The greatest ever album covers

Thomas Casagranda on Bitches Brew by Miles Davis

Mati Klarwein, the painter of the artwork, was a European Jewish refugee from Nazism, who studied with Dali. He also painted the sleeve for Santana's Abraxas, the rock equivalent of Bitches Brew.

What does the picture mean? Miles is stating that the roots of jazz, of blues, of rock and of civilisation began in Africa. It is also a unification between black and white, between rock and jazz. The thunder in the distance suggests the turbulence of the grooves within: this wasn't the mild fusion of Filles De Kilamanjaro, or In A Silent Way, this was the way forward – the jazz-rock fusion thunder.

Ultimately, the sleeve matches the (new) Directions in Music by Miles Davis, in that the figures on the painting are embracing, staring into a technicoloured new future for jazz. It is saying that jazz can go into rock, and will do amazingly. What a pity then that by 1976 Miles's vision was diluted by smooth jazz, which was the knock-on effect of fusion.

Stephano Bentos on Iron Maiden – Various albums

I'd love to wax lyrical about Vaughan Oliver and how he set the house style for 4AD, or Storm Thorgerson's legendary work for Hipgnosis, but the truth is Derek Riggs will always be the album art guy who springs to my mind when the topic comes up.

Riggs was the artist who painted every single Iron Maiden cover right up until the end of the 1990s. His meticulously detailed sleeves with comic book anti-hero Eddie doing evil deeds beneath Steve Harris's striking logo were littered with in-jokes, movie references and hints about the life story of the band's mascot.

The early works were akin to horror film posters for low-budget slasher flicks. But satire crept in even in the late 70s. Margaret Thatcher appeared in commando gear on Women In Uniform, ready to attack Eddie and two nurses. She came to a sticky end for tearing up a band poster on Sanctuary.

As the band's sound evolved, so did the depth of the artist's work. In 1982 Number Of The Beast featured dozens of dirty Sergio Aragones-style details in the borders. Classic literature and old films were often the inspiration behind the songs and the images. The dense details in the Powerslave, Somewhere In Time, Seventh Son era meant hours could be whiled away immersed in the worlds on the sleeves while the epic solos carried on.

I remember these sleeves from the record shop shelves years before I heard a note of the band's music. The true genius is that they do not disappoint when you do.

Daniel Robbins on Tusk by Fleetwood Mac

"Someone oughta tell you what it's really all about," snarls Lindsey Buckingham, on Tusk, the album that, if Fleetwood Mac had declared Rumours to be their magnum opus, they then set about promptly desecrating it in one fell swoop. It's also one of the earliest albums I ever heard.

For me, Tusk stands out as an iconic album cover because it symbolises the exact moment when Fleetwood Mac were trying to re-define themselves in 1979, and just how determined they were in doing so. Gone is the previous lush, Gothic witchcraft, laced-around-a-riddle imagery, and instead we have an aggressive nipping dog, against a sparse, speckled background, deliberately designed to be offputting, while warning everyone not to expect what they thought they were expecting.

This dryness sets you up for a long comedown of split, fractured personalities in the aftermath of past glories, and the end of the 1970s in general. Tusk is a surprising product of the transition between the 70s and 80s, with a nostalgic joy that reminds us of that era and questions what happened next. That's why I think it's genius.

Diana Debord on The Holy Bible by Manic Street Preachers

The cover features a tryptich by Jenny Saville entitled Strategy (South Face/Front Face/North Face), depicting an obese woman in underwear. The album was released in 1994 and it is a bible for every Manics fan, because it summarises Richey Edwards's genius: 13 songs of punk fury dealing with prostitution, anorexia, fascism and consumerism.

The cover art gives the perfect picture of the scourges of the 20th century and I don't think any other band has done anything similar recently. I've always thought it was really cool that Jenny Saville gave her permission for her work to be used for free after Richey described his lyrics, and I'm glad she did. The Holy Bible is my favourite album ever, and its cover art is displayed prominently in my sitting room.

Popbijoux on Power, Corruption and Lies by New Order

Power Corruption and Lies is arguably not only the greatest record sleeve ever produced, it is possibly the greatest work of art of the 20th century.

Peter Saville chose an image, Roses by Henri Fantin-Latour (1836-1904) from a postcard at the National Gallery. Fantin-Latour was a realist painter, whose blooming flowers were pasted onto the square album format of the late 20th century. By selecting an image with a signifying icon of cooled romanticism, rooted in the industrial, Victorian age, Saville essentially flattens and incorporates the historicised past into the futuristic, post-industrial Manchester of New Order. On the right side, the printing codes of colors frame the painterly cover image. Power, Corruption and Lies is the ultimate icon of relic of sonic/aesthetic kind: the album.
The inner sleeve and the back were framed in the shape of a floppy disk, a mere data container as it were. It was a precise product of its time, the multiple object transporting potential experiences of great feeling in the age of mechanical reproduction. That record speaks of the power of music, to unite people of all countries and persuasions, for the cause of a profoundly "inauthentic" and satisfying experience. Like great make-up, stealthy lovers and dim lighting, the record sleeve conformed to my fantasy life, a place I belonged, somewhere where there was no progressive music, bearded men or flip-flops. A place where people just, erm, got it really.

Chris Hardman on Anthem Of The Sun by The Grateful Dead

Many of San Francisco's greatest poster artists (eg Stanley Mouse, Alton Kelley, Rick Griffin) created iconic images for the Grateful Dead's albums, but the most perfectly appropriate cover is that painted by Bill Walker for their second album, Anthem Of The Sun.

Drawing on his own experiments with peyote and his growing understanding of metaphysics, he created an image that exactly defines the Grateful Dead in performance in 1968. They generally played while many of the band and audience were using LSD, incorporating passages of unscripted, exploratory, collective improvisation. When these improvisations "worked", the effect was that of the music being created by a separate consciousness or muse, with the six musicians bent to its will. Bassist Phil Lesh described the process in terms of the players each being a finger on the same hand, all playing a single instrument.

In the cover image, the beast/muse sits at the centre, fierce and fearless, connected to the band members by serpents emanating from its belly. The group sits in a perfect circle, which is centred on the beast's mouth.

Unlike the majority of album covers where the focus is the artist's image, Anthem puts the act of creation at the centre, with the musicians merely the means of delivery. Which is pretty much how the band always saw themselves.

Over to you. What in your opinion is the greatest ever album cover, and why? Let us know in the thread below.