OK, I'm a fan, and you'd be hard pushed to find someone with only a casual interest in XTC having this package on their shelves at home. But I'll do my best to tell you why it's good.
Like the Beatles Anthologies before it, this extensive look over the last 25 years of Swindon's finest illustrates, broadly, the two same ideas:
a) Their live gigs (or at least recordings thereof) only really cover their early years, but mostly seemed to deliver, the band not being afraid to cut loose from the structures of the songs as presented on album. And good thing that proves to be often, too, providing good, assured renderings of great tunes for the uninitiated, and different twists to old faves for the fans.
b) The finished, official, album or single version of tunes seen here on this set as a demo track or alternative studio idea, are always the best versions. The demos presented here are often very different, no less competent and always curious... but you'll also hear in them why they settled on the version you hear on Drums & Wires, Black Sea, etc. Compare Andy Partridge's searching first ever demo of Senses Working Overtime to the finished article to be shown how his sound pop nous can craft mighty oaks out of sickly acorns, without ever over egging the, er... oak pudding (sorry).
The other thing that comes across loud and clear from just a glance through the entertainingly written booklet that comes with the set is that XTC's songwriters Andy Partridge and Colin Moulding care, really care about their stuff as they contribute affectionate, witty and frequently self-deprecating opinions on their own, and each other's tunes. Barry Andrews's words on his own tunes, heard here for the first time, add a touch of perfectionism to the whole, elegant package.
Like I said, I can't see too many non-fans owning it, but on so many levels it's essential: as a document of XTC, as a muso collection of insights into the studio process and song evolution (but never letting that get entirely in the way of a belting good ditty) and as a simple object of desire, with great pictures and classy layout. This is what box sets should be all about.
Back in '79, when I was eight, Making Plans For Nigel used to scare me.
Now, I haven't the faintest clue why. I'm sure there's a moral in there somewhere.