Maybe it’s the variegated purple crowding the turntable on the cover, or maybe it’s down to the resin-caked squeal and haze of “Trepanated Earth” and the scribbled out-drift of “Foilly Foibles/GOLD,” but Worn Copy always surfaces in my memory as Rosenberg’s prog-rock opus. Upon revisits, pop gems that rank among his best spill out all over the place: the curdled, po’faced “Immune to Emotion,” white trucker funk number “Jules Lost His Jewels,” drugged vamp “Creepshow,” the fake English folk lilt of “Artifact.” And though on its face, “Credit” scans as dizzy disco camp, a song that’s catchier than most advertising jingles itself stands apart as an oddly sincere, anti-capitalist carol.

So why isn’t this one ranked higher on the list? Because in context, Worn Copy — the final album included here committed to tape pre-Before Today, between 2002 and 2003 — doesn’t cohere quite as solidly as some of the releases above it, and a muted insularity colors its highlights; there’s nothing here anyone would feel compelled to murder in the shower or scream at a bro who’s screaming it back in your face at night on a long road trip. (“Interesting Results” from House Arrest? “Don’t Talk to Strangers” from Lover Boy? Oh, most def.) That said, this release covers some fascinating Haunted Graffiti territory and very effectively simulates a deep-dive into the darkest corners of, well, one gifted misfit’s complicated psyche.