Iowa-born New Yorker Arthur Russell passed away in 1992 of AIDS-related illness, but in his lifetime produced one of the finest, most compellingly broad bodies of music around. Since his death, Russell’s vault of unpublished music has yielded forays into genres as diverse as contemporary classical, Americana with an early James Taylor vibe, wonky disco and watery, echo-dipped pieces whose nearest point of reference might be either John Martyn or Jacques Cousteau.

This cottage industry shows no signs of abating, demonstrated by Travels Over Feeling: a new biography of the man by Richard King following Tim Lawrence’s effort a decade or so back. The ace up this latest book’s sleeve is King’s inclusion of visual material, gleaned from the extensive Arthur Russell archive housed at the New York Public Library.

Interestingly, despite the candid nature of some of the photos – and even when smiling in broad daylight – Russell cuts an elusive figure. But as King states in his introduction, “a definitive portrait of Arthur Russell is unrealistic.” It appears to be so. As excellent as this book is, Russell’s personality proves just as slippery as his music. But that’s where the late musician’s genius lay: out there on his own terrace of unintelligibility.