The first of two Beeb collections scheduled this year (Vol 2’s 1971-73 Peel Sessions follows), this two-CD set captures Canterbury’s finest pot-noodlers in transit from May Day psychedelia to anarchic otherworldliness. From a previously unreleased 1967 session with Kevin Ayers (including a “Clarence In Wonderland” dewier and jauntier than his 1970 Shooting At The Moon version) to 1971’s “Eamonn Andrews/All White”, the trip from acid skylarking to squawking freeform jazz remains a startlingly expressive, if at times awkward, vision. Robert Wyatt’s “Moon In June” is a standout.

Memphis power pop is such an ever-expanding genre that Big Star’s Alex Chilton, the godfather of the scene, must wish he’d taken out copyright. The Scruffs are one of several pre-Replacements acts who tapped into that antsy girls-on-my-mind mood and pursued the blend of melancholia with added rock’n’roll rush to a logical conclusion. Fronted by Stephen Burns, this second Scruffs album (recorded in 1978/9) contains band staples like “Go Faster”, “Alice, Please Don’t Go” and the post-Flamin’ Groovies blood-letting of “Treachery”. Burns still fronts a Scruffy outfit and is big in Japan and Scotland?natch. Definitely one for the gurls.

A major influence on Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix and many more, Elmore James died in 1963, just as young British and American players were customising his scything fury for the mass market. But this intensive three-CD set shows his visceral but good-humoured style was still red hot on his final recordings for entrepreneur Bobby Robinson. With his vibrato guitar and anguished vocal at a peak, James’ magisterial reach is thrilling and indomitable, defying anyone to take his crown.

Dan Treacy is revered by some as a paragon of scruffy, scuffed outsider pop art, a punky British answer to Arthur Lee or Skip Spence. The fact that these devotees are the kind of people who hail Edward Ball as a genius and covet Biff Bang Pow! seven-inches speaks volumes. Sure enough, here we have the odd flash or two of inspiration (notably “King And Country” and “How I Learned To Love… The Bomb”) stifled by a general air of disappointment and opportunities missed. While the na

Kelly was unique in being a British white female singer working solely in the blues. The antithesis of Janis Joplin, this straight-faced performer based her vocal and guitar styles on male blues singers like Son House. This 45-track double features Jo Ann with a slew of helpers, including Tony McPhee and Mick Fleetwood.

THINGS WE LIKE

HARMONY ROW

OUT OF THE STORM

HOW’S TRICKS

POLYDOR

Jack Bruce made his first appearance in the ferocious mid-’60s R&B quartet The Graham Bond Organisation, singing and playing bass and harmonica with a uniquely passionate attack matched by his rhythm section partner, drummer Ginger Baker. The band made two highly collectable albums before splitting. Bruce went on, via a brief sojourn with Manfred Mann, to form Cream with Baker and Eric Clapton. One of the prototype power trios, Cream were among the leading British acts of the late ’60s, their reputaion built primarily on their concert performances which consisted of 90 per cent improvisation off the top of fierce, bluesy songs. Their career, however, lasted barely three years before changes in the scene forced them to call a halt to operations.

The Graham Bond Organisation’s closeness to the British jazz club scene of the time was confirmed on Things We Like, recorded in 1968 but not released until 1970. Bruce’s first solo album after the break-up of Cream thus became 1969’s Songs For A Tailor. Here, his classical training?he’s a graduate of the Royal Scottish Academy of Music, where he studied piano and cello?came into play with more exploratory songwriting and arranging. An outstanding album in its day, Songs For A Tailor turns up as fresh as ever among his batch of reissues, With this release, Bruce managed to combine his skilled musicianship with a direct approach assisted by the memorable surrealism of Pete Brown’s lyrics. The later albums, of which Harmony Row is the best, are harmonically ingenious but less immediately communicative and will appeal only to determined fans of the fiery Scot’s sometimes recherch

Lou Reed

NYC MAN

BMG

Compilations of the velvet underground and Lou Reed in solo guise are nothing new?Polydor’s ‘Coke Bottle’ set and sundry Reed hits packages can be found next to the original artefacts, but with interest in the current New York scene reaching epidemic proportions in Europe, it’s timely to receive these complementary discs.

The Velvet Underground’s rise from cult heroes to car advertisers with an outtake that jingles like a nursery rhyme?”I’m sticking with you, cos I’m made out of glue”?shouldn’t disguise their more serious intent. As Andy Warhol’s house band at the Factory and the Exploding Plastic Inevitable, the Velvets, with and without German chanteuse Nico, personified the cool, street-level stink of New York. They explored the leather-coated underbelly in “I’m Waiting For The Man” and “Venus In Furs” and made a late stab for radio-friendly acceptance with the classic Loaded album, which included “Sweet Jane” and “Rock And Roll”. This 18-cut single disc will do nothing to dissuade those who suspect Lou’s involvement was somewhat stronger than John Cale’s, but as a walk-in introduction it makes a great dinner party backdrop.

Lou’s much larger post-Velvets legacy is harder to cull. The double-CD NYC Man makes a decent fist of mixing the obvious with the esoteric?it even stays up to date thanks to a selection from The Raven. Potential buyers should note overlap in the Loaded department and may find themselves duplicating Transformer songs yet again. But anyone who missed out on New York, Magic And Loss or Set The Twilight Reeling (which provides the title cut) can buy a ticket and jump on that seamy subway.

HALBER MENSCH

FUENF AUF DER NACH OBEN OFFENEN RICHTERSKALA

HAUS DER LUGE

ALL POTOMAK

Fronting the German wing of industrial music, Blixa Bargeld’s Einst

Clarence White

TUFF & STRINGY (SESSIONS 1966-68)

BIG BEAT

Along with splinter duo Gene Parsons’ and Gib Guilbeau’s Louisiana Rain (aka Cajun Country), Nashville West’s semi-legendary 1967 live outing is as important a country-rock harbinger as anything by Gene, Gram or The Byrds (all regulars at NW gigs). Alongside Guilbeau and future Byrd Parsons, Wayne Moore and ace guitar picker-cum-Byrd Clarence White cooked up Bakersfield twang and semi-cajun R&B that redefined California’s musical map for ever.

Meanwhile, ex-Kentucky Colonel White’s collection of rarities, demos and outtakes is a fascinating glimpse of the great man’s development as solo artist and innately sympathetic sessioneer on the cusp of Byrdsdom, including his dry run for “Nashville West” from Dr Byrds And Mr Hyde: “Hong Kong Hillbilly”.

Still one of the best-kept secrets in US pop-rock history, The Raspberries, in the early ’70s, made an awesome ringing noise. There’s more energy here than is strictly decent, and surely only the fact singer Eric Carmen went on to mainstream success with MOR ballad “All By Myself” denied them the status granted Big Star, their nearest soundalikes. Plus their being decked out in white suits and touted as ‘the new Beatles’. No matter?Carmen sings like a hero, and three-minute riff-riots like “Go All The Way”, “Ecstasy” and “Tonight” are fresh, vibrant Who, Beach Boys and Byrds pastiches. Then, of course, there’s “Overnight Sensation”, deconstructing themselves and daring to have not one but two cheaply operatic false endings. Be blown away.

While hanging out with calypso stars Mighty Sparrow and Lord Invader on the Trinidadian set of 1957’s Fire Down Below, Mitchum hit on the idea of a cash-in album for Capitol execs eager to tap into the next big thing. Harry Belafonte aside, the craze didn’t quite sweep, but old sourpuss’ unlikely stab is commendable for its gusto, rum-cocktail swing and gentle innuendo (see “Tic Tic Tic”). Sinatra it ain’t, but it sure beats Richard Harris.

The original Acoustic album sold over 100,000 and its follow-up, Acoustic 2, did similarly healthy business. The same formula is followed for the third instalment in this series: a mixture of old and new with the definition of “acoustic” bent to accommodate amplified music wherever the mood is suitable. This time out, the range is wide. The Velvet Underground and Nico’s “Sunday Morning” appears, along with Bob Dylan’s “She Belongs To Me”. Elsewhere, Jeff Buckley, Mercury Rev, Ryan Adams, Oasis, Starsailor, Beth Orton and Dido are among the 40 artists taking part. Buyers of the earlier volumes in the series will certainly want this.

This compilation is for connoisseurs. The Gang are best known in Britain for their amiable post-disco ’80s hits topped by James “JT” Taylor’s vocals. The best of these (“Get Down On It”, wedding/barmitzvah staple “Celebration”) appear here; the worst (“Joanna”, “Cherish”) thankfully don’t. The two discs have been themed separately: CD 1 (“Wild”), focusing on their ’70s funk heyday, is uncompromising; check the overlapping voices on “Hollywood Swinging” or the freeform sax throughout. On CD 2 (“Peaceful”) we get blissful, meditative soundscapes such as the much-sampled “Summer Madness”. On tracks like “Wild And Peaceful”, the ethereality places them closer to the Cocteau Twins than James Brown.

FOR ALL AND NONE

DEGENERATES

ALL LTM

Led by former TV presenter Dick Witts, The Passage were never properly accommodated within the vaguely portentous context of Factory Records. Lyrically, they were bluntly polemical (“Troops Out” from Pindrop, for example). More explicitly than Joy Division, they caught the strange mood-cocktail of hedonism and mortal fear of the early ’80s (“We’re dancing through dark times”) while their elaborate, Moog-driven, segmented musical backdrops reflected Witts’ classical background. That they deliberately went out of their way to make listeners feel uncomfortable didn’t help their commercial prospects, which petered out shortly after 1982’s Degenerates.

The generosity of spirit that runs through Curtis Mayfield’s solo work helped fuel a parallel career as soul auteur. With the similarly gospel-bred, independent-minded Sam Cooke as role model, Mayfield formed Curtom as a publishing company in 1963. Despite financial problems as a label, Curtom’s broad church embraced The Impressions-era close harmonies of The Five Stairsteps And Cubie and The Fascinations, the 1979 material girl manifesto of Linda Clifford’s “Don’t Give It Up” and latter-day offerings from former associates Fred Wesley and Mavis Staples. Curtis’ own offerings stand out, but the purity of his vision seldom fails to shine.

TIME AND A WORD

THE YES ALBUM

FRAGILE

ALL ELEKTRA/RHINO

Formed from five independently-minded virtuosos, Yes’ eclectic mix of hard rock, classical arrangements and jazz-fusion experimentalism brought little success with their eponymous debut album (1969, re-released here with six bonus tracks, four previously unissued), despite a penchant for daring cover versions (including The Byrds’ “I See You”).

Time And A Word (here with four bonus tracks including singles and alternate versions) from 1970 continued to expand the basic rock format with increasingly symphonic arrangements, SF concepts and cosmically conscious lyrics, but critical and commercial success only came with the arrival of guitarist Steve Howe.

Equally at home with Appalachian country music as with extended, soaring rock solos, Howe’s diverse approach helped to define the Yes sound so that when 1971’s The Yes Album (three bonus tracks) was released, mainstream success had become a distinct possibility.

The final piece of the jigsaw slotted into place with the arrival of Rick Wakeman to produce the classic line-up of Anderson (vocals), Bruford (drums), Howe (guitar), Squire (bass) and Wakeman (keyboards). Ensconced in a gatefold sleeve with Roger Dean’s first artwork for the band and an embryonic Yes logo, Fragile (1972, two extra tracks?including their epic reworking of Paul Simon’s “America” from the New Age Of Atlantic sampler of the same year) made them a household name on both sides of the pond, largely due to its extended, multi-suite single “Roundabout”, which came on like a belated British answer to The Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations”.

Recorded swiftly in patchwork fashion, Fragile avoided the over-meticulous arrangements of previous efforts, allowing Bill Bruford’s frenetic jazz drumming to skitter behind Jon Anderson’s choirboy voice, guitars and keyboards operating perilously close to collapse.

Punk’s arrival in the late ’70s sounded the death knell for most prog acts, but Yes continued making albums well into the late ’90s. Meanwhile, the extended electronic fantasies of bands like Underworld owe more to Yes’ legacy than they might care to admit.

So unprepossessing are The High Llamas, ticking over as consistently as a faithful old grandfather clock, that it’s easy to take them for granted. Competing for your attention, the swagger and thrust of The Strokes wins every time over a bunch of mild-mannered blokes in jeans, one of whom is playing, this late on, a banjo.

Yet, attend long enough to The High Llamas, get beyond the modestly industrious, Heath Robinson-style workings of their musical contraptions and you’ll find yourself infatuated by their troubled Utopian pop. There’s a whole world here that beats hollow the seemingly happening but deadeningly generic new garage rock. Sure, they’re indebted?to Steely Dan on “Checking In, Checking Out”, to Brian Wilson, to fellow travellers Stereolab. Yet there’s a uniqueness to The High Llamas’ aesthetic, a melancholy warmth in their instrumental brush strokes (rippling vibes, clouds of brass), an organic easy-going nature that can effortlessly accommodate bucolic, folksy licks and futuristic bleeps and burbles without clash or contrivance. Carefully plotted and meandering, lush and angular, predictable and unpredictable, the Llamas offer an avant-garde MOR that’s disquietingly reassuring.

Disc One of this collection picks from their ’90s albums and is utterly sublime, especially “Bach Ze”, as sad and sunny as a Hockney painting. Disc Two contains various B-sides and outtakes (notably the exquisite “It Might As Well Be Dumbo”) and makes for a gentler amble through the fresh fields and space stations of Llamaland?less demanding but never dull. A vital purchase for both diehards and novices.

Wire attracted an immediate punk audience with their 1977 debut album, whom they then began to confound, tease and alienate as their unabashed arthouse tendencies came to the fore.

“Mzui” was a series of sculptures (subsequently trashed by oikish Wire fans) made from objects that were discovered around London’s Waterloo, coupled with microphones set up to record ‘found sounds’ that emanated from the gallery. This is a simulation of that experiment, featuring two pieces, the first a farrago of ‘urban, interior’ scrapes and groans, the second, more successful piece an extended, serrated but gracefully turned ambient drone.

As everyone knows, glam rock in the UK was begat by Bowie, Bolan and Ferry, then ruined by bandwagon-jumping brickies in mascara. Well, yes and no?some of this rubbish was great fun, as compilers Bob Stanley and Phil King hereby recognise. And while the correct response is probably to chuckle at its tackiness, some of us, behind closed doors, will be punching the air and stomping along with surreal enthusiasm. While The Sweet and Mud cleaned up, forgotten losers like Iron Virgin, The Plod and Bearded Lady (those names!) understood the glittery genius of Chinn and Chapman and took such staccato simplicity to the max. Ricky Wilde and Simon Turner were young and foolish; Brett Smiley was surely the dad of that bloke from Suede. Magic: I’m off to burn down school with my cosmic raygun.