The enforced departure of Cale after that album removed the sense of pitched battle from their sound, throwing the spotlight more on Reed's tales of emotional erosion among losers and lovers on the fringes of society; as a result, the Velvets subsequently became a dinky little rock 'n' roll group, but little more than that, ultimately.The final disc, covering the group's last LP Loaded (we'll ignore the travesty of Squeeze, as does this box), concludes with early versions of songs which would later surface in Reed's solo career, such as "Satellite of Love" and "Sad Song", of which the most revealing is a version of "Ocean" featuring the great churchy presence of Cale, back for one track on organ and showing just what the group had been missing for a brace of albums. Between these two poles can be strung an endless line of disciples, from the Jesus & Mary Chain and REM to Nirvana, though none attacked the format with quite the venom and tenderness of the Velvets.White Light / White Heat, in particular, is one of rock's great warts 'n' all masterpieces - a barrage of heavily distorted, churning riff-noise in which the usual rock influences are given a jolt of speed and a crash course, courtesy of Cale's organ and viola, in the minimalist experiments of LaMonte Young and Terry Riley. Each of these songs is observed at length, as it progresses through various takes, gradually becoming closer to the later album versions: the early "I'm Waiting for the Man", for instance, hasn't yet found its chugging engine, starting out as a whiney-voiced, clean-shaven country-blues number which, by the final take, has developed the whiskery viola scrapings of the kind for which John Cale would become justly renowned.The Velvets' reputation, established initially by the Warhol connection, was built musically on the disparity between the aggressive, urban blitzkrieg snarl of their second LP White Light / White Heat and the more intimate style of their eponymous third album, with its recovery-ward air of acquiescence. Four of the five discs - each in a different hue of leopardskin, with cases replicating the original scribbled-on tape boxes of the LP masters - correspond to the group's four great albums, setting the album tracks en bloc within the various out-takes and unreleased tracks of the same period.The remaining CD is the most interesting, however, presenting highlights from their 1965 demos which show the enormous influence of Dylan on "Lewis" Reed's muse, with stately folk-music versions of "Venus in Furs", "Heroin", "All Tomorrow's Parties" and "I'm Waiting for the Man". The Velvet Underground Peel Slowly and See Polydor 31452 7887-2This is just about all you could wish for in a box-set: genuinely innovative music from a band of legendary status, beautifully packaged, with an informative, well-designed booklet, and a box featuring a peelable banana-skin All this, and the whitest noise in rock. This was one Missa Solemnis that I suspect won't be quickly forgotten..

The ending - memories of the military music not quite banished - was unusually thought-provoking: is Beethoven telling us that the prayer for peace will never be fully answered?The BBC Chorus were on the same fine, eloquent form here, at the end of this hugely demanding sing, as anywhere else - in itself something of a miracle. Norrington's preference for singers with restrained vibrato was vindicated in the long solo sections of the Credo - marvellous to hear Beethoven's harmonies so clearly for once.Criticism? Perhaps the extraordinary, quasi-operatic climax of the Agnus Dei (soprano pleading for peace amid military onslaughts from trumpets and drums) could have been more apocalyptic, but by that point I was expecting so much of this performance that I was almost bound to be disappointed. And the solo quartet as a whole was exceptionally well integrated, even with a last-minute substitution (tenor Steve Davislim for Hans Peter Blochwitz). The outer sections of the Kyrie were, as Beethoven marks them, "sustained" The Benedictus flowed freely without sounding hurried. Still, a quick comparison with the oft-recommended 1966 Karajan recording was fascinating - the Karajan trudged and dragged its heels after Norrington, despite the wonderful singing of Gundula Janowitz.Norrington's vocal team was a good match for Karajan's. His soprano, Amanda Halgrimson, may not have Janowitz's gorgeous, creamy tone, but she was every bit as persuasive, and even more secure in the heights. The contrast between this and the following high flute and solo violin sounds can't often have been as poetically effective - "And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters." Hard to believe Beethoven didn't have something like that in mind. On the other hand, those who enjoy a good grumble at Norrington's revisionist (ie fast) tempos in supposedly slow movements would have been disappointed.

In the dark, slow prelude to the Benedictus some of the strings played without vibrato, but what a surprisingly rich, expressive sound it made - not a hint of style-conscious contrivance. Above all, it sounded simply right: full of conviction, and dramatically part of a much larger conception. The second part of the "et vitam venturi" fugue in the Credo was breathtakingly fast - and tremendously exciting. But the clarity and technical control were just as startling, especially from the chorus.

So often, such celebrity choice programmes reveal no more than sentimental trivialities about the subject's private and public life. Three cheers, then, for Bird's staunch upholding of all things new, serious and uncompromising in music, and for his impressive musical insights, verbalised with a brilliance of which many a professional commentator would have been proud.. Those who like everything clearly labelled must find the current concert scene deeply frustrating. Once there were "authenticists" and "traditionalists" - and now? Take Roger Norrington's Sunday evening performance of Beethoven's Missa Solemnis in the Royal Albert Hall.