12 and 13 and 14 years
old and listening to
Pink Floyd tapes.
Roger Waters’ first two
solo albums too.
But it was the Floyd
stuff that meant the
most to me. Had me
copying out the lyrics
on an old typewriter.
(Doing it the old-fashioned
Syd Barrett’s solo
Then David Gilmour.
On to Nick Mason and
Rick Wright eventually,
collecting it all.
It was the world to me
Live albums, compilations,
in fact it started back when
I was 10. An hour or so in
Christchurch, first south-island
trip, and I wanted a Pink
Floyd tape for the car.
On the way to Timaru and
then Oamaru with that amazing
keyboard intro – and then
the drums kick in! – sheep
in the fields wherever we looked,
the song ‘Sheep’ on the stereo,
also ‘Shine On You Crazy Diamond’.
(Those long songs staying strong on that
car-trip, making me a fan. Infecting my
brain like devils).
I don’t listen to Pink Floyd all that
much these days. But I think about the
band often. What it meant to me. How it
was the start of so much…
How ‘One Of These Days’ just blew me
away, how the album, ‘A Momentary Lapse
of Reason’ is as good as anything else they
ever did. (How I really mean that too by
Copies of the lyrics all over my wall, and
my own poems being typed out to match (albeit kept
in folders I didn’t want anyone to see).
My folks laughing at the line “The laddy reckons
himself a poet”
(possibly crying – or smirking at least – if we ever sat
down to watch that movie again).
Something so English, so stubborn about the very
best of Roger’s words. So much doggerel though, wrapped
up in a liquid-tension-piercing guitar tone. Those mellifluous
keyboard lines and Nick Mason sending a telegraph ahead of
every drum fill: Snare stop tom stop tom stop tom stop
There were always better bands. There were always better
But for a while there
there were none that could
I really loved
my Pink Floyd