CAPTURED FOR a B-Side while touring 'Sweet Oblivion': the Screaming Trees live. It's a searing, animalistic noise, Barrett Martin pummelling his kit to atoms on this chainsaw medley.

A STROLL across the North-western landscape during a thunderstorm-abetted acid trip, this whimsical, rough-hewn stomp captures early Trees at their naive best.

A BRIGHT spot amid the mire of 'Uncle Anaethesia', this elegant, eerie Calexican waltz indicates the influence Lanegan's solo work would soon have over the later Trees output.

'I DON'T want to hurt you', rails Lanegan, over sombre and graceful guitar and strings, 'But that's all I seem to do'. Sometimes goodbye is a harder word to say than sorry, but you still gotta say it.

AN ELEGY for all the dead rock-stars, this song of survival sharpened by a spitfire guitar solo from Pearl Jam's Mike McCready. 'Ghost town used to be my city', mourns Lanegan of Seattle.

THIS WONDERFULLY ludicrous epic of bubblegum psychedelia delivers Armageddon with a whip crack riff of planet-levelling proportions. Lanegan sounds almost grateful for obliteration.

THEIR FINAL gasp opens like an Eastern spiritual, and closes only after a monolithic, prehistoric riff has reduced their collective neuroses - life, death, love, drugs, God - to ashes and dust.

LANEGAN'S WEARY vocal hovers wisely over echoing sand dune guitars and reverb-drenched pianos. Stunningly evocative and bravely experimental, it's the best of their work for SST, and maybe their career.

THE OPENING rush of sitars announces the grandiose flair of Drakoulias-era Trees: crushing riffs couched in eerie harmonies, adding a mystical heft to their already-considerable weight.

THEIR EARLY psychedelic experiments redrawn with a new confidence, this sliver from their sole release on Sub Pop is a trip of karmic guitar, death-rattle tambourine, and Lanegan's stoned, immaculate vocal.

BRUTAL STACCATO guitar slashes open this vicious garage-rock throw-down, pondering the primal Law of the Jungle. 'This animal's wild, he roams where he wants' warns Lanegan.

THIS CLIMACTIC murder blues is a pounding, desperate brawl of wounded wailing and lashing fluorescent guitars; sounding like the band trashed the studio in the process.

'JUST WANNA leave this world behind', croons Lanegan on this chiming classic rock hymnal, caught between abandoning his sinful life for a better one, or for that which follows death.

A MORDANT slog etched with regret, Gary Lee's wailing solos ringing with poignant, bitter wisdom. 'Just be glad that it's all over', sighs Lanegan, offering the coldest of comforts.

LANEGAN'S TALE of a relationship run adrift infests Gary Lee's wah-wah riff with fear and paranoia for Screaming Trees' lone MTV-approved almost-hit. Elemental and elegant rock.

'WHAT HAVE I done wrong?' howls Lanegan, noble and wretched, as Gary Lee's guitar screams a soaring, sad refrain. That voice again, desperate now: 'Won't somebody tell me, what have I done wrong?'.

FROM 1994 sessions for 'Sweet Oblivion''s abandoned follow-up, tying its redemptive message - 'Mercy's there to find' - to a buckling Zep riff. Colossal, and grimly hopeful.

AN EXISTENTIAL blues written from the brink. Over a spidery Old Testament squall, Lanegan sounds impressively ancient, pondering options of "pain and misery" or "sweet oblivion".

FRAGILE AND beautiful, this secular gospel of regret was one of Screaming Trees' most sombre, subtle and austere songs, melting into a choir of celestial organs for its heartbreaking coda.

A GHOSTLY, shimmering ballad, the earliest indication of where Lanegan's muse would later wander. His baritone rings like Seattle's answer to Nick Cave, swaggering and mysterious.