Various ArtistsDef Jam 25th Anniversary Box SetReview

If you’re feeling a sense of déjà vu, it could be because Def Jam already issued a 25th anniversary collection earlier this year, the double-disc DJ Bring That Back set reviewed here. But this is a much more attractive (and expensive) affair, five digi-packed CDs presented in a mini-crate also containing a limited-edition Adidas t-shirt and an informative booklet. Originally released in the US last year, it sees the light of day in the UK a little late to mark the label’s 25th year – it was founded in 1984 – but nevertheless comprises a perfect primer for a stable that has turned several hungry young artists into global superstars.

The story of Def Jam cannot be completely told across these 60 tracks (what, no Slayer?), but the selection does focus on pivotal signings in the label’s history, from Public Enemy, LL Cool J and the Beastie Boys in the 80s to modern heavyweights Jay-Z, Ne-Yo, Kanye West and Rihanna. Sequenced chronologically, its tracklisting illustrates an emergence from the underground to joining forces with major label Columbia, into the 90s and an expansion of its sonic palette – Montell Jordan, Ja Rule and Foxy Brown joined the ranks, adding RnB slickness to hip hop beat-craft – to the all-powerful, market-dominating position of today, where multi-million-sellers Mariah Carey and Jennifer Lopez see their albums branded with the Def Jam seal of approval.

What disc you gravitate towards the most may depend on your age: as a 30-year-old, the era of 1989-1993 stands out as it contains several tracks evoking a formative time in my music taste. I might have been leaning on the domestic indie scene for secondary school credibility, but there’s no way Regulate and Mama Said Knock You Out weren’t recognised as solid-gold bangers. But there are numerous highs to be discovered elsewhere, several as fresh as when they first dropped. Oran “Juice” Jones’ The Rain is a wonderful precursor to the syllable-stuffed multi-coloured rap-attack of Outkast; Sisqo’s Thong Song is deliriously dumb, and a cheery reminder that the recent Big Brother housemate was a chart fixture not so many moons ago; and the played-for-laughs sexism of Ludacris’ Southern Hospitality sounds fantastically good-natured compared to the deplorable misogyny of crunkcore poster-boys 3OH!3.

The best house party soundtrack you’ll hear this summer, if partying through the decades is on your agenda then make this its essential accompaniment.