Norman Cook (a.k.a. DJ wonderboy of the moment Fatboy Slim) reworks the Tribe Called Quest classic, "I Left My Wallet in El Segundo"—a song that shouldn't be able to get any better, but by the love of all that is dope, it does. Another Quest track, "Can I Kick It" is worked over by Pimp Juice, with equally tasty results.

The material on the first disc will be familiar to Elvis fans, but it's nice to have it all in one place; you may have missed or forgotten some, and the (close to) chronological order of the tracks gives a new insight into Elvis' growing confidence, both musically and personally—he abandons any remaining genre boundaries and shakes off residual self-consciousness. It opens with the jumping "That's All Right" that showed Carl Perkins the boy was more than just a "good ballad singer," but a kid who had the right blend of naivete and knowledge to mix blues, gospel, country, pop, and bluegrass into something entirely new. Elvis' minimal "Blue Moon" remains one of the most haunting tunes ever committed to vinyl—just a barely existent loping beat and inaudible guitar backs up his soothing croon and unearthly falsetto; even after repeated listenings, it still provokes goosebumps. "Trying to Get to You" and "When It Rains It Really Pours" are seductive, gospel-influenced numbers that show the boy's sweet tenor turning into a man's howl.

The second disc contains the previously unreleased material, as well as various relative rarities. "That's When Your Heartaches Begin," the second song he ever recorded, is a prelude to "Loving You," with its heartfelt balladry and spoken interlude. A slow version of "I'm Left, Your Right, She's Gone" abandons the swing of the upbeat original for a moody stroll. Elvis' version of "Blue Moon of Kentucky" sounds like the most purely country thing he's done, but at the end we hear one of the musicians shake his head: "Well, that's different, that's a pop song now." The real treasures are a half-dozen cuts taken from a 1955 concert—the lousy quality of the original acetates doesn't fuzz out the shrieks of the audiences or Scotty Moore's stellar guitar and still allows an idea of what the King in his prime must have been like. His version of LaVern Baker's "Tweedly Dee" is stellar, turning a smooth phrase to a gutbucket growl on a dime.

And, if anyone understands relationship dysfunction, it's Paul Westerberg. How many bad dating scenarios have had Replacements songs like "Swingin' Party," "Unsatisfied," and "IOU" as their soundtracks? All of mine, that's for sure, as they've all seemed to feature that delicate blend of absurd optimism, pathetic yearning, and cruel self-evisceration that the Replacements evoked like no other. The heartache thing is continued and elaborated on at length on Westerberg's third solo album.

Listening to "Suicaine Gratification" is kind of like going out to lunch with an old flame that did you dirty. You're torn: Part of you, the nice part, likes to think hurt feelings can be transcended and hopes the ex is well and happy. But the other part, the evil part, wants to find a failure come crawling back on bloodied knees. More often that not, what you do find is a mixed bag—rather like this album. It has its successes; it has its failures. And, like virtually all ex-steadies, it's fine to see them now and again for latte and catchin' up, but you wouldn't want to make a habit of it.

The album has some well-written songs on it, like "Best Thing That Never Happened," and "Final Hurrah." The former tells us "I was the last thing you ever wanted, and the best thing you never had," a line anyone would enjoy tattooing on the insides of the eyelids of an unrequited love. The latter, which speaks of a "latest last chance" in "black satin pants" acknowledges that, no matter how many times you've been shat upon, you're stupid/idealistic enough to give it another chance, even though you know as soon as you lower the shields, the poop's on its way down the chute. But the chorus of "Fugitive Kind" pretty much sums it all up, for me, for Paul Westerberg, and this album: "Is this where I belong?/Hurry up quick and you can come along/We ain't got time for you to grab your stuff/What's flowin' through our veins is good enough/I'm the fugitive kind, you better make up your mind, I can't wait/You can run away from me, but never from your fate."