Back catalogue: All genres

Review: Two of the likeliest lads from Manchester team up for the first day release of their new collaborative project. And its something of a full circle moment, with Oasis frontman Liam Gallagher previously citing Stone Roses hero John Squire in a list of formative teenage musical inspirations, who, in turn, first encountered the former when both bands were working the same studio, respectively recording Definitely Maybe and The Second Coming. The pair first shared honours three years after that, co-writing 'Love Me & Leave Me' for Squire's relatively short-lived outfit, The Seahorses, in 1997. Skip forward to 2022 and Squire joined the Gallaghers et al on stage at Knebworth, reprising his appearances for renditions of 'Champagne Supernova' at the band's 1996 shows, spurring the idea to do something together again. Here's the result - and it's precisely what the duo should sound like together.

Review: There's almost no point writing about this one - an album that already has legions of disciples waiting to embrace it, with pretty much everyone who knows the names Liam Gallagher and John Squire guaranteed to be interested in what their self-titled LP is about. More so, without even hitting play we all kind of know what it's about, with two of the biggest names to come out of Manchester's 1990s indie rock breeding ground coming together for a record that sounds every bit the sum of its parts. Squire's incredible guitar playing - a centrepiece of The Stone Roses' sound - is incredible as ever, sending riffs soaring over the dilapidated rooftops of North West England and out into the stratosphere. Meanwhile, Gallagher's elongated but gruff vocal style remains steadfast across ten anthems-in-the-making. Powerhouse stuff, but like we said, nobody expected less.

Review: First released in 1981 in the wake of Ian Curtis's death, the compilation Still served as both an epilogue to and archive of Joy Division's brief but seismic existence, beginning in 1980s Manchester. A one-of-a-kind compilation, its uniqueness stems from two non-album wranglings, 'Dead Souls' and 'Glass', which precipitate a revelatory ream of studio outtakes, before a raw, emotionally freighted live set from their final show at Birmingham University. That concert also captured the only time the band played 'Ceremony' live; the tune would later reappear, reshaped, on the other side of Curtis's death, as New Order's debut single. An unusually passable idiosyncrasy consists in the fact that Curtis' vocals are barely audible on this version, as was often the case with every live performance of the song. Now reissued, this has to be one of the most comprehensive four sides of formative post-punk supersession ever to hit the shelves.