Was going to be homey, now is Floydish
It is gloomish, cold and raining here. I have not yet succumbed to the temptation of listening to Pink Floyd's The Wall which is where I go during that 'abandon hope all ye breathing creatures' mood.
Sometimes I even fancy I understand where Roger Waters was coming from. Then I get over it.
I was going to write about the house and property and even my father's 86th birthday which is today. I do wonder if he ever in his life thought he'd make it to the 21st century but I suspect the answer would be another variant on 'what the hell are you talking about?'
Instead I find myself while tidying the supply cupboard (less than a week and already it's a disaster) and steeling myself to take the dogs out thinking about Pink Floyd.
I am old enough to have loved Pink Floyd in their prime. I was in high school when Dark Side of the Moon was released. The Syd Barrett years were a bit early for me. I still don't own a copy of Saucerfull of Secrets, Atom Cow Mother or Ummagumma. I'm a completist so I know I'll pick them up over time. I mean, I own Obscured By Clouds and I love it but some hardcore fans don't have that one.
I'm ahead on points in a non-existant contest.
I mentioned that I'm old enough to have loved Pink Floyd in their foursome prime. I didn't mention that I didn't. At. All.
I stand guilty of judging a book by its cover, so to speak. I blamed the Floyd for art rock and prog rock some of which is so incredibly self-indulgent I wouldn't be terribly surprised some of it was released to give its creators a harder orgasm just thinking about other people wanking to their music.
Back in the glory years of FM radio, back when there were real DJs in the studio and nothing much was pre-taped I always knew when the DJ was going to the loo or having a bite to eat or being entertained by a fan in a damp way: they put on really long tracks so they could take a break.
They usually chose one of two really long tracks: Pink Floyd's "Echoes" or King Crimson's "The Court of the Crimson King", both of which I could live without back then. Now I love "Echoes" (except for the middle part, sorry guys) but at the time that was my cue to change the channel.
I suppose it's weird that by the 21st century the only Floyd tracks I'd heard were "Money" from Dark Side and various hits. That's not their best stuff as I have found out.
Anyway, at some point in the early years of this century I decided to fill in the gaps in my music collection and it occurred to me that I couldn't boast of having any kind of decent collection if I didn't own Dark Side of the Moon. Everyone has that album. I firmly believe that some small, progressive Nordic nation hands a copy out to every newborn child. "Here you go, birth certificate, Dark Side of the Moon. Set for life." I can't explain the number of copies sold any other way.
So I got it and put it on the shelf and blissfully ignored it for almost a year. Then one day I was in that "I need new to me music" mood and decided to, you know, actually listen to the thing.
I was transported.
I think the real reason DSOTM has sold as many copies as it has and why it's a benchmark for many rock groups...think of how often you've heard the phrase "it's our Dark Side of the Moon... is simple. It's that good.
I'd not realized that you could call Pink Floyd art rock or prog rock but it would be a good idea to add the descriptive "with real balls". That's some edgy stuff there. They sometimes are precious and coy but when they go to that scary place nobody else goes, well, that took some big, round ones.
I do love edgy. I love guitars. I would happily kiss every single one of Gilmour's beautifully talented fingers. Twice if he'd allow it. I do not promise not to suck them a little.
The music I love has got to make me feel something powerful and the best of it has to take my head someplace I can't get to without that music. That's Pink Floyd.
For me all the ages of Pink Floyd stand tall. The Barrett period is wildly psychedelic and leaves me even today, all these years after the songs were recorded, feeling I almost understand what they're going on about. I should probably pay them royalties for all the times I've done a chore singing "Jupiter and Saturn/Oberon, Miranda and Titania" under my breath. I won't, but I likely should.
The foursome went places and recorded things nobody else would even consider, though some would try (and fail) to emulate. Ambitious? You don't even know. I can't list all my favorite tracks simply because my fingers would fall off from the typing.
Then there were three and that's mighty fine music as well. I'm not getting into the Barrett or Waters or Gilmour war. I'm just not. I can say with absolute honestly that the opening of "Coming Back To Life" made me bend over and weep from my soul as hard as some of the earlier stuff. My God, I love it when Gilmour sings with his voice and screams with his guitar.
My personal porn...I don't wank to it but it gives me a lovely, warm, liquid feeling (should've put a TMI alert on that)...is watching Live At Pompeii. There's a shot where you have a shirtless Baby Gilmour and a shirtless Baby Wright playing in the hot Italian sun and it makes me happier than you can imagine. I do worry about how badly sunburned they might have gotten, but the happy endures.
I'd have given a lot to be the filling in that sandwich. Yes, I said it.
Rick's gone now and there will never be a Floyd reunion. I know how essential he was to the band, how his talent held it all together no matter how far out they got. My throat tightens every time I see a mention of his passing. He seemed to be a lovely man and I wish he were still here, vital and healthy and giving David Gilmour a hard time when they worked together.
And Syd is gone but Syd went long before Roger Keith Barrett passed on. I think sometimes the problems was that Roger Keith Barrett knew that person known as Syd was gone, lost to brain damage and those who knew him when he was Syd simply could not accept this.
I love Gilmour's solo work. I listen to it a lot. It's not Pink Floyd but it can't be though sometimes ("Take A Breath") he gets close, possibly without meaning to.
I love the almost embarassing intimacy of his songs. I love it when he kicks ass on the guitar.
And I do wish I hadn't been so hard-headed and judgemental. I wish I'd been there back in the day. Judging by the hours and days I've spent with Pink Floyd as a soundtrack, they are kind of here now and that's what I've got.
Sometimes I even fancy I understand where Roger Waters was coming from. Then I get over it.
I was going to write about the house and property and even my father's 86th birthday which is today. I do wonder if he ever in his life thought he'd make it to the 21st century but I suspect the answer would be another variant on 'what the hell are you talking about?'
Instead I find myself while tidying the supply cupboard (less than a week and already it's a disaster) and steeling myself to take the dogs out thinking about Pink Floyd.
I am old enough to have loved Pink Floyd in their prime. I was in high school when Dark Side of the Moon was released. The Syd Barrett years were a bit early for me. I still don't own a copy of Saucerfull of Secrets, Atom Cow Mother or Ummagumma. I'm a completist so I know I'll pick them up over time. I mean, I own Obscured By Clouds and I love it but some hardcore fans don't have that one.
I'm ahead on points in a non-existant contest.
I mentioned that I'm old enough to have loved Pink Floyd in their foursome prime. I didn't mention that I didn't. At. All.
I stand guilty of judging a book by its cover, so to speak. I blamed the Floyd for art rock and prog rock some of which is so incredibly self-indulgent I wouldn't be terribly surprised some of it was released to give its creators a harder orgasm just thinking about other people wanking to their music.
Back in the glory years of FM radio, back when there were real DJs in the studio and nothing much was pre-taped I always knew when the DJ was going to the loo or having a bite to eat or being entertained by a fan in a damp way: they put on really long tracks so they could take a break.
They usually chose one of two really long tracks: Pink Floyd's "Echoes" or King Crimson's "The Court of the Crimson King", both of which I could live without back then. Now I love "Echoes" (except for the middle part, sorry guys) but at the time that was my cue to change the channel.
I suppose it's weird that by the 21st century the only Floyd tracks I'd heard were "Money" from Dark Side and various hits. That's not their best stuff as I have found out.
Anyway, at some point in the early years of this century I decided to fill in the gaps in my music collection and it occurred to me that I couldn't boast of having any kind of decent collection if I didn't own Dark Side of the Moon. Everyone has that album. I firmly believe that some small, progressive Nordic nation hands a copy out to every newborn child. "Here you go, birth certificate, Dark Side of the Moon. Set for life." I can't explain the number of copies sold any other way.
So I got it and put it on the shelf and blissfully ignored it for almost a year. Then one day I was in that "I need new to me music" mood and decided to, you know, actually listen to the thing.
I was transported.
I think the real reason DSOTM has sold as many copies as it has and why it's a benchmark for many rock groups...think of how often you've heard the phrase "it's our Dark Side of the Moon... is simple. It's that good.
I'd not realized that you could call Pink Floyd art rock or prog rock but it would be a good idea to add the descriptive "with real balls". That's some edgy stuff there. They sometimes are precious and coy but when they go to that scary place nobody else goes, well, that took some big, round ones.
I do love edgy. I love guitars. I would happily kiss every single one of Gilmour's beautifully talented fingers. Twice if he'd allow it. I do not promise not to suck them a little.
The music I love has got to make me feel something powerful and the best of it has to take my head someplace I can't get to without that music. That's Pink Floyd.
For me all the ages of Pink Floyd stand tall. The Barrett period is wildly psychedelic and leaves me even today, all these years after the songs were recorded, feeling I almost understand what they're going on about. I should probably pay them royalties for all the times I've done a chore singing "Jupiter and Saturn/Oberon, Miranda and Titania" under my breath. I won't, but I likely should.
The foursome went places and recorded things nobody else would even consider, though some would try (and fail) to emulate. Ambitious? You don't even know. I can't list all my favorite tracks simply because my fingers would fall off from the typing.
Then there were three and that's mighty fine music as well. I'm not getting into the Barrett or Waters or Gilmour war. I'm just not. I can say with absolute honestly that the opening of "Coming Back To Life" made me bend over and weep from my soul as hard as some of the earlier stuff. My God, I love it when Gilmour sings with his voice and screams with his guitar.
My personal porn...I don't wank to it but it gives me a lovely, warm, liquid feeling (should've put a TMI alert on that)...is watching Live At Pompeii. There's a shot where you have a shirtless Baby Gilmour and a shirtless Baby Wright playing in the hot Italian sun and it makes me happier than you can imagine. I do worry about how badly sunburned they might have gotten, but the happy endures.
I'd have given a lot to be the filling in that sandwich. Yes, I said it.
Rick's gone now and there will never be a Floyd reunion. I know how essential he was to the band, how his talent held it all together no matter how far out they got. My throat tightens every time I see a mention of his passing. He seemed to be a lovely man and I wish he were still here, vital and healthy and giving David Gilmour a hard time when they worked together.
And Syd is gone but Syd went long before Roger Keith Barrett passed on. I think sometimes the problems was that Roger Keith Barrett knew that person known as Syd was gone, lost to brain damage and those who knew him when he was Syd simply could not accept this.
I love Gilmour's solo work. I listen to it a lot. It's not Pink Floyd but it can't be though sometimes ("Take A Breath") he gets close, possibly without meaning to.
I love the almost embarassing intimacy of his songs. I love it when he kicks ass on the guitar.
And I do wish I hadn't been so hard-headed and judgemental. I wish I'd been there back in the day. Judging by the hours and days I've spent with Pink Floyd as a soundtrack, they are kind of here now and that's what I've got.