THE PITCHFORK 500 **** (or 7.1/10 to be precise)
Edited by Scott Plagenhoef and Ryan Schreiber
Fireside, 208 pages, $18.99.

Do we really need Pitchfork to reach back in time and assess the past 30 years of music? And if the condescending witticisms and evaluatory precision that we know and love will be largely absent, then what’s the point? Fortunately for the website’s first venture into print media, The Pitchfork 500, these points are more or less moot — whether you take the book at face value as a rough guide to the most influential songs since 1977, or read it merely as a glimpse into the minds of the Napster generation’s tastemakers.

The book is organized chronologically, thus subverting a numbered ranking. And there are lots of sidebar pages which explore subjects like “Career Killers” and “Post-Fugazi Emo.” As for their 500 picks, the freedom to choose any songs from such a wide range of genres (especially in electronica and hip-hop) provides a decent, if somewhat selective, survey of the progression from punk to the current catchall genre of indie rock.

If nothing else, the book’s strength comes with its concision; the often too-wordy Pitchfork reviews are reduced to two-paragraph blurbs wherein writers are forced to pack as many adjectives as possible. There are also some clever justifications, like how the 1.316 seconds of Napalm Death’s “You Suffer” made the cut. Still, the combination of contentious choices from key albums, some appalling exclusions (nothing from Tool, Jane’s Addiction or anything involving Mike Patton) and far too much Prince, The Pitchfork 500 infuriates as much as it illuminates — just like any good Pitchfork review should. CHRIS BILTON

THE CLASH ***
Edited by Mal Peachey
Atlantic Books, 384 pages, $49.95.

You can imagine this book’s publishing execs agonizing over how to sell a glossy, expensive coffee-table tome to fans of one of the most notoriously anti-commercial bands in music history. Their answer is to have this history of the band consist almost entirely of The Clash’s own words, drawn from interviews with editor Mal Peachey. No outside bullshit, yeah? The genuine article? Right on, brother. But the absence of context — something that interviews with outsiders would have provided, as they did in Julien Temple’s fascinating documentary Joe Strummer: The Future Is Unwritten — leaves their version of history reading more like hagiography, which The Clash in their heyday would surely have despised.

On the other hand, the band members are charming raconteurs and both the photos and the vintage artwork are reproduced with loving reverence. Fans might cringe at the brazen cash-in element, but — much like The Clash did once they started making money — they’ll get over it. DAVE MORRIS

21 NIGHTS *
By Prince and Randee St. Nicholas
Atria, 256 pages, $55.

What is this shit? Oh right, it’s Prince. The tendency of the purple one to exploit his fans with product tie-ins — would you like some 3121 Perfume to go with your £300 VIP concert ticket? — hits a new nadir with this gaudy collection of “photos, poetry and music” ostensibly celebrating last year’s series of 21 consecutive Prince shows in London. If a crappy live CD, utter drivel masquerading as profundity (“Step in2 a phone booth . . . all illusions die / The truth comes out 2 acknowledge or deny”) and a series of boring glamour shots will satisfy your needs, send me your address and you can have my copy, because this isn’t worth the glossy paper its fashion credits are printed on. Sometimes I really hate that midget bastard. DM