well, heard here in similarly rudimentary pre-Radio One recordings. The 10 tracks post-dating Winwood’s departure can be skipped: fortunately they’re chronologically ordered to enable just that.

Flash axe lovers should have been in heaven when New York clashed with Detroit at the gates of punk. Thunders & Kramer’s live recordings from Toronto and Boston in 1979 don’t actively disappoint, although some of the performances are sketchy: as Kramer noted, “Johnny’s got one foot in the gutter and the other on a banana skin”, and that tension doesn’t always deliver. Still, hectic takes on “Ramblin’ Rose”, the Stones’ “I’d Much Rather Be With Boys” and Dylan’s “Like A Rolling Stone” keep an effervescent mix at boiling point. A recklessly high-energy take on Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Are Made For Walkin'” illustrates, too, why this toxic combination could never last.

Billy Mackenzie was never going to fit into the round hole of ’80s pop. With his beret and his whippets and a dimpled smile that hid his sadness and madness, Dundee’s finest fruitcake was just too odd and too buccaneeringly brilliant to compete with New Romantic frauds like Spandau Ballet and Duran Duran.

Transported back to 1980 by the thrilling drive of “The Affectionate Punch”, it’s hard not to feel a burning indignation at the way this talent was so pitilessly sidelined by the Smash Hits generation. Even when the kids put the delicious “Party Fears Two” in the charts and on Top Of The Pops, they clearly didn’t see that they had a genius in their midst.

With darkly handsome multi-instrumentalist Alan Rankine making echoey soundscapes behind him, Billy Mac took the exultant Euro-funk of Bowie’s Low! “Heroes” period kicking and swishing into the indie ’80s. No wonder that the first single here is the locally released cover of “Boys Keep Swinging”.

Singles reflects the three distinct phases of the group’s life. First come those extraordinary early singles: futuristic, almost haughtily uncommercial, distant cousins of Scott Walker’s more outr

Irma Thomas never achieved the fame she deserved, partly because she failed to escape the ramshackle nature of the New Orleans music business, and partly because so many white artists covered her material note for note (viz: The Rolling Stones’ 1964 hit “Time Is On My Side”). Troubled teenage years (a first child at 14, four children by 19) gave her voice a deep, soul-tugging emotional resonance?half Pearl Bailey, half Mahalia Jackson. This 24-track compilation is culled from her Minit and Imperial catalogues from 1962-64, and it includes several Allen Toussaint-penned and produced tracks, including “Take A Look” and “Wait Wait Wait”.

The name suggested some frightful prog entity, but Earth Opera were essentially Boston bluegrassers Peter Rowan and David Grisman, a pair intent on chucking tradition out of the window in favour of spacey, SF-flavoured psych-folk.

Rowan’s effectless vocals and guitar combine with future Jerry Garcia pal Grisman’s mandolin and mandocello (plus low-key vibes, drums and more) on slow, sometimes ponderous songs.

Neither 1968’s Earth Opera nor 1969’s slightly jollier The Great American Eagle Tragedy-its title track a 10-minute condemnation of the Vietnam war featuring John Cale-have dated awfully well.

Private Eyes (1981) was in many ways Daryl Hall & John Oates’ Tusk. Inspired by British new wave and post-punk, they concocted an uneven but compelling mix of thrashy pop and sublime proto-electro (the endlessly sampled global chart-topper “I Can’t Go For That (No Can Do)”). H2O (1982), meanwhile, saw them undecided as to whether they wanted to be a Proper Band or the missing link between The Everly Brothers and the Pet Shop Boys. The fine singles “Maneater” and “One On One” point to the latter, but mention should also be made of two of Hall’s finest white soul vocal performances on the closing “At Tension” and “Go Solo”.