It would have been easy to write off the Banshees after the so-so Superstition, especially given the fact that it came after two uneven and disappointing albums (including the unnecessary covers collection Through the Looking Glass) Frankly, one of punk's most consistently invigorating acts seemed to have run their course. Sure enough, The Rapture proved to be their final recording. The surprise is that it's a career highpoint. The band deny, incidentally, that they knew this was to be their last album. Quite how Siouxsie, Severin and Budgie rediscovered their chemistry is a moot point - some credited producer John Cale, who worked on four tracks - but rediscover it they did. Despite nods to the band's past in the savage "Not Forgotten," the real gems are the sunny-side-up "O, Baby" (when did Siouxsie ever sound so genuinely happy?) and an 11-minute title-track that is as dazzling as anything they have ever performed. A classic case of leaving the scene on a high note, and a fitting final chapter from one of punk's finest, and most dignified, bands.

Superstition is a similar album to that of Peepshow, this time with more precise production and a lighter feeling to many of the songs. While Siouxsie and the Banshees albums like Tinderbox and Juju were dark affairs, Superstition's sound is representative of the pink of the album cover. A softer pop sound, mixed with the Banshees' penchant for minor keys and strange imagery. They manage to pull it off quite well on most tracks. "Fear (Of the Unknown)" and "Drifter" are classic Siouxsie stuff, and "Kiss Them for Me" gave them their first significant entry into the U.S. singles charts. But it's tracks like "Silly Thing" that hold this album back. This track manages to do what the Banshees had avoided all their career – sounding like someone else. One of their most accessible albums, Superstition has appeal without losing its edge.

With guitarist/keyboardist Roland Wolf and Cramps/Gun Club veteran Kid Congo Powers on guitar added to the ranks, along with guest appearances from old member Hugo Race, the Seeds reached 1988 with their strongest album yet, the insanely powerful, gripping Tender Prey. Rather than simply redoing what they'd already done, Nick Cave and company took their striking musical fusions to deeper and higher levels all around, with fantastic consequences. The album boldly starts out with an undisputed Cave masterpiece – "The Mercy Seat," a chilling self-portrait of a prisoner about to be executed that compares the electric chair with the throne of God. Queasy strings from a Gini Ball-led trio and Mick Harvey's spectral piano snake through a rising roar of electric sound – a common musical approach from many earlier Seeds songs, but never so gut-wrenching as here. Cave's own performance is the perfect icing on the cake, commanding and powerful, excellently capturing the blend of crazed fear and righteousness in the lyrics.

Originally released in 1983 as an EP, this is the soundtrack to the live video of Ultravox, from their 1983 tour (hence the subtitle, "The Soundtrack"). This is Ultravox at their live best, and thankfully the reissued CD is expanded, containing all of the songs from the video (but still not the entire concert). "Reap the Wild Wind" is brilliant live and comes screaming at the listener with an extreme amount of energy and emotion. The same can be said for "The Voice." Midge Ure gives his all throughout, but here he is the voice. "Vienna" sounds wonderful and is certainly a crowd-pleaser. Fans will enjoy this live collection.

Reduced to a quartet for the most part, with Barry Adamson joining Nick Cave, Blixa Bargeld, Mick Harvey and Thomas Wydler on only a couple of tracks, the Bad Seeds turn from the interpretive triumph of Kicking Against the Pricks to another strong high, the mostly-original Your Funeral…My Trial. The one cover is a sharp, unsurprisingly dramatic version of Tim Rose's "Long Time Man." As for the rest of the album, Trial shows the Seeds working as, again, a remarkably accomplished and varied act, ever available and ready to explore a wide range of musics distilled into Cave's often dark, always passionate vision. Arguably Cave and company have by now so clearly established their overall style that Your Funeral…My Trial is much more a refinement of the past than anything else, but so good is their work that resistance is near impossible. If anything, the brooding power of the Seeds is more restrained than ever, suggesting destructive endings and overwhelming love without directly playing it.

Nick Cave launched his solo career in style with From Her to Eternity, an accomplished album mixing the frenzy and power of his Birthday Party days with a dank, moody atmosphere that showed he was not interested in simply continuing what the older group had done. To be sure, Mick Harvey joined him from the Party days, as ever playing a variety of instruments, while one-time Party guest Blixa Bargeld now became a permanent Cave partner, splitting his time between the Bad Seeds and Einsturzende Neubaten ever since. The group took wing with a harrowing version of Leonard Cohen's "Avalanche," Cave's wracked, buried tones suiting the Canadian legend's words perfectly, and never looked back. From Her to Eternity is crammed with any number of doom-laden songs, with Cave the understandable center of attention, his commanding vocals turning the blues and rural music into theatrical exhibitionism unmatched since Jim Morrison stalked stages.

Six weeks after the B-52s released their brilliant first album in the hot new wave summer of 1979, they found themselves on-stage in Boston opening for Talking Heads. Some brilliant person decided it would be a good night to record the band; some less brilliant person buried the tape in the Warner Bros. vault for decades. Finally released in 2015 as Live! 8-24-1979, the performance includes songs from both the first album and Wild Planet, and features the B-52s ripping heartily through the songs like they were dedicated to giving the crowd the night of their lives. Decades later the effect is still the same.

Released four years after the Talking Heads called it a day with 1988's Naked, Popular Favorites provides a thorough overview of one of the most important American bands of the '80s. From tightly wound early efforts such as "Psycho Killer" and "Don't Worry About the Government" to the seriously funky likes of "I Zimbra" and "Burning Down the House," David Byrne, Jerry Harrison, Tina Weymouth, and Chris Franz grew as musicians as they stretched the original concepts of the unit to the breaking point. Over the course of two discs and 32 selections, the anthology chronicles the Heads' development from Bowery art punks (albeit of the most civil stripe) to unlikely arena stars. A smattering of unreleased tracks and notes from the original quartet nicely flesh out the retrospective.

A group whose distinctly ethereal and gossamer sound virtually defined the enigmatic image of the record label 4AD, Cocteau Twins were founded in Grangemouth, Scotland, in 1979. Taking their name from an obscure song from fellow Scots Simple Minds, the Cocteaus were originally formed by guitarist Robin Guthrie and bassist Will Heggie and later rounded out by Guthrie's girlfriend Elizabeth Fraser, an utterly unique performer whose swooping, operatic vocals relied less on any recognizable language than on the subjective sounds and textures of verbalized emotions.