Reviews

Paul Verhoeven's last pre-Hollywood film (from 1983) is a minor classic. Depressed alcoholic writer Gerard Reve (a tremendous, dishevelled Jeroen Krabbé) finds succour in the arms of a vampish beautician (Renée Soutendijk) only to discover, thanks to a series of gory flashbacks, he's due for much more than a makeover. Funny and fever-ish by turns, it's Basic Instinct for surrealists.

He hasn't made a record since 1970, but the Syd Barrett legend continues to grow. Narrated by Newsnight's Kirsty Wark and first shown as a BBC documentary, this serious-minded 50-minute film examines the legacy of the Floyd's original Crazy Diamond, mostly through interviews with former band members Dave Gilmour, Rick Wright, Nick Mason and Roger Waters. They paint a harrowing picture of Barrett's disintegration, although the Madcap himself is reduced to a ghost-like presence, seen only in a few flickering frames of archive footage.

There are no headless bats in Black Sabbath—Never Say Die SANCTUARY and Ozzy doesn't even get to shout, "Sharon, how does the DVD work?" But we do find Osbourne in typically headbanging form in a 1978 Sabbath concert that includes "War Pigs" and "Paranoid". No extras, though.

Belated CD release of 2001 Internet-only 'comeback' album

Debut from promising Scots indie-rockers

Philip Glass at his most minimal, repetitive, and inexplicably, magically, affecting. Apparently, Michael Nyman wrote a score for this, too, and was sore when Glass won that particular clash of the titans. Which, you have to concede, has a touch more aesthetic loftiness about it than "Ugly Noel tells someone to fuck off". It's lovely, though if we're candid, not as lovely as we were hoping. Many reviews of the film decried the music as over-insistent, which is akin to describing George Bush as a genius.

Uncompromising Londoners bring the noise to ragga

Tenth album from actor, singer and one-time Mr Julia Roberts

Imagine you're combing the racks of your favourite cool record store, one of those sub-High Fidelity dives with a coupla snooty geeks behind the counter and some Sun Ra covers on the wall. You're flipping through the '80s Hardcore section, looking for an ancient Millions Of Dead Cops LP, swimming in Raymond Pettibon graphics, when all of a sudden... What's this? The Finger's We Are Fuck You/Punk's Dead Let's Fuck? Who? What? Musta come from some boondock town in one of the "vowel states"—Ohio or Iowa.

Classy reissues from '70s songsmith