This is their most rewarding yet, built to enjoy in one 38-minute session, languid, melancholy tunes growing out of barely audible static pulses, incoherently Vocodered whispers or preposterously exciting cymbal splashes, carried on by soft pianos, vulgarity-free brass and strings into Bitch Magnet-meets-Samuel Barber electric cataclysms.

The results are vintage sounding yet wholly fresh. [Feb 2003, p.98]

A rhythmic assurance helps Muggs navigate the flabby portentousness that has hampered Massive Attack of late. [Apr 2003, p.113]

The settings are spacious, the rhythms stately and Stuart Staples croons woozily about how it's all gone horribly wrong.

It really is hard to distinguish between the eight tracks here, but when a theme's this good, the variants are never going to be a problem. [Mar 2003, p.113]

Quietly thrilling. [Feb 2002, p.113]

Its kitsch-free excellence confirms Hawley as a balladeer of the very highest order. [Mar 2003, p.109]

They even give Madonna's I Deserve It a new level of dignity. [Jan 2004, p.118]

At its best, this is strangely charming, chiming pop music with a twist. At other times, the bare-boned production hampers the inventiveness, rendering a track such as Y Teimlad (The Feeling) a workmanlike Velvet Underground retread rather than the thing of symphonic beauty it briefly threatens to be.

The results are just wonderful. [Sep 2003, p.112]

Like Moon Safari-era Air, unleashes shimmering, cinematic musical waves that gently wash over you but eventually suck you in entirely. [Nov 2002, p.113]

Scarecrow's sense of defeat actually makes it a better record. [Jan 2002, p.96]

Gabriel is mesmerising, his plaintive rasp never more gorgeous. [Oct 2002, p.107]

A couple of the songs are grunge by rote, but the art-rock sensibility gleaned from Weiland's old David Bowie albums is evident in the whispered Hell It's Late. [Oct 2001, p.130]

An often-inspired collection of eccentric pop songs and unexpected proggy workouts. [July 2002, p.108]

Out there, but compelling all the same. [#184, p.137]

Comeliness and brutal candour in equal measure. [Jun 2003, p.92]

Juke joint heaven. [May 2003, p.106]

Heavy-duty electronics doing repeatedly bloody battle with grimy strings... An intense but worthwhile experience. [Nov 2000, p.102]

Assured and dignified. [May 2002, p.119]

Wicked Grin is a bona fide revelation.... A rambunctious joy from beginning to end.

This is music that exerts as much effortless cool as young pups The Strokes. [Oct 2001, p.118]

Another triumph, brimming with soulful, languid grooves, deft samples and well-chosen guest singers.

Slick samples and buoyant melodies are in, dissonant atmospherics pretty much out. [Feb 2002, p.111]

An album of rich, subtle melodies, championship-level guitar playing and lyrical depth. [Sep 2002, p.115]

It's the tender slow rollers that really clinch this supreme collection. [#180, p.97]

The W is largely a return to murky idiosyncratic form after 1997's filler-bloated Wu-Tang Forever. Weighing in at a svelte 60 minutes, it plays to the group?s main strengths: brutal hooks and scary ambience.

All in all, as resonant and dignified a covers album as you'll ever hear.