Crazy Diamond

I just finished reading the biography Syd Barrett: Crazy Diamond-The Birth of Pink Floyd. It’s been out for a while, recently updated after Syd’s passing in 2006, but I ignored it over the years figuring that I knew all there was to know about the Madcap anyway.
To a point, I had; Crazy Diamond didn’t reveal much information other that a few interesting tidbits of Syd encounters, behavioral quirks, and eyewitness accounts of some of his more notable incidents. Barely revelatory, but an interesting read nonetheless.
The other thing that the book does is almost entirely dismantle the romantic notion about Barrett’s illness and the suggestion that he left behind some lost fragments for us fans to discover. It appears that the Gilmour find, “Bob Dylan’s Blues,” will indeed be the last new offering in the Barrett catalog and any rumor of a lost session, either during the 70’s or during his reclusive years, are completely out of the question.
Repeatedly, Barrett’s relatives declare that there was not even a hint of Syd considering music, other than occasionally listening to old Stones records and, his main love, classical selections.
Every notion of a Floyd reunion or a casual recording of a living room recording were quickly dismantled by the family, even after being offered a large sum by various interested parties. Tim Sommer, the notable N.Y.C. punk broadcaster (“Noise The Show”) and former Hugo Largo member, became an A&R exec at Atlantic Records during the 90’s and made a very handsome offer to the Barrett family over $200,000 for any new recordings, regardless of how incomplete.
The offer was politely rejected.
Halfway through the book, after Barrett had slowly started to remove himself from the record industry, you begin to realize how downright boring and common he’d become. It’s fascinating to think of that bald, overweight and underwhelming chap walking down the street as being one of the architects of modern psychedelia. His anonymity was only disrupted by the consistent parade of fans looking to meet with him. Even the authors of the book only managed to meet him once, through the closed door of his Cambridge home, where they were quickly advised that Barrett was “away” and that the person they were speaking with was only the caretaker. Some family members did try to ask Syd if he’d be willing to participate in disclosing some information to the authors. Barrett quickly dismissed the notion, declaring that we wouldn’t be able to remember any stories to tell.
I’m revisiting (again) the Barrett catalog and find it just as satisfying as I did when I first discovered it. I make no illusions that it wasn’t Barrett’s infamous breakdown that brought me to the discovery and made the music, particularly the loose and barely together selections of his songbook, all the more tolerable. It wasn’t until later on that I began to see how his desire to color outside the lines made it possible for those since to work with a larger palette of colors.
Syd Barrett: Crazy Diamond is merely the black and white document of his life, but it’s his music that provides the full spectrum of colors.