'You Forgot It In People' - the second album by ever-expanding Toronto collective Broken Social Scene - is probably few people's idea of the greatest record of all time. But the lasting effect it first had on my bored 16-year-old ears makes it unlikely I'll ever take it off its pedestal.

On release, it emerged from relative obscurity. Broken Social Scene had existed as a side-project between Toronto scenesters Brendan Canning and Kevin Drew, putting out the ambient 'Feel Good Lost' in 2001. Lush and sweeping but relatively unremarkable, it laid few clues to what was to come, with nothing on the scale of the indie variety show on offer here. The pair added countless more friends to the Scene and returned with this just a year later.

Far more than a solid indie-rock record, 'You Forgot It In People' still sounds like some sort of divine compilation album, such is the range of perfectly-executed styles on offer. It's a true magnum opus, going through noisy blowouts ('Almost Crimes') to kitten-soft delicate pop tunes ('Anthems For A Seventeen-Year-Old Girl') via laid-back improv-sounding jams ('Looks Just Like The Sun').

The concept is, then, an ambitious mission statement which for many bands would end up as a pretentious, masturbatory disaster. The number of official 'band members' playing on the album - all key players in their own right on the Toronto indie-rock scene - reaches double figures. Yet it's immediately clear that the idea is to bring together people who are full of talent and ideas: check out the way the distorted guitars overlap with Brendan Canning's hypnotic bassline and joyous handclaps in 'Stars And Sons', or how Kevin Drew and Leslie Feist's voices entangle each other on 'Almost Crimes'.

What makes 'You Forgot It In People' so special is that it goes through every effort to avoid such perfect pieces falling apart. The band's attitude to production seems to be to throw everything into the melting pot, but the tightness and sense of rhythm overpowers any sense of scruffiness. They keep everything focused on even the most meandering pieces like 'Shampoo Suicide', a song so busy and experimental it sounds like frontman Kevin Drew is speaking in tongues. There's also a prevalent sexiness - seen everywhere from Emily Haines' breathy vocals on 'Anthems...' to the overt fantasising on 'I'm Still Your Fag'. The whole thing just works sublimely.

'You Forgot It In People' is by anyone's ears a masterclass in bringing together a huge variety of people and styles into a solid and somehow beautifully cohesive album. And if you were lucky enough to have such a feast cure your musical rut, it will never leave your heart.

Mike Mantin