There’s now a book on Syd Barret, a £70 volume with letters, photographs, paintings, texts, interviews; a final desperate attempt of capturing someone dead on something that you can hold.
But it gets worse — this man is the example of someone who, because of not working hard and because of indulging too much, couldn’t be reliable enough to be in a band.
That is not something you want to praise and elevate to art book material — that is the kind of professional immaturity that brings no results.
Any Pink Floyd fan would recognize that we have everything that came after The Piper at The Gates of Dawn precisely because the band ditched Syd Barret.
Destruction Removal breeds creation.