Phillips (1935-1984) first tasted chart stardom in the early ’50s as Little Esther, before spending the ’60s battling heroin addiction. Signing to Kudu in 1971, Esther then made the best music of her career. Kudu surrounded her with fine musicians and material and Phillips’ taut, clipped voice conveys intense emotion like few others. “Home Is Where The Hatred Is” (addiction), “From A Whisper To A Scream” (despair) and the best ever handling of “Use Me” (sex) are all here. Not every interpretation works, but when Esther engages with a song, the results are unforgettable.

When this debut album?originally released in 1969?was first reissued on cult US indie Teenbeat, complete with sleevenotes from Lambchop’s Jonathan Marx, many thought it had to be an elaborate hoax. Could a Nashville girl group really be this good and remain undiscovered? Not forever. A choir of Dusty Springfields produced by Phil Spector would struggle to be this wondrous. Like Lee & Nancy’s “Some Velvet Morning”, The Feminine Complex, as the name suggests, deliver multi-layered, deceptively innocent, largely self-penned psychedelic pop that swings gently from exuberant to spooky via forlorn and sentimental. Unintentionally groundbreaking.

Far from New York, America’s West Coast punks were struggling just to be heard back in ’76. At their forefront were Crime, four greasers in cop uniforms whose bile-spattered extrapolations of The Stooges and rockabilly provided a San Franciscan correlative to The Ramones.

Largely ignored during their lifetime, Crime’s legend is justified by this expanded reissue of a 1992 compilation: two thrillingly crude demo sessions that are the closest they ever came to an album. The “Hot Wire My Heart”debut single (memorably covered by Sonic Youth) is essential, too: reckless, indignant, the very dumb essence of rock’n’roll.

Driscoll fronted Brian Auger’s Trinity on these two albums, which are still undiminished in spirit and style. The instrumentals pack a real punch, led by Auger’s Hammond, although his occasional vocals are weak. But Joolz is the star, moving effortlessly from blues and soul to gospel and freeform jazz pyrotechnics that recall Tim Buckley’s Starsailor. Streetnoise is still truly adventurous in scope, while Open adds three non-album singles, including the atmospheric “This Wheel’s On Fire”and its unsuccessful follow-up, David Ackles'”Road To Cairo”.

With a voice like childhood friend Sam Cooke’s, Rawls’career covered soul, gospel, jazz and…Budweiser ads. But his ’60s work with producer David Axelrod is among his finest, a loose-limbed soul captured here in all its raw glory. Interpretations of Donovan’s “Season Of The Witch”or Stephen Stills'”For What It’s Worth”are great introductions to his versatile voice. Rawls’laid-back passion and Axelrod’s groovy production are invaluable additions to fans of both artists. A match for the legendary Stateside’s Axelrod and Minnie Ripperton retrospectives.

Time could well have been up for The Clash when they came to make their third album in 1979. The ‘Class of ’76’ backlash was in full swing, an ill-conceived sophomore outing, Give ‘Em Enough Rope, still cast an ominous shadow, and a new breed of electro/industrialist art rockers were preparing to invade the capital. As Strummer recalls in the Last Testament documentary (once mooted as the LP title itself), hard work and team spirit were the qualities that marked the fight back.

Under siege, The Clash hunkered down in the Vanilla rehearsal rooms to road-test the sketches of songs that would become the rebel rockers’ revenge. There’s some that didn’t make it: their cover of Matumbi’s version of Dylan’s “The Man In Me”. Then there’s the title track with different lyrics and elementary sound effects and “Guns Of Brixton”, then the instrumental “Paul’s Tune”.

The Vanilla Tapes are a valuable addition to the Clash mythology, the grit and grime of a band sparring in the ring. But, ultimately, they just make the supercharged, customised and invincible finished masterpiece sound greater than ever. This is rock ‘n’ roll brimming with swagger and verve, drawing inspiration from the outside world but also Strummer/Jones’ inner life (“I’m Not Down”) and childhood memories (“Lost In The Supermarket”). Elsewhere?”Jimmy Jazz”, “Hateful”, “Rudie Can’t Fail”, “Death Or Glory”?losers, smackheads, rude boys and child-beaters burst into life, tackled with rage, grim humour and compassion.

The end of the ’70s zeitgeist?fear, paranoia and the rise of the right wing?induces the title track’s impassioned call to arms and the defiant “Clampdown”. Brilliantly sequenced so that the songs and characters smash into and cross-reference each other, London Calling engages soul riffs, reggae beats and vintage rock ‘n’ roll as a band of true blood brothers define their battle-scarred universe. As remarkable now as it was 25 years ago.

Sinatra’s fans are just as fervent as those of Dylan and the Dead when it comes to trading privately taped concert recordings. Officially released for the first time here are two of the most sought-after.

The Blackpool show came at a crucial juncture in Sinatra’s career. He’d just signed to Capitol, and From Here To Eternity had yet to premiere. His personal stock may have been dangerously low but he still possessed that ability to mesmerise an audience. The orchestral accompaniment may sound as if it’s in another room, but Sinatra confirms his undisputed greatness as he jokes as well as he croons.

The Tokyo show benefits from much better sound quality, with the Bill Miller Sextet miraculously retaining the essence of Sinatra’s studio versions of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” and “I Get A Kick Out Of You”.

First Sandy Denny, then Richard Thompson departed, and no one gave Fairport a prayer. Fronted by Simon Nicol and Dave Swarbrick, Angel Delight and Babbacombe Lee, both from 1971, surprisingly rejuvenated the group, the latter a concept album about “the man they couldn’t hang” that actually realised its ambitions. Nicol then jumped ship, leaving Fairport bereft of any founder member. Babbacombe Lee, while a critical success, sold poorly and, on Rosie, the surviving duo of Swarb and Dave Pegg went for an ill-advised contemporary approach. This despite recruiting distinguished friends and ex-members? Denny and Thompson included? as guests, a modus operandi that Fairport follow to this day.

Although it failed to register 0.0001 on the cultural Richter scale when first released in the early ’80s, Mr Nicely does a very pleasing line in faux-psych. The tracks that misfire sound like Soft Cell outtakes or Erasure on ketamine, and any attempt to emulate ’60s production trickery falls flat on its Fairlight. The best of it, though, belongs with the pantheon of great post-psychedelica, like Prince’s Around The World In A Day album, while “Beverly” looks back to Scott Walker and forward to The Beloved and Ibiza bliss.

The one undisputed classic here, “HillyFields”, commemorates the fact that the centre of the universe is a small piece of parkland in south London.

It may not include Bohannon’s mid-’70s hits “Footstompin’Music”and “Disco Stomp”, but stick around. Play it?his best moments from five albums for Mercury between ’77 and ’80 ?and you’re doing your thing like a hammer, knowing you got to stay funky. With a rhythmic fire that burns like a blaze-up between James Brown, Barry White and Talking Heads, mixing African beat with disco heat, Bohannon?drummer and former Motown arranger?took dance to the point of zen, years before people redefined the noun “trance”. Unequivocally fantastic; it’ll take a tremendous act of will to take this off repeat play.

It’s an odd time to evaluate Paul Simon’s solo career in light of his successful 2004 reunion tour with Art Garfunkel. But maybe all that boomer nostalgia needs a little levity, and the sweep of his solo work proves Simon has never dwelled on the past. The Studio Recordings 1972-2000 is that rare bird?an attempt to collect an artist’s entire oeuvre. Never prolific, occasionally over-ambitious, Simon’s career is that of a pensive, cerebral pop craftsman, less interested in musical trends of the day than in finding an appropriate?sometimes daring? sonic backdrop for his acerbic social observations, pithy narratives and gentle reflections. Nonetheless, as the years wear on, Simon’s ability to sustain the intimacy that marked his greatest songs wanes, even as his appetite for musical expansiveness grows.

The remastering is breathtaking throughout this set. The early records, especially the first two, sound radiant, bringing out textures never hinted at before. The brick-box includes all nine of Simon’s studio albums, housed in digipacks. Each contains several extra tracks (30 in all), generally working drafts or demos of familiar songs. There’s no booklet? simply the original lyrics and production notes. Along with Dylan and The Beatles, Simon was a ’60s prophet, instrumental in radically expanding the canvas of popular song, capturing the conscience of the times with as much eloquence and passion as any artist. The duo’s swan song, the ethereal “Bridge Over Troubled Water”, transcended all; a humble gospel song wrapped in sentiments so universal that it instantly launched Simon into the songwriting elite.

His eponymous first solo step, Paul Simon 1972 , is loose and free, with bits of reggae and Latin influences (foreshadowing, that), sublimating big social statements to streetwise hipster personae and deceptively intuitive songcraft. Long on slice-of-life vignettes, it spawned two hits (“Mother And Child Reunion” and “Me And Julio Down By The Schoolyard”). But, as insinuating as those are, the meat lies in “Duncan”, a beautifully sung, aw-shucks reminiscence mirroring the take-stock mood of the times, and “Paranoia Blues”. The latter, a gripping, bottleneck-laced cut, solidified Simon’s reputation as the consummate NY songwriter. While you could read social commentary in between the lines?voices from the generation of the spooked, perhaps?there was plenty of room for humour, too.

There Goes Rhymin’ Simon 1973 is this set’s crown jewel. The songs, many of them cut at Muscle Shoals with greats like Jimmy Johnson and Roger Hawkins, represent Simon at his most melodically indelible. There’s a graceful intimacy here, from the rhythmic kick of “Kodachrome” to the gospel swing of “Loves Me Like A Rock”.

Rhymin’ Simon and its follow-up, Still Crazy After All These Years 1975 , angle for a level of sophistication more akin to Gershwin or Berlin than Dylan. “Tenderness”, which echoes Ray Charles’ “You Don’t Know Me”, and “Something So Right”, with its gorgeous string arrangement by Quincy Jones, remain spine-tingling works 30 years on. The album’s sublime centrepiece, meanwhile, “American Tune”, captures the unravelling of ’60s idealism in the starkest terms: “I don’t know a dream that’s not been shattered/Or driven to its knees.” Here, the protagonist of S&G’s “Homeward Bound” finally realises there’s no home to go home to. Still Crazy, meanwhile, was cut in the wake of Simon’s failed marriage. With its jazzy sheen, sodden New York atmospherics, and melancholy verging on ennui, it’s torch music for the broken-hearted. Like other wrecked masterpieces of its era (such as Dylan’s Blood On The Tracks), it has a corrosive sadness at its core that no amount of tasteful jazz chops by ace session players can hide. It’s over-produced, nasty in places, but still bears the hallmarks of a legend in his prime. The title track, with its woozy late-night reverie and watery Bob James arrangement, is Simon at his self-referential best, but also a prime example of why punk rock had to happen. “Have A Good Time” is even more telling, speaking of ’70s hedonism the way Simon’s most passionate ’60s compositions captured that generation’s idealism. It was Simon’s last album proper for eight years. During the drought, Simon appeared in Woody Allen’s Annie Hall, switched record labels and played the film-maker. The less said about the music for Simon’s 1980 movie One-Trick Pony , the better. A triumph of style over substance, it’s got plenty of groove but precious few memorable cuts (“Late In The Evening” was the hit). A couple of fine bonus tracks, “Stranded In A Limousine” and a sad Vietnam-era ballad, “Soft Parachutes”?which was the film character’s fictional big hit?salvage this disc. But a rare Warner Brothers faux pas, omitting Simon’s 1977 hit single “Slip Sliding Away”, disappoints. Go figure.

The little-regarded anomaly of Simon’s catalogue?Hearts And Bones 1983 ?followed the ballyhooed 1982 S&G reunion. Simon expressed disappointment with this record, and it was a failure on the charts. Still, it’s his most nakedly personal and, in its weird way, most soulful record. It’s been described as Simon’s Tonight’s The Night-and, while Simon never possessed Young’s impulsive bent, Hearts And Bones’ dark themes and eloquent narratives, from post-war snapshots to panoramic vignettes, trace complex emotional terrain, making this his unsung masterpiece. “What is the point of this story?” he sings in “Train In The Distance”, one of the most perceptive songs of his career. “The thought that life could be better,” comes the answer. An acoustic demo of this song is the singular highlight of this box.

Graceland 1986 was next, and its success reconnected Simon with his rightful audience?baby-boomers seeking unthreatening, multicultural spirituality. An influential effort which shone deserved light on South African musicians, there’s nonetheless aloofness in Simon’s songwriting here. Given to cuteness (“You Can Call Me Al”) and irrelevance (“That Was Your Mother”), Graceland is more touristy than revelatory. While admirable for opening up Western tastes to world beat, substantial portions of this record sound forced. Only “Boy In The Bubble” (“These are the days of miracle and wonder”) and the title song take their place in the upper regions of Simon’s canon.

The Rhythm Of The Saints 1990 shifted the focus from South Africa to Brazil, and is both less accessible and more oblique. Simon’s melodies are so thin that the grooves just vanish into air, though its musical landscape remains self-consciously adventurous. “Born At The Right Time” is the lone standout.

Songs From The Capeman 1997 , the aural companion to Simon’s Broadway flop, and You’re The One 2000 , are his most recent outings. Expanding upon and recasting the street music of his youth, the former’s precision and attention to every sordid thought and character detail are daunting. Despite some nice moments (the elegiac “Trailways Bus”), the album does not cohere?the spoken asides and impenetrable narratives aren’t conducive to practical listening. You’re The One, the long-awaited return of Paul Simon, modest songwriter, is preoccupied with ageing and mortality, veering from joyful simplicity to ruminations on love and philosophy. Alternately ponderous, comic and disconnected, it’s merely workmanlike

If the excitable Boy In Da Corner thrust teenage MC and producer Dizzee Rascal to unthinkable heights, Showtime proudly posits the UK’s leading grime ambassador back where he started: vexed, 10 storeys up, in Bow, E3. There is now much for Dylan Mills to discuss (hence worthy episodes “Respect Me” and “Get By”) but his “ghetto frame of mind” remains untainted by fame. Showtime sounds incredible. With his arresting style of mutant grime-pop, Mills dazzles on every track, his instinctive flair for melody and arrangement enhancing “Graftin'” and “Flyin'”.

As “Dream”, a cute cover of Captain Sensible’s “Happy Talk”, confirms, Showtime proves Dizzee’s capable of anything.

After years spent in one desert or another, Howe Gelb currently resides in his Danish wife’s hometown of Aarhus, when he’s not on the road here and there. Combined with the variegated musical territory, this makes the latest Giant Sand album a decidedly far-flung affair. Among its 15 tracks are references to New York City, songs called “Napoli” and “Classico”, gentle samba shuffles, songs about German hotel rooms, songs sung in French, and even ?extending its geographical range somewhat?a song called “Flying Around The Sun With Remarkable Speed”. The line-up is more international, too, with Peter Dombernowsky on drums, Th