This suite of songs, from Infestation Of Grey Death and Tower Of Silence to The Last Laugh, sets out Cathedral’s stall once and for all: a metal band whose palette of influences made their songs more than merely headbanging opportunities.

Arguably, the album lacks a stand-out killer to take to radio but, by the same token, there’s hardly anything that could be described as filler; it’s a solid and confident collection from a veteran songstress who still has a lot to offer.

After a while, the lushness of the vocals becomes a little wearing if you’re looking for the cracked, dark heart of yore; a futile task in any case, as that heart stopped beating a long time ago.

It’s garage rock by numbers and sounds like it took as long to write as it does to listen to.

Change Becomes Us sounds almost like a lost fourth Harvest release.

Inimitable, occasionally impenetrable, but never less than intriguing.

It’s wilful experimentation with no pay-off, sounding lonely, old, with only the occasional, tempting flicker of a genius that once burnt bright.

There’s nothing to dislike about their creeping dread, but it’s hard to engage with it.

The Low Highway is an album brimming with characters, be they Earle himself, his collaborators, his fans or, just as importantly, the long roads he’s pounded all his adult life.

Inevitably, it’s a time capsule, rather than a new album proper, though the best moments make you wonder what might have been.

[Vanishing Point is] raw and unrefined, it has as much energy and attitude as any of their previous albums.

It’s a grower--and a cunningly deceptive one at that.

This is sweetly strange and often emotional music--an album of disquieting tone poems and outlandish lullabies.

An album of endless revelations, its dry wit and dreamy tunes suggest a mash-up between Pet Shop Boys and Jimmy Webb.

Ghost On Ghost completes Iron & Wine’s transformation from simple soul-searching singer-songwriter into fully-fledged bandleader. Beam firmly remains a master at both.

This follow-up to 2012’s magnificent Poor Moon is no less exemplary than its predecessor.

While ’Til Your River Runs Dry is unlikely to broaden his fan base to any large degree, longtime followers should be thrilled to find Burdon in such fine voice.

Ghost Parade and the sustained swell of Giant (which comes on like a less glacial take on Zeit-era Tangerine Dream) are frustratingly low-watt affairs, while Wray--featuring atonal viola from Mr Bungle/Bill Frisell collaborator Eyvind Kang--resembles the abstract strokes of Talk Talk’s Laughing Stock rather than doom-laden trailblazers such as Earth or The Melvins.

The album can probably be considered the most successful effort of the band’s current incarnation, with members Fenriz and Nocturno Culto balancing the visceral and organic spirit that has long defined their output with an increasingly considered (but never, ever polished) approach to songwriting.

CATCS have matured during their absence, yet continue to burn with whatever inner flame drives Bonney and his rabid co-conspirators.

Machineries Of Joy proves that BSP are still in bloom.

A by-the-book cover of the arguably too familiar Rainy Night In Georgia aside, this is an engaging and enticing set of tunes breathing fresh life into a bygone form; they’ll melt your heart while making you want to dance.

Tooth & Nail is probably the most accurate and all-encompassing illustration of the great man’s worth.

At one end of the spectrum that means Snorri Helgason is sparsely faithful to the gentle Misty Roses, while The Phoenix Foundation imbue Don’t Make Promises with post-psych otherworldliness.

Really, it just suffers from sequel syndrome, as there’s a fine single-disc collection buried within some over-blown, try-hard choices.

Best approach it as a mixed bag which will give up its secrets slowly, if at all, and doff the cap one more time to its creator’s skewed approach to this rock music thing.

She Paints Words In Red turns out to be the Camberwell crew’s finest--and most consistent--platter since 1990’s Fontana album.

An attack on the lack of dissenting voices in popular culture, if this isn’t Mason’s bona fide masterpiece, it’s certainly approaching it.