Twenty years after its initial release, the debut Sugar album remains one of my favorite albums of the 1990s as well as one of my favorite rock albums of all time. After establishing himself as an accomplished singer/songwriter with two solo albums following the breakup of seminal Hüsker Dü, Bob Mould launched Sugar, now brought back to life through an exceptionally amazing package by Edsel out now in the UK (and an okay version due from Merge later this month).

All too often these compilations of long-buried, unused material are an inevitable disappointment, consisting of songs that should have stayed hidden or alternate takes that add little to any artists repertoire. However, this is Can, and material from their strongest era, so I came in with higher expectations than I normally would, and these expectations were exceeded. Much of the material on here is as strong as anything that was put on their classic albums of the era and is absolutely essential.

With Eleh having cemented themself as perhaps the modern minimalist, their split LPs have become a fascinating journey into the genre’s old guard such as Pauline Oliveros and Ellen Fullman as well as platforms for newer artists like Sun Circle, and in this case, Duane Pitre. As usual, Eleh’s hardcore analogue drones are well matched by Pitre’s feather-light just intonation harmonics. Both sides reflect different aspects of minimalism’s past without being pale shadows of those earlier pioneers. In fact, Eleh and Pitre demonstrate that despite a bloated market filled with crappy drone acts there is still plenty of life and room for invention in minimal music.

This unusual release is the fruit of a three-year project in which Valles sampled, manipulated, and collaged material from Nonesuch's '60s and '70s avant-garde heyday.  Drawing upon the work of luminaries such as Charles Ives and Elliot Carter (using the original vinyl, naturally), Damian has woven together a crackling and vibrantly textured drone opus that doubles as an inventive (if unrecognizable) homage.

This year seems like a wildly and uncharacteristically prolific one for Mark Spybey and Robin Storey, as they have already released this double-album, a soundtrack, and now have yet another double-album coming out next month.  That avalanche of new material is a bit deceptive though, as these recordings are actually taken from two days of improvisations back in 2009.  The duo were certainly inspired on those particular days, but many of these pieces too easily betray their made-up-on-the-spot origin.  As a result, this massive album simultaneously recalls both the best and the worst aspects of Zoviet France's legacy.

A lot can happen in 26 years, including the return of industrial/noise pioneers Cabaret Voltaire. While now pared down to solely Richard H. Kirk, Shadow of Fear is still a very much a worthy release in the band's canon of dystopian paranoia, hearkening back to the inventiveness of Red Mecca with the rhythms of 2x45, and further improved by rich, expert production. Kirk drags all of the band's musical past into the future, encouraging the listener to dance with boundless abandon as a panacea from the "shadow of fear." The result? Kirk succeeds in injecting a new freshness into Cabaret Voltaire, sounding more energized than like-minded artists a fraction of Kirk's age.

Unlike his usual penchant for releasing single, album long pieces, this two disc compilation collects nine distinct, different pieces with the only specific commonality being the year that they were recorded. For that alone it makes it a wonderful introduction to López' complex, often difficult to absorb artistry.

Across two side-long tracks, this "spontaneous composition" using only the Grafton Alto Saxophone, Bengt is an in-depth study of a singular instrument, as well as of the artist himself. The unique tonality of the instrument, and Gustafsson’s unique approach to playing it makes for a fitting tribute to Bengt Nordström, who whom this work is dedicated.

I am sure that working under the shadow of a massively influential father (Graham, in this case) is not an enviable position, but Klara's brief and enticing debut is unusual and eerie enough to avoid any annoying comparisons or unmet expectations.  Culled from field recordings made in Europe, Russia, and Turkey, Lewis' pieces sculpt a host of unmusical sounds into spectral and unsettling minimalist dance music that is deliciously alienating and undanceable.

This was recorded at the same time as last year's spectacular Pages on a Plane album (which is still in heavy rotation at my place), but takes things in a dramatically different direction.  I dearly hope this new direction is merely a one-off experiment though, as Michael Jantz's current manic, maximalist psychedelia streak is decidedly not for me.  Fortunately, there is one truly great "old-style" piece included that prevents Go Around, Again from leaving me totally exasperated.

This is the kind of release that easily could fall through the cracks, as it is merely one humble CDR amidst a daunting slew of higher profile reissues, remasters, and Edward Ka-Spel solo efforts.  On one hand, that makes some sense, as much of the material is very abstract and atmospheric.  On the other hand, the narrative title piece captures Ka-Spel at his most bizarre and compelling and should not be missed by anyone interested in his work.

Recently reissued by Staalplaat, this massive 1995 double-album is one of the jewels in Bryn Jones' "industrial phase" and a serious contender for one of the finest albums in the entire Muslimgauze oeuvre.  Naturally, it is packed full of percussion experiments and plenty of obsessive "locked groove" repetition, but Izlamaphobia is unusual among Muslimgauze albums in that Bryn seemed to have had so many great ideas that he did not resort to self-cannibalizing or reworking much at all.  Also, he seemed to have experienced an atypical window of patience and lingered on this album long enough to flesh-out his grooves with some great dub touches rather than just immediately launching into his next project.  Anyone annoyed by the fact that most Muslimgauze songs are just percussion vamps will probably still fail to warm to this release, but Izlamaphobia unquestionably boasts some of the most vibrant and inventive loops of Jones' career.  More importantly, it is simply a great album from start to finish.

Improbably, this is Leigh’s first true solo studio album after a slew of limited edition home recordings and a lengthy and illustrious career of collaborating with damn near every major artist in the fringes of the improv music scene (Jandek, Chris Corsano, Peter Brötzmann, Smegma, etc.).  Given the volume and diversity of her previous work, I was not at all sure what to expect from I Abused Animal.  I know I did not expect it to sound like it actually does though.  While there is certainly a fair amount of Leigh's distinctively warped and iconoclastic guitar playing, Animal often feels far more like an otherworldly outsider folk album than the work of an experimental/improv guitar luminary.  For the most part, that was a sound directional choice, as Animal is a legitimately unique and compelling album.  I suspect it will probably be a bit too strange and hermetic for some listeners, but that is their problem.

Eight years can be a lifetime in music (the entire Beatles career spanned eight years, for example). In 2007 the first track from this album showed up, "Party Pills," and it seemed as if the forthcoming Soft Pink Truth album was bound to be a killer. Eight years later the full-length has finally surfaced, and, well, it sure as hell is.

Lush only recorded three albums, but the amount of music the group amassed in their brief career is astounding. I count four distinct phases in their time: an an abrasive noise phase followed by a wall-of-sound (shoegaze?) prettiness, a brief flirt with some deep introspection, and ending with Britpop. Now that they have announced their re-emergence, 4AD has assembled this collection which I'm excited about, yet only slightly annoyed at.

On her third solo album (the title being Icelandic for "Allow the Light"), Hildur Guðnadóttir presents a performance that is entirely live (without audience) of just cello, voice and electronics, which begins deceptively simple, but is soon molded into a rich work of intimate beauty as much as it is a complex study of the most rudimentary sounds in a compelling structure.

The underlying concept on Below Sea Level is Simon Scott's study of the fens in East Angila, a bit of formerly marshy land that he visited many times in his youth. Utilizing hydrophones and other home made recording devices, Scott captures the sound both around and below sea level (hence the title) and processes it into an often unrecognizable, but nonetheless fascinating world of sound that conveys the nostalgic feelings Simon intended to.

Despite recording some landmark works with GRM (including a masterful triple LP with Pierre Schaeffer in the '60s), Guy Reibel is a name that is often forgotten when discussing musique concrète. While fame (as far as fame for experimental 20th century composers goes) has eluded him compared to other members of the GRM, his music has always delivered. This album, originally released in 1978, shows Reibel in particularly good light as he creates an unprecedented, and since unmatched, sonic vocabulary.

The last composition saw Pierre Schaeffer break from his long standing experiments with manipulating recordings of real-life sounds, away from the concrète and closer to something more akin to the electronic works of Henri Pousseur or Karlheinz Stockhausen. Utilising only synthesized sounds, this album is a tantalizing glance down a path that Schaeffer never fully explored but based on these pieces, the results of such explorations would be mind-blowing.

It is fitting that this album found a home on David Tibet's Coptic Cat imprint, as it is not only unusual, but unusual in a rather novel way: Thiel's lilting, simple ballads (backed by Michael Cashmore) hearken back to a much more innocent time.  On one hand, her wide-eyed, poetic lyrics and earnest delivery recall the golden age of English folk, but in another (weirder) sense it feels like she is quixotically making pop music for an era that is either long departed or never existed at all.