New on DVD

There were other punk bands, to be sure. Some were smarter, some were trashier, some were even "punker" -- whatever that means. But whatever could be said about the Clash, one could never say there was a better live band, as this stunning DVD demonstrates, in case there were any doubts. Director Don Letts has made a lifetime out of repackaging and recontextualizing the footage he shot of the Clash during their incredible run from 1977 to 1982, when they went from assembly-line punkers handpicked in the wake of the Sex Pistols' unexpected success to stadium-filling megastars. No matter how shaky the camera in the early days, and no matter how obvious the clichés later on (see Joe Strummer's self-parodying mohawk at Shea Stadium and U.S. Festival shows supporting "Combat Rock"), the band's visceral, brutal energy sears through the screen and into your brain. Strummer, the coolest, toughest front man imaginable, seems likely to burst out of his skin, while Mick Jones bounces around like a foul Tigger trying to keep up, as the two of them spit the words to Clash-ics such as "I Fought the Law," "I'm So Bored With the U.S.A.," "London Calling," "Train in Vain," "The Guns of Brixton," "Should I Stay or Should I Go" and many more. Many Clash-related DVDs are available, but this one is essential.

There comes a time in every music fan's life when the next generation of rock band rises up to become so massively popular that the fan wonders what he or she must be missing. It's not simply a question of not liking the music -- we all have bands we don't care for -- it's a matter of lacking the capacity to even understand how anyone could like this artist, of failing to grasp the appeal, even theoretically, of songs like this. This is called getting older, and, for many of us, the emo band Fall Out Boy (their name comes from a "Simpsons" episode) represents the ultimate gap between us and our lost youth.

This DVD, I regret to inform, err, myself, will do nothing to clarify the band's appeal. Shot live last year on the -- wait for it -- Honda Civic Tour, the show provides the hits we've heard on the radio and TV (including "This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race," "Dance, Dance," "Sugar, We're Going Down" and others), and a bunch more only true fans will ever want to hear again. Emo kids are in full effect, as are the band members' trademark eye makeup, long-waisted fake preppie fashions and hyperactive onstage demeanor. Singer/guitarist Pete Wentz cuts a baffling figure as a romantic front man -- not much of a singer, and prone to facial contortions that make you want to look away. If you're getting on in years, that is. I accidentally sat on the mute button at a certain point, and realized I was watching a band of lean, basically attractive 22-year-olds jumping around like dorks on a stadium stage while a light show flashed and popped all around them and thousands of teenage girls (and a few boys, too) lost their hormonal minds. That's when I realized: It's only rock 'n' roll. I just like it better with the sound off.

There's something a little disturbing about the fact that Justin Timberlake has been enshrined as a full-scale entertainment institution. For some of us anyway, he remains a figure on the periphery of the consciousness, a former boy band member, a former Britney Spears boyfriend (remember when the question was whether he would ever be as successful as she?), an anointed up and comer who up and became, apparently, the working definition of pop stardom (emphasis on "pop") in this young century. But if Timberlake's celebrity seems weirdly predetermined, this performance -- taped live at New York's most prestigious big-time venue for an HBO special -- demonstrates that he was clearly born to be nothing else.

All his hits are represented, and illustrated by elaborate choreography. But unlike many a pop show, in which dancing is obviously way more important than music, the "Futuresex/Loveshow" tour works hard to integrate the two, all while putting Timberlake at the center of what feels like a huge, if unspecific, narrative about, umm, sex/love. There at the center of the world's brightest spotlight, Timberlake never stops moving, except for dramatic purpose, never fails to bring sexy back, except when he plays humble in the (heavily Madonnaesque) backstage interviews. And the audience never, ever stops loving him.

Say what you will about the late Tom Snyder as a TV personality (stiff, coarse, witty, probing, old school, ugly), you could never accuse the guy of having been a rock 'n' roller. Which is why this DVD, which follows on the heels of a collection of punk rockers on Snyder's late-'70s/early-'80s late night interview show "Tomorrow," is a bit of a head scratcher. The first disc (of two), consists of a 1975 interview with John Lennon, just before he entered the seclusion that took up the latter part of that decade. Big fans will recognize both the footage (Lennon's hair is straight and shoulder length and he wears a newsboy cap and little sunglasses) and the sound bites, as well as John's struggle to get through to Snyder, who clearly isn't much of a fan. This interview, which is precious despite its flaws, leads into a perfunctory "tribute" that Snyder's team put together just two nights after Lennon's murder, featuring rock journalist Lisa Robinson and "Double Fantasy" producer Jack Douglas, who appears heavily sedated.

Disc 2 is no less curious or unsatisfying, featuring a fumbling interview with Paul and Linda McCartney (backstage at a Wings show in London via satellite) during which Snyder is more interested in the technology that enables the transatlantic hookup than in the McCartneys -- though, frankly, you can't blame him too much; they don't seem too interested themselves. Wrapping things up is a depressing visit with Ringo Starr, on the eve of releasing his dismal 1982 album "Stop and Smell the Roses"; by the poolside, behind shades, Starr is lean and sober and charming, but the video he's promoting (featuring Ringo playing cards with Dracula, the Wolfman and the Frankenstein monster) is so abysmally out of step that you can't bear to watch. Not that Snyder even notices ...