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Reissues of old records often provide some of the freshest sounds around, shedding light on the music that has inspired today's most vital artists. In most cases, these albums have been largely forgotten, and were scarcely noticed when they were originally released. Thus, they re-emerge to gain a status they never had in the first place. In recent years, Vashti Bunyan's Just Another Diamond Day and Karen Dalton's In My Own Time are two such albums—touted by the leaders of the freak-folk movement, they have become classics more than 30 years after their time.

Anne Briggs' The Time Has Come, already revered by artists such as Espers and James Yorkston, may be headed for a similar fate when Water Records reissues the 1971 effort this week. A leading figure in the British folk scene of the early ‘60s, Briggs was blessed with a pure, haunted voice that mirrored her reclusive personality. While her early a capella work exuded an almost oppressive sadness, The Time Has Come is leavened with feathery acoustic guitar and bouzouki, as well as a quirkier song selection. Briggs' unmistakable vocal presence invests tales of the sandman, the seasons, and the urge for going all with the same sense of mystery and unassuming wistfulness. It's as if she suffers from amnesia, no longer remembering the life she sings of, only the songs.

Equally inspiring to folkies and nostalgic electronic acts like Broadcast, the soundtrack to the 1970 Czech fantasy film Valerie and Her Week of Wonders has recently been released on the Finders Keepers label. The movie is a delirious fairy tale of sexual awakening that oscillates in tone between the idyllic and the disturbing. Composer Lubos Fiser's soundtrack favors the idyllic tendency, rendering childlike melodies in layers of harpsichord, glockenspiel, and plucked strings that are backed by a reverberant, maidenly choir. But watch out for the Gothic moments, when the chorus transforms into a solemn, ceremonial entity that presides over dirge-like organ, eerie orchestral touches, and mazes of infernal percussion.

Nelson Angelo & Joyce's self-titled album, resurrected by the Discos Mariposa label, basks in a less conflicted stream of early ‘70s pastoral pop. The legendary diva (Joyce) and no less legendary musician/producer (Nelson Angelo) were married when they recorded the album, and together they effortlessly evoke a feeling of unflawed summer through 13 three-minutes-or-under songs. Every last one of them is so pleasant, it may take you a few listens to notice the creative variety in Angelo's post-Tropicalia arrangements, much admired today by the likes of Animal Collective, Devendra Banhart, and Vetiver. This stands with Os Mutantes' oeuvre as some of the most entertaining music ever to come out of Brazil.

Showcasing a far grittier flipside of the same era, Westbound Records has brought back three classic albums (Pain, Pleasure, and Ecstasy) by The Ohio Players. The best bet is Pain, which was recorded before the Players had fully congealed into a polished, hit-making machine of mid-'70s funk. At this stage, they were equally influenced by raunchy R&B, deep soul, languid jazz, and the blues—churning out brilliant hybrids like the slow-burning title cut, and the shambolic killer "Players Balling." The reissue is padded with enough bonus tracks to double the disc's running time, and nearly all of them are strong.

Look also for Now Again's reissue Florida Funk: 1968-1975, a no-nonsense collection of stewy jams from the Sunshine State that's as reliant on bright, catchy guitar arpeggios as heavy wah-wah swagger. These lost gems range from the whacked-out organ/electric piano duel of "Los Feligreses," to an echo-chamber soul cut by Vanessa Kendrick, to a grandiloquent mix of generational rallying cry and slippery seduction song by Coke. And if that's not enough funk for you, look out for Light in the Attic's upcoming Betty Davis reissues, especially 1974's They Say I'm Different, which boasts a hard-edged sound, and enough liberated-woman attitude to make most of those Florida funksters blush.

A vastly different kind of groove can be found on Tigersushi's So Young But So Cold: Underground French Music 1977-1983. This CD was originally released in 2004, but its mechanical rhythms and abstracted synth chic continue to exert an influence in the worlds of minimal techno, tech-house, and moody dance-pop. So this month's re-pressing gives you another chance to pick up one of the more imaginative—and essential—compilations of recent years.

- Nate Cunningham
04.18.07