It's a measure of the continued levels of interest in the late Syd Barrett that this newly revised edition of 'Crazy Diamond:Syd Barrett & The Dawn of Pink Floyd' should have hit the shelves with little more hard facts about its subject matter than on its original issue. This in itself doesn't diminish the worth and enjoyment of an always interesting book but the updated sightings of Syd, both real and imagined, add little more to our knowledge of the late recluse.

And while co-authors Mike Watkinson and Peter Anderson offer an intuitive and sympathetic treatment appraisal of Syd's all too short career, they don't really answer the questions about Barrett true talent and or the reason for the longevity of his legend.

For once you strip away the naivety of the times, and consider Syd's creative input shorn of its psychedelic 60's trappings, you are left with a delightful slice of well-crafted, whimsical pop that although a splendid postcard of the times, might not have translated so readily to the nascent corporate rock of the 70's onwards.

Much of the last third of this book concerns itself with the sightings of our hero, and an exploration if not understanding of his continuing legend, but in truth what none of us can really of course answer is how Syd along with the rest of his long gone contemporaries from Hendrix onwards would have dealt with the radical changing times.

And while Barrett is portrayed as a figure that desperately needed the freedom that many artists crave, all he found in the rock environment was a claustrophobic need to tow the line in support of new product, and an industry with an insatiable need for Barrett to come up with another hit.

It is also salutary to note that Syd Barrett was already showing serious signs of mental collapse early on in a career although back in those days his erratic behaviour was almost regarded as the norm of for a creative rock artists. Obvious parallels exist here with the equally tragic Peter Green, but in the case of Barrett and his ground breaking band Pink Floyd, the dividing line between a wayward genius and a tragic victim of mental illness was all too easily blurred.

Thus even the likes of Pee Townsend seem to have been suckered in, most notably when referring to an occasion when both he and Clapton went to the UFO to see Floyd and Syd in particular; 'We both enjoyed him, although you could never quite hear what he was up to because he used two or three different echo units.'

Such a sympathetic portrayal of Syd gradually hardened as some of those around him suddenly became aware of the 'king with no clothes' scenario, as is the case when the Floyd album cover artist Strom Thorgeson recollects; 'I remember seeing Floyd one night and suddenly realising that Syd was playing a completely different tune to the rest of the band or such a different variation that the others were having trouble following it. Some people may say he played only one note because he was a genius but I don't buy that shit. Syd was beginning to be a real drag – a megalomaniac, divorced from reality.'

The disintegrating Barrett persona also split members of Pink Floyd down the middle most notable Roger Waters who took the pragmatic view that the wayward Barrett far from being the band's creative force, was ushering in Floyd's downfall. On the other hand Syd's long time friend and ultimate replacement Dave Gilmour continued to encourage and indeed produce him. But even Gilmour was in for a shock, recalling that as early as the recording of 'See Emily Play', 'Syd didn't seem to recognise me and just stared back'. Gilmour quickly concluded 'He was a different person'.

This change in itself lays the cornerstone for the book. And although the authors sift analytically through interviews with both family, friends and the handful of journalists who managed to interview Syd in the following reclusive 40 years of his life, there isn't enough here to warrant the revised update. Put simply this book offers nothing radically new to what we already know about the original creative force of a band who ultimately outgrew both Barrett's troubled persona and their own experimental psychedelic beginnings to become one of the biggest grossing bands of all time.

What 'Syd Barrett & the Dawn of Pink Floyd' does offer is a timely reminder of another one of rock's most creative drug addled casualties. Perhaps one of the saddest ironies in the book comes when the Soft Machine's Robert Wyatt - himself one of Rock's most innovative an experimental figures - came to overdub some of Syd's later solo work. Confused by Syd's inability to cope he not unnaturally asked, 'What key is that in Syd, only to receive the reply, 'Yeah' or 'That's Funny'

At that point it might have been the time to draw a discreet veil on the Barrett legend, but this book is still an interesting read as it continues to search for clues of a revival or artistic renaissance in the life of a reclusive troubled artist. The fact that this was never going to happen shouldn't cast a shadow on the co-author's zealous unravelling of their hero's post rock low key life.

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Review by Pete Feenstra