That Was Rather Good, Wasn't It?

Sunday 29th June: I don't often write about television. Being frank, I probably watch too much and, partly because of that, don't have the time to comment on it. Also, like most things, I have a very high tolerance for the things I watch and it would get really boring to read, "Wasn't the latest episode of Lost/Battlestar Galactica/Reaper/Chuck/etc good?" Conversely, however, none of you would ever believe me if I told you how good any episode of the new Flash Gordon was...

However, one consistently good (in my opinion, anyway) series is the new Doctor Who. Over the last four years, memories of wobbly sets and dodgy alien costumes have been banished by the high-class revival from BBC Wales.

Yeah, there have been one or two dodgy episodes but, for the most part it's been pretty blooming brilliant, especially when Stephen Moffatt has been involved. Pretty good news that he's taking over as head writer when the next full season hits in 2010, isn't it? (For those who don't know, next year sees just four special episodes. This is, apparently, to allow David Tennant to have some time off to appear in a Shakespeare play. I forget which.)

But enough of the future. I have just finished watching The Stolen Earth, the penultimate episode of the current season. Russell T. Davies is not known for writing the best scripts but this one, it has to be said, was a fanboy's dream. Over the last four years, Davies has turned Doctor Who into the franchise it always threatened to be and, in this episode he brought the various franchise entries together in a frenetic, pacey (sometimes too pacey, I struggled with a some bits of the dialogue) episode which saw the Doctor, once again, prepare to take on his greatest enemies.

Now, the Daleks are getting a bit tedious to me but I can sort of understand why they are a big draw for season finales. This time their creator, Davros, is back as well and provides one of the most horrific visions ever scene on the show. To me, though, the joy was seeing the different companions (far past, recent past and present), their families and Torchwood, as well as an unexpected guest (Harriet Jones, ex-Prime Minister) all appearing in one episode. OK, two episodes, they'll be back next week. Cleverly, as well, most of them haven't actually met yet - I'll reserve comment on whether the rest actually end up meeting each other.

This was a truly cinematic episode. The Mill have produced some incredible special effects in the past. This time they have outdone themselves. There are times when the limitations of the show are apparent - three Daleks and a number of extras in a Cardiff street spring to mind - but, in general this episode looked as good as anything produced for American TV, and we know how much money is spent over there...

And then came the cliffhanger. I say one, even though there were, effectively three. First up we had Sarah-Jane Smith about to be exterminated, but we know that a second season of her show has been commissioned. Next, Ianto and Gwen taking on Daleks in Torchwood HQ, but we know another season of Torchwood is due. But, in the grand tradition of original series cliffhangers, the art isn't in putting characters in danger, but showing how they get out of it.

No, the biggest cliffhanger came when the Doctor, rescued to the TARDIS after being shot by a Dalek, starts regenerating. Has the Beeb managed to keep a huge secret? Is David Tennant leaving the show? (Oh, yeah, and is the "most faithful companion" destined to die, according to Dalek Kahn, Rose Tyler, rather than Donna Noble, whose death has been foretold throughout this season?) How telling was it that there was no trailer for next week's episode?

It was all a bit too much for me. I'll be on tenterhooks until next Saturday now.

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Concert

Wednesday 25th June: Tonight it's Black Stone Cherry live. This was probably going to be our inaugural gig at York's newest venue - The Duchess - but a delay in opening means that it was switched to Fibbers. Would it be another mid-week night akin to when about thirty of us saw the Mexicolas there? After all, I'd never heard of BSC until fairly recently.

Au contraire... As I walked towards Fibbers, alongside the lesser-spotted Strensall-based member of our little group (in steak terms, if I rarely go out, he's still munching grass in the field), it became apparent that the large number of people standing outside weren't, in fact, enjoying their last smoke before the gig but were queuing to get in. There's a first time to see everything, I guess.

We joined the queue and, after a few minutes, and a brief chat with the third member of tonight's party (who decided against queue-jumping to join us and went to the back) we reached the front to be greeted by a friendly ShowSec (yes, they even had proper security on) guy. Now, most of the people queuing were wearing rock T-shirts - Whitesnake, Black Sabbath, even BSC (obviously some people had heard of them) - while I had on a black T-shirt which at a quick glance could have been from a tour. As I stood there, arms folded across my chest, the ShowSec guy asked me, "What's the band?" Thinking he meant on the T-shirt, I started to say it wasn't a band. "No, the wristband," he says, pointing to the blue one I'm currently sporting.

You know when you say something and immediately realise it's the wrong time/place/queue to have done so...?

"Oh, this is from the Sea-Life Centre," I replied. The result was much chucklement and a cry of, "Rock on!" from the attractive, vaguely gothic rock-chick standing behind me. Thankfully, at this point, we were allowed in.

The first act on was Sons of Albion, from London (although two of them are originally from Portugal - they must be adopted sons). It was hard to tell how good they were, partly because we were so far back, partly because so many people were talking and partly because the sound was so muddy. I'll reserve comment on them until such time as I get to hear them a bit more clearly.

After quite a long break, it was the turn of Black Stone Cherry and we decided to surge forward to about the place where we normally stand for the support band. It turns out that I was wrong about BSC finding time to fit in some smaller venues in-between their support gigs in arenas. The only small venue they were playing was York. Last night Newcastle, tomorrow Wembley. It must have been as much of a culture shock for them playing such a small crowd as it was for us to see so many people in Fibbers.

There was an awful lot of hair flying around the stage as the band head-banged their way through a set comprised of songs from their first album (reviewed in my last entry), some new stuff which will be on the second album (due to be released in Autumn) and a couple of other tracks. I described the album as hard and heavy. The live performance adds fast and furious to the list of adjectives and is, if anything, even heavier than the recorded stuff. Surprisingly, though, the sound was about as clear as it gets at Fibbers and you could hear pretty much every word, note and drumbeat. In some ways, the Led Zeppelin influence was even more apparent than on the CD. About halfway through the set guitarist Ben Wells introduced a Mississippi Blues inspired song which reminded me a lot of Led Zep's The Lemon Song. Another influence is, apparently, Hendrix. I'm told the final song of the set was Voodoo Chile, unfortunately I can't confirm that as I haven't really heard much Hendrix (something I must put right one day...) I can confirm that it was brilliantly played, including one section where all three guitarists played their instruments behind their heads. Now that's just showing off!

All the members of the band appeared to be having a genuinely good time and seemed to appreciate that people had actually turned out to see them, even offering to mingle with the fans after the gig had finished. While lead guitarist/vocalist Chris Robertson (looking like a younger, slightly more bewildered Meatloaf) did the majority of the audience banter, both Wells and bassist Jon Lawhon both took turns at the microphone, while drummer John Fred Young, making the Muppets Animal look tame, made himself appear larger than life by playing parts of the gig standing up. As a whole, this reminded me of my first gigs - the likes of Ozzy, Dio and Whitesnake, singing along to the anthems, head-banging, devil's horns and bleeding good music.

Between the intricate guitar wizardry of Chantel McGregor last Friday and the ear-splitting, screaming solos of tonight (I'm sure that both styles are just as technically difficult but, really, would you compare Clapton and Slash...?) it has been a top week for live music in York. Long may it continue.

Black Stone Cherry

Sunday 22nd June: Up until about a month ago the only thing I knew about Black Stone Cherry was that they were supporting Whitesnake and Def Leppard on their UK stadium tour. Then, one of the less-regular of our gig-goers suggested we see them as they hit York, presumably on a smaller-venue off-shoot of the main tour. A visit to their web-page and a quick read of their bio lead me to think that might be a good idea, so I shelled out for a ticket - the most I've paid for a gig in years. But I still hadn't heard anything by them.

Luckily play.com were selling their self-titled 2006 debut album for a bargain price, so I spent more hard cash and waited eagerly for the CD to drop through my letterbox.

...and I wasn't disappointed. This is rock of the hard and heavy variety. The sort of stuff that originally got me into buying records and which I didn't realise was still being played. (A lot of modern heavy metal doesn't do it for me, I'm afraid.)

Most reviews cite Led Zeppelin and Lynyrd Skynyrd as major influences and, while I can see the former (especially in the tracks Maybe Someday and Violator Girl) I struggled to pinpoint the latter, except in Chris Robertson's vocals, which do have a distinctly Southern style. To me, at least, a big influence seems to be early Iron Maiden, particularly in the opener, Rain Wizard, which seems to capture the ethos of Maiden's Run to the Hills. A lot of the album is also vaguely reminiscent of Nickelback (thanks to my wife for pointing that one out.)

Influences aside, though, this is a cracking debut. It's perhaps indicative of how much music has been put into each track that, when I was making notes for this review, I found it strange that all but one track was closer to three minutes than four in length. Most tracks feel longer and that's in a good way.

Standout tracks for me are When the Weight Comes Down, with its different styles from verse to chorus; Hell and High Water, an obvious single, slightly less heavy and more commercial than the rest of the album; Tired of the Rain, with it's twiddly keyboard harmony; and final track Rollin' On, with a nice guitar melody and keyboard backing. This final track is also the longest at about five minutes and will probably be the stand-out live track.

Being honest, there isn't really a bad track on the album. If I had to pick a worst it would be Shooting Star, but only for the simple reason that I'm not overly keen on electronically-altered vocals.

So, an impressive debut and, with a new album due shortly, I expect the gig on Wednesday to be impressive. Although, given the size of Fibbers and the potential volume of Black Stone Cherry, it may be that my ears won't stop ringing for a few days afterwards.

Barefoot in the Bath

Friday 20th June: I'm going to start this entry with a bit of a disclaimer. The old adage about art applies to me when describing my relationship with music. That is, I know nothing about music, but I know what I like. To be clear, I know nothing about making music (except what the instruments are called). My only brushes with any chance to play an instrument came at school where I ended up being able to play Frere Jacques on the recorder and spent one music lesson strumming one chord on a guitar whenever the teacher pointed to me. I can't read music and, under normal circumstances, I couldn't tell you whether somebody was playing or singing in the right key or not. To me, musicians are akin to magicians - they pick up items that I could probably make squeal or howl, fiddle about with them and produce, at very, least interesting sounds or, at best, something beautiful.

The preceding paragraph is a way of setting my stall out to explain that, when I write about music, I am writing about what I feel and think. The technical aspects are beyond me.

Which, finally, brings me to tonight's gig - The Chantel McGregor Band at the Roman Bath.

Chantel is a rock/blues guitarist who, according to her website, has owned a guitar since the age of three and started lessons when she was seven. Now, barely into her twenties, she has been described as a prodigy but has also been told that girls shouldn't play guitar the way she does - it scares the boys. Thankfully, she ignored this "wonderful" piece of advice. She now plays with Martin Rushworth on drums and Jonathan Clapham on (five string - apparently that's impressive) bass.

My first impression on arriving was that Chantel herself was tiny and seemed a little nervous as she stood in the middle of the performance area while the sound check was completed. Then the nervousness seemed to fall away as she started playing what I thought was the first track of the gig - five minutes of delightful, multi-faceted guitar with a vocal section in the middle. The music was brilliant and I was a little surprised when, at the end, Chantel announced that that was the sound check complete and that they would be back in a few minutes. Definitely the best sound check I have ever heard.

Shortly after that my fellow music-lovers (both more knowledgeable in the technical aspects than me) arrived into a Roman Bath that was rapidly filling up. Although some people had walked out during the sound check, the pub was probably the fullest I had seen it since the last time Breathing Space played there. Judging by the various conversations going on, quite a few of the audience had seen the band play before.

The gig itself was another selection of covers but, unlike the cover bands that I expressed a bit of boredom with a few entries back, not only were the songs not the usual fare but were also added to and extended by Chantel's superb guitar solos. The various tracks came from the likes of Led Zeppelin (Tea for One), Jimi Hendrix (All Along the Watchtower, Purple Haze), Fleetwood Mac (a wonderfully heavy version of Gold Dust Woman), Jethro Tull, Cream (The White Room) and many more that I didn't recognise. Chantel's apparent nervousness had, by now, completely disappeared and she showed a good rapport with the audience who were, in turn, appreciative of the wonderful music. (As usual, apart from the shouters in the back - why stay in a music pub if all you want to do is chat??) Certainly the guys I were with had a good time. At least one of them was seen frequently shaking his head in wonder at the exceptional level of guitar-playing, made all the more incredible by the fact that, for most of the time, there appeared to be little effort of concentration involved. Vocally, I thought Chantel was more than adequate, especially given that the majority of the songs she was performing were originally sung by males. She performed with a certain doe-eyed innocence, which belied the formidable sounds coming from her guitar.

Now, out of the so-called "top" guitarists I have, arguably, seen three of them live - Eric Clapton, Brian May and Chris Rea. In my opinion, Chantel is up there with them. It's beyond belief, to me, that somebody with this much talent is playing in pubs. You could run out of superlatives to describe her. She really does have to be seen to be believed and I hope that I get the chance to see her again soon.

Have We Filled Zanzibar Yet?

Wednesday 18th June: ...and another of the SF Masterworks range is completed...


Stand On Zanzibar (John Brunner, 1969)

Brunner's novel of an over-populated dystopic Earth of the early 21st century is probably the most experimental book I have ever read. Although 600+ pages long and containing what are essnetially two parallel plots, it is more than half-filled with chapters that are vignettes showing various aspects of life in the then future, either by following minor characters or presenting advertisements, extracts from other (fictional) books and newspapers and many more disparate items. The whole possibky gives a fuller picture of life in Brunner's imagined future than simply including ideas in the main body of the novel and it is worth ignoring the temptation to skip over these seemingly inconsequential chapters.

The main story follows roomates, Donald Hogan and Norman House. The former, it turns out is a spy who is eventually despatched to Yatakang to investigate claims that one of the country's chief scientists is on the verge of a break through in genetic engineering. The latter is a rising star at General Technics, an American company making a deal with an African nation to take over the management of that country.

Brunner's future is decidedly bleak - the population crisis leading to strict birth controls not just of the type seen imposed in China a few years back (only one child per family) but of a nature which prevents potential parents with any form of hereditary defect from having children. The bleakness makes it even more frightening when you realise how close this future is to our own present, not in the extreme cases but, even so, a lot of Brunner's predictions were very close to the mark. (One line that did make me chuckle was along the lines of the British PM standing firm behind America as the latter started meddling with another countries, politics, while the rest of Europe was a little more guarde.) About the only thing missing is the current fuel "crisis", something which I personally hope will date this blog as badly as our present dates the future predicted in some forty-year-old SF.

Despite the bleakness, there is a degree of (maybe false) hope as U.S. citizens are given the opportunity to move to a "better" life in Africa, even if that life isn't quite what they expect - one vignette follows a young, pregnant couple whose baby is born prematurely shortly after they are relocated to Africa.

Stand on Zanzibar is not the sort of novel I would have picked up if it wasn't part of the Masterworks line (no spaceships, ray-gun's and alien races, although there is a hyper-intelligent A.I.) but I have to say it is one of the better books in that range. Well worth a read.

A Mixed Bag of Masterworks

Wednesday 12th June: Since the last time I wrote about books I have finished another six, three enjoyable and three not. All were part of the SF Masterworks line, showing that not everybody thinks that a "classic" is just that.

The ones I didn't enjoy were:

Cities In Flight (James Blish, 1955 - 1962) which collects his Okies stories based around the inventions of the Spindizzy, an anti-gravity device which allows whole cities to be used as spaceships, and an anti-aging drug which bestows near-immortality on at least some of the citizens of these cities. Although undoubtedly full of ideas, I found most of this collection to be very dull and had little feeling for any of the characters. The first story, dealing with the inventions, and the last, dealing with the death by entropy of the universe, were the best but, overall it was a hard read.

Last and First Men and Star Maker (Olaf Stapledon, 1930 and 1937) are the two best-known novels by the author who influenced Arthur C. Clarke. The first is written as a history of the future (with no actual characters), charting human evolution over billions of years and numerous distinct races of mankind. The second tells the history of the universe from the perspective of one man whose consciousness journeys through it. Both, again, are full of ideas, some of them wonderful, some brilliant and you can see echoes of them throughout a great deal of more modern SF. However, to be honest, I found the writing syle of both to be turgid, dense and practically inpenetrable. Also, one or two bits just didn't work for me - for example, one section of Last and First Men deals with a time when, after a literally global catastrophe, mankind is reduced to what is essentially a handful of individuals and yet still manages to survive. Surely that wouldn't be possible, would it?

Onto the three I did enjoy:

The Rediscovery of Man (Cordwainer Smith, various dates) collects a number of the author's Instrumentality stories. I have thought for a long time that the short story form is, perhaps, the perfect form for SF but I don't actually own that many collections. On the basis of this one, I should own more. The stories are all set in what starts out as a sterile, unfeeling universe into which the ruling Instrumentality reintroduce chance and unhappiness.

Smith writes in a wonderful style. Apparently some of the stories are written in a Chinese style (Smith was God-son to Sun Yat-sen and worked in China). I'm not sure what that means but the stories do read a lot more easily than others from the same era. My personal favourite is The Dead Lady of Clown Town, which tells of the origin of the emancipation of the animal-based underpeople, but there is barely a duff entry in the whole book. Interestingly, for me, there is also an introduction/biography of Smith and a brief introduction to each of the stories, giving a context to each one.

The Stars My Destination (Alfred Bester, 1956). I wasn't looking forward to reading this as I had vague memories of reading a graphic novel (or illustrated novel) version a few years back and finding it very hard going. On the basis of reading this version, though, I should take time to search out the other. This was a very satisfying read, even taking into account the fact that the main character is thorughly unlikeable.

The story is that of uneducated merchant spaceman Gully Foyle who, at the start of the book, is the only survivor of an attack on his ship and is left unrescued by a passing ship. Surviving against all odds, he sets out to find out who gave the order to pass him and gain his revenge on them.

The book contains blackmail, rape, violence, imprisonment, teleportation, telesending, plot-twists, ultimate weapons, intra-system war and much, much more, ending with Foyle almost being the saviour of mankind's future. All that in about 250 pages.

The Demolished Man (Alfred Bester, 1953) is the first ever winner of the Hugo award and is, if anything, better than The Stars My Destination. It is, essentially, a police procedural, set in a future in which telepathy is common. The question of how to plan and get away with murder in such a future is explored.

The story opens with a nightmare in which Ben Reich, company owner, is haunted by a faceless man. Reich's company is in danger from another, more successful company so Reich offer's the other owner D'Courtney, a merger which is apparently refused. In order to save his company, Reich then sets out to murder his rival. The first section of the book deals with the planning and execution of the murder while the second covers the police investigation into it. Reich himself is not telepathic while the policeman in charge of the investigation, Lincoln Powell is and, therefore, should have the advantage. How will Reich avoid Demolition, the punishment for the crime of murder? Well, as you would expect, he doesn't but it is the nature of Demolition (ending the book with another nightmare scenario), how it is achieved and the various plot-twists that make the ending enjoyable.

Another interesting thing about the book is the inclusion of graphical representations of conversations between Espers, showing how they have learned to manage their thoughts for smoother communication than that of the chaotic speech used by the masses.

Overall, these three books more than make up for the disappointment of the other three.

Hoping for a good night out

Friday 6th April: ...and my first musical night out for nearly a month sees us on a visit to Fibbers to see a well-liked band and encounter some new pleasures.

First up was Dan Torres (or on MySpace). Dan is an indie/alt rock (these days, who isn't?) singer/songwriter from New York and was appearing with percussionist Ryan Vaughn, also from New York, who sat on and played what seemed to be a plywood box (along with a single cymbal and an array of other instruments laid out in front of him). His semi-manic style was a complete contrast to Dan's easy-going one and the latter treated us to an excellent acoustic set. With a voice which was vaguely reminiscent of Coldplay's Chris Martin, a good rapport with an admittedly small audience and some terrific vocals during a selection of songs just different from each other to be interesting, this was a very good start to the evening.

Unfortunately, for a variety of reasons, we actually turned up halfway through this set. However, what we did see impressed me enough to spend money on Dan's 2006 album, Where I Stand. So far, I've only had a chance to listen to it once (and not very closely) but it is very different from his live act, being recorded with a full band - Dan tells me that coming across from New York wasn't easy with just one extra musician... Hopefully, I will post a full review soon.

Tonight's second act was The Hair, from York. This four-piece played their instruments hard and surprisingly well for such a young band. If I had one criticism it would be that they really need a lyricist. While the vocals were good and the songs catchy, the lyrics were a tad too repetitive for me - along the lines of too little verse and too much chorus. The band had an excellent stage-presence, however, and seemed to enjoy their set, not looking the least bit nervous. Extra points were gained by lead-singer Sam Robson's embarrassing-under-any-other-circumstances Dad-dancing and the use of a skateboard as a shelf above Neil Clark's keyboards.

To say that The Hair were my least favourite act of the night just shows the quality of the other two. I even contemplated a second trip to the merchandise desk until I found out that the CD on sale was just a single.

Finally, the band we had paid our money to see, sort of...

Four Day Hombre have changed their name to Hope&Social, to mark the release of some new material. Being honest, I don't see the point but, then, I'm not part of the band and I don't have a lot of history with them. Part of the reason they give is that their music has a new feel and a new way of playing. Being honest, I was surprised the first time I saw them that they sounded so different live to how they sounded recorded and, from this gig, the new stuff didn't seem too much different to the old stuff. There wasn't much of a new look, either, with Simon Wainwright wearing the same style of cowboy shirt and Rich Huxley wearing, I think, the same shirt as the last time I saw them.

They are still a very polished band who, on the basis of the two gigs I have seen, deserve to be playing bigger and better venues than Fibbers. (With an upcoming gig at York's soon to be opened Duchess, the bigger will definitely be covered. Better is looking good but remains to be proved.) They obviously enjoy playing together, peppering their set with a good dose of humour both between themselves and as banter with the audience (this time culminating with somebody, who shall remain nameless, shouting abuse at Simon after he dissed Leeds United). I don't think I've ever laughed so much at a gig as I have done the two times I have seen this lot.

Tonight the music was little short of brilliant, with special mention to Heaven Falls and Daylight Came, two tracks from the new EP which sounded absolutely stunning live.

To sum up, tonight was an absolutely top-class evening, much better than recent visits to Fibbers and head-and-shoulders above the array of cover bands that we have seen recently.

Sandi and the Pigeons

Tuesday 3rd June: Today, I unexpectedly found myself in the vicinity of one of York's HMV stores and decided to have a wander in to see what was new and/or on offer.

Sandi Thom - The Pink and the Lily.
Sandi's debut album, Smile, It Confuses People (2006), was, whether you believe the hype or not, an extraordinary release combining a great voice with some well-written songs containing original themes and lyrics. While it is, perhaps, a little unfair to review the follow-up after just one listening, I found it to be simply more of the same, just without the originality. It was always going to be difficult to match the first album and, being honest, this is simply more of the same folk/rock/pop. Gone is the freshness and, except for a few of the songs, the lyrics are a lot less catchy. Not that this is a bad CD. Sandi's voice, for the most part, remains strong and very listenable, except for the last two songs during which it turns into a bit of a dirge.

Overall, the album seems to be a lot more complex than Smile, both musically (which works) and lyrically which, for me, loses some of the accessibility of the first album.

Highlights for me (so far) are the title track, Success's Ladder and Remote Control Me - the latter two showing that Sandi can still write good lyrics about original themes.

It may be that, with repeat listening, The Lily and the Pink, may grow on me but, so far, it isn't a brilliant second album, merely an adequate one.

The Pigeon Detectives - Wait For Me.
In order to take advantage of HMV's current "2 for £10" offer, I needed a second CD to add to the Coldplay - Live 2003 CD/DVD that I had already picked up. Browsing the offer, nothing really jumped out at me until I saw this 2007 debut album from the Leeds indie rockers. As far as I could remember, the only thing I had previously heard from The Pigeon Detectives was a brief clip of a song shown as part of a local news item but I decided that, at £5, I was willing to take a risk.

I'm happy to say that, if I had bought this last year, it would probably have been quite high in my albums of 2007 list. Although there's a hint of a punk (not one of my favourite genres) influence in both the vocal and musical styles, the overall feeling is a high-energy rock. From my collection, the nearest similarity would be One Night Only (although, admittedly, their debut release is from this year so it could be said that they are the imitators).

Bouncy tunes, including lovely guitar playing and staccato drum-lines, and catchy yet simple lyrics make for pleasant listening on all the songs, with one or two (notably I Found Out) verging on anthemic.

It may not be very original but it is very good.

Some other recent purchases came about from a visit to Tesco, who had some very cheap 3CD box sets on sale. Added to my collection were:

Chris Rea - The Ultimate Collection (1978 - 2000), which speaks for itself.
Essential Metal Anthems - 45 tracks from the biggest, heaviest and hardest names in metal, from Motorhead to Deep Purple, including a number of tracks which, from the titles (and, in some cases, artists), I don't recognise.
The Prog Rock Album - at £3 for 16 tracks, surely a bargain. Again, includes a number of bands I have never heard of.
Rock Anthems - 54 tracks from EMI, some of which seem a little bit too pop to be rock (Katrina and the Waves' Sun Street, anybody?)
The Very Best Power Ballads - 50 tracks which do exactly what they say on the tin, but some of which I haven't heard for years.
Greatest Rock Ballads - 36 Romantic Epics.

Yeah, OK, there are a number of tracks that appear on more than one collection (and quite a few which seek to redefine the term "rock") but these are great compilations for sticking in the car's CD player for a long journey. Anyway, fifteen disks containing over 250 tracks for around £37 must be a bargain in anybody's book.