Unlike the rest of his greatest hits packages, this trio of discs (16 tracks each and themed neatly as Love, Murder and God) were hand-picked by Cash from across the spectrum of his all-encompassing career - from early Sun recordings in the `50s to Rick Rubin-produced comeback discs in the middle of the new country `90s. But familiarity is not an issue: no kidding, one listen to this bunch and poof! you're an instant Cash fan. There's something undeniably magical about his formula for story-telling. It's not country, it's not honky tonk, it's not rock and roll, it's something more primal, like twisted campfire songs sung/spoken by a black-clad bullfrog sitting on the fence between heaven and hell. Themes aside, the imagery of love, God and murder float through all three discs, though Murder was the first stop (don't ask why) and it's the best; packed with black-humoured tales from the Old West (Don't Take Your Guns To Town, Mister Garfield), of hangings, gun fights, prisons (Folsom Prison Blues, Austin Prison), luckless outlaws (Cocaine Blues) and merciless sheriffs, all brought to vibrant life and stamped indelibly with Cash's echoed and haunting baritone, token sound effects and spartan acoustics. The spirit of the Murder set is epitomized in Joe Bean, the tale of an ill-fated bandit who, despite his mother's best efforts at the Governor's office, is hanged on his birthday. Mid-song, Cash and a chorus break in to `Happy Birthday Joe Bean' only to be interrupted by the sound of the gallows creaking open and the audible - gack! - of a freshly hung Bean. Try to stifle the chuckles when the bunch resume singing the birthday refrain. It's dark, twisted - and damn funny, tongue-in-cheek violence that makes Uzi-blasting gangsta rappers sound like the Muppets. From Murder to Love, if only because it has a bevy of familiar tracks (I Walk the Line, Flesh and Blood, Ring of Fire, Oh What a Dream). While not quite as captivating a listen as Murder, it boasts the same brilliant storytelling - bittersweet, gruesome and genuine - and unencumbered acoustic pluck, a steely guitar style so evocative of the Old West the backbeat sounds as if it's been stapled to the front end of a coal-fired express train. No surprise - in Cash's world of Love the roses are faded, the hearts are broken and commitment is more likely to end in fiery destruction than a silver anniversary. Forget chocolates and candles. The love celebrated here is the real goods - the pain, desperation, the doom, the jealousy - not the simpleton sonnets of undying amour espoused in new country aggrandizement. Finally, there's God. With its age-old imagery of fire, brimstone and anticipated salvation, it's a closer companion piece to Murder, a fact played out as Cash's big authoritative baritone resonates like a tent revival preacher, transforming the subject matter - this time a black and white hymn book packed with Old West spirituals - into hypnotically colourful illustrations of heavenly affirmation and Holy fire (It Was Jesus, My God Is Real, Redemption, Belshazzar, The Kneeling Drunkard's Plea). Yes, there may be more to life than love, murder and God. But in dashing his world of outlaws, heartbreak and faith with impossibly human fallibilities, contradictions and twisted consequences, Cash makes it real, so real you'll ultimately feel like celebrating the fact you're alive.