Uncut

Leftfield kindergarten singalongs, amazingly

Sparky, angular second from luckless young Brit-rockers

The divine diva of Cuban song offers up a mambo-flavoured masterpiece

Describing itself as "the evil twin to the ecstatically decadent Boogie Nights soundtrack", the merits of this collection dwarf even Val Kilmer's (it says here) 13-inch penis. Okay, so he was playing porn legend John Holmes. But we don't even want to think about the method acting. Instead, let's explain why this soundtrack is so excellent. It's very simple: most of the songs they've chosen are classics. As opposed to the tired drek clueless movie producers compiling soundtracks usually think are classics (Dido, The Troggs).

Four under-21s from Tyne & Wear with a sharply cut punk debut

New Pornographer jumps into classic singer-songwriter stream head first

Agonisingly slow metal rituals

Not only a Brit comedy that's funny, but an indie-pop soundtrack that's in good taste. Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now" and "You're My Best Friend" are here to ensure nobody thinks this is XFM, but otherwise I Monster, Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster and Ash do it for the kids. Grandmaster Flash and Man Parrish do it for the kids with rhythm. Lemon Jelly do it for the parents. The Smiths and The Specials do it for us all. And Ash teaming up with Chris Martin to cover Buzzcocks' "Everybody's Happy Nowadays" is surely done with good intentions and a sense of humour.

The Korgis' bittersweet 1980 hit "Everybody's Got To Learn Some Time", and 1998's future of rock'n'roll, Beck. What could they have in common? Well, Beck has wised up and done a cover of said narcoleptic nugget. And in this intelligent, melancholy film, it sounds every bit as affecting as intended. Jon Brion, the man behind the score to Magnolia, contributes the bulk, while The Polyphonic Spree chime in with "Light And Day". If you enjoy the Spree un-ironically, you'll also love ELO's "Mr Blue Sky", here in all its bombast.

The new Dawson's Creek, and declared a guilty pleasure for adults by every Sunday supplement you read. To enjoy the music fully, pretend you still ask your mum and dad's permission to stay out after nine. Having made such a leap, swoon to timid acoustic moments from Spoon, South and William Orbit. Get a bit stroppy to the Dandy Warhols or Doves, slam the door to Turin Brakes, then storm out in a huff crying to the grown-up riffs of Jet, who, in this context, sound like they shave and might piss on your barbecue. It's called Orange County because of the colour of the actors' skin, by the way.