Rocking the box... Status Quo performing live. Photograph: Sarah Lee
There was a time, it seems an awfully long time ago now, when a box set was something to be treasured. They would appear in your living room like one of Stanley Kubrick's monoliths and contain anywhere between four and 12 CDs, as well as a lavish book about the artists whose career they attempted to define. I am thinking now of Bob Dylan's Biograph, or The Clash on Broadway, or the Byrds' Music - all of which, sumptuously packaged, demand as much to be displayed as to be listened to.
Not so nowadays. Record companies, who it seems will stop short of nothing to devalue the currency of their best artists, now use the box set to afford even the tritest of their charges an ill-deserved illusion of gravitas. Thus Status Quo, for whom it can be truly said that once you've heard one song you've heard them all, have no less than three box sets available. Equally extraordinary are two anthologies from noise art rockers Throbbing Gristle. One, titled 24 Hours, is simply a recording of all their live performances. No doubt it is being played on a loop in Guantanamo Bay right now. Not that you'd need much of a loop, since as its title suggests, this ghastly artefact lasts a full day. Which, in the case of Guardian music critic Alexis Petridis, turned out to be one of the longest days of his life.
Slightly more acceptably, Slade were recently honoured with the box set treatment. I assume this has something to do with Noel Gallagher forever name-checking them, but let's be honest - do they really merit anything more than a six-song EP? Equally, Procol Harum released a 30th Anniversary Anthology in 2003. I had actually thought that Procol Harum had only ever released a single song, the ubiquitous and meaningless Whiter Shade of Pale. Apparently though there are hours of undiscovered material. The word "undiscovered" sounds quite promising when it sits next to a name like The Jam or The Smiths. Placed next to Procol Harum it means that no one gave a shit about them at the time and are even less likely to give a shit 30 years on.
But then we live in an age in which Jade Goody has her own perfume (for those who wish to smell like Jade Goody I guess); where Ashley Cole writes his autobiography; and Love Thy Neighbour is anthologised (a must for racists nostalgic for happier times). This time next year I wouldn't be remotely surprised to see box sets from Kula Shaker, S Club Juniors and Steps. Post-modernism draws no lines.
