The Specials, once more, fashioning a compelling soundtrack to troubled times past and present.

Crosby’s voice takes you flying back down the decades yet without ever longing for past glories.

Their 14th album rakes over the wreckage and emerges as a generous, deeply humane mission statement: it’s an album of profound melancholy, of course, but also one lit up with heroic, big-pop colour. Ultra-vivid indeed.

Songs such as the joyous To Be Loved (classic couplet, “Each day feels like a weekend when you’re around”) shows that, in her eighth decade, Joan Armatrading CBE is far from resting on past achievements.

A fine testament to one of soul’s major labels, and a must-have.

Despite the general autumnal mood, the easy-going charm of Oval is worlds away from Almond’s rumbling menace. It’s all compelling enough to keep drawing listeners back for the next 14 years. Magnificent.

The rockier songs have a vague whiff of Faith No More’s deepest cuts, or even the lurching noir-rock of Tomahawk. ... On the poppier moments he flaunts his range more confidently than ever. There’s a lot to take in. ... Few bands remain so interesting for so long. The adventure continues.

Between its playful, retro-electro settings and the murky presentiments of Marling’s allusive lyrics, Animal paints outside the lines of LUMP’s debut carefully, never suffocating the intuitive strangeness at its heart.

As ever, Browne leavens his harder-edged songs with gentler fare. The Caribbean-flavoured, Haiti-inspired Love Is Love has a distinct hint of Paul Simon to it, while My Cleveland Heart attempts to build a whole song around the premise of being given an artificial ticker.

Finn senior’s prescient lyrics, sugarcoated with melody for ease of delivery, help make Dreamers Are Waiting both tart and timeless.

Their political agenda from this distance is not quaint, it remains entirely relevant.

Blue Elephant is like a soundtrack to a classic ITC TV programme, with lots of jumping into sleek jaguars and speeding along Chelsea Embankment. If that ticks your boxes, this is one of the best albums you’ll hear all year.

The poignant This Nearly Was Mine from South Pacific (“now, I’m alone, still dreaming of paradise”) and I Who Have Nothing, are both imbued with equal measures of yearning and malice. It’s almost as if In Translation has tied up all the strange, raw emotions of the past year and made some sense of them.

The signs were all there, even though Bowie briefly ignored them as he recorded the landmark Hunky Dory. But as The Width Of A Circle shows, everything he’d put in place would soon come around.

Sabbath leant towards greater sophistication without losing their elemental bent. The super deluxe treatment introduces plenty of live material from the same year’s North American tour.

Blue Weekend isn’t a perfect record, with the folky No Hard Feelings and Safe From Heartbreak (If You’ve Never Been In Love) a little whimsical next to everything else going on. It matters little, though. Rowsell’s rallying cry in Smile that “I ain’t afraid of the fact that I’m sensitive” is borne out in a wild and tender third album.

Overall, Source is a thing of wondrous beauty, revealing that the hyperbole accompanying Garcia patently isn't out of proportion to her talent. [Sep 2020, p.101]

(The CSNY versions of Young’s Sea Of Madness and Everybody’s Alone would’ve been nice for starters), but there’s still a huge amount here for fans. The demos include some absolute stunners: Young and Nash’s wonderfully languid take on the former’s Birds; a delicate and heady solo version of Crosby’s Laughing; and Nash’s reflective solo rendition of Sleep Song. The outtakes, meanwhile, reveal just how much control Stills took in the studio, with enough material here for a fine standalone solo album of gutsy, soul-steeped jams.

Mind-blowing on any level. Colossally vital.

Lean, precise and purposeful, its 12 tracks whistle by in little more than 35 minutes; its production, in keeping with the limitations of lockdown, is deliberately pared down. There are other flutters of experimentation – the title track is an unfastened groove that struts like Ian Dury on a mystical funk trip – but it’s the simple melodic strength that binds the songs together.

Historically The Who Sell Out hasn’t always been given the serious critical attention afforded its successors Tommy, Who’s Next and Quadrophenia. Yet, it’s just as significant a touchstone in the Who canon, a pointer to, in particular, Townshend’s desire for the band to test both themselves and their audience. It makes this extensive and richly textured ultimate edition a “ragbag” worth rooting through.

It’s a record that increasingly rewards with each play, the subtleties and subtext revealed slowly, teased into view by deceptively unobtrusive musical accompaniment. Ellis’ punctuations of the words serve a similar purpose to melodic hooks in traditional pop songs, setting the groundwork for the lyrical beauty of the source material to haunt our thoughts long after the album’s over.

At times they overstretch – the tail-end of Part One drifts like fish and chip wrapper in the breeze – but a visit to Coral Island elicits the intangible pull of a place in time etched forever in the mind. Roll up, roll up.

Endless Arcade represents the biggest demand on their followers the band have made for some time, with pensive contemplation underpinning an eclectic, experimental set of songs. But they have long earned the right to venture off in whichever direction takes their fancy. They are still growing, still evolving and still learning. Endless Arcade is a brave record by a brave band. There are few of Teenage Fanclub’s ilk.

It is an album, certainly, that carries the magic and surprise that belongs only to strange times, that belongs to this moment completely: a record of the way we saw the world, once, the way it sounded, the way it felt, as we all stood still and watched.

This most genuine version of herself is more than good enough to stand on its own.

Filthy, funny, affecting, Arab Strap sound like a band with a future again.

The Super Deluxe edition of Vol 4 supplements a crisp remaster of the original album with extra discs containing alternative takes and revelatory studio outtakes (“What’s it called?” “Bollocks”), plus an entire set’s worth of live tracks from their March 1973 UK tour, a poster and a booklet so hefty you could tether a bull to it.