Paul Brady: Nobody Knows. The Best of Paul Brady.

If you're a Brady fan you can throw out your previous "best of" compilation of the man's songs because this makes it totally redundant. It may also be the one collection of Paul Brady compositions that non-fans should consider buying to check out his too-often underrated skills as a singer and songwriter. Personally, I'd prefer if it was arranged chronologically, even if bristlingly authentic recordings such as Arthur McBride are not the originals. Even so, the sense of artistic growth from Hard Station to Spirits Colliding is perfectly captured - even allowing for the almost equally essential artistic duds along the way. But they are few. Easy to see that the tracks were chosen by Brady himself. Choices, he explains in the copious sleeve notes. "Best of?" You bet. Thus far.

Joe Jackson

Cyclefly: Generation Sap (Radioactive)

Cyclefly are an Irish band who deal in the type of rock-metal which Americans lap up like thirsty kittens; little wonder then that they've already wowed the Yanks while touring with that other US-friendly outfit, Bush. Unlike Gavin Rossdale's crew, who set their course straight for Nirvana, Cyclefly mix up a speedy cocktail of Placebo and Smashing Pumpkins, with a sprinkling of Bowie's stardust and Syd Barrett's spaced-out psychedelia. Singer Declan O'Shea's distinctive voice sounds like a glam rock version of Rush's Geddy Lee, full of helium trills and androgynous affectations, but often irritating and shrill. Every now and then, however, the guitars and vocals crash together to create some genuine rock 'n' roll sparkle, particularly on Whore and Sump, but for the most part, Cyclefly remain locked in a mock-metal gilded cage.

Kevin Courtney

Pere Ubu: Apocalypse Now (Cooking Vinyl)

If you want to know where David Byrne got his quirky, querulous vocal style from, look no further than David Thomas, the portly singer and intellectual protagonist with Pere Ubu. The Akron, Ohio agit-poppers emerged from the same primordial New Wave soup as Talking Heads, but while Byrne & co grew in stature, Pere Ubu seemed to get lost in the shadows of pop's consciousness. This live album was recorded in 1991, when the band took a night off from touring with The Pixies to play an impromptu gig at a local club. The recording equipment consisted of a scratchy two-track digital, two room mics and a big ol' DAT machine, which perfectly captures the sparse ambience of the venue. The band is in fine, oblique fettle for this one-off acoustic gig, but the ramshackle genius on display here only makes you crave some real studio meat.

Kevin Courtney