A lazy July afternoon two years ago, in reconnoitering the Net to plan a trip to Shanghai, came the news that a certain Roger K Barrett was no more. "For those who knew him, and certainly some of us spent many an evening reveling in the joys of the company of Syd and his kinsmen..." was how one mourned his pioneering genius, in the poignant knowledge that the Madcap Laughs, but now in a different abode.
Nonetheless, hope lingered for the faithful: that the Floydian bell had not tolled its last yet. Indeed, it grew by virtue of a momentous reunion during Live 8 a few months ago. Mind you, any new note to add to the treasure trove that unfurled with Piper at the Gates of Dawn two score years ago, would be up against sky-high expectations. Their success had been staggering; time since last foray unbearably long.
Miracles were par for the course, however. Like the day when practising a new song for Wish You Were Here, before the evening party for Dave Gilmour's wedding, a fully shaved overweight man, looking aged beyond his years, had wandered in unrecognized in the studio. Amongst friends after a five year hiatus and amidst the strains of Shine On You Crazy Diamond (ostensibly dedicated to him) Syd had asked for a guitar, to find none, and walked away from them forever.
With the tragic demise of Rick Wright this week, alas, that hope is gone. There would be no more from the band that redefined music with experimentative sound, evocative lyric, and phantasmagoric rock opera constructs. Debates as to the order of greatness among the prodigal Barrett, meditative Waters or mellow Gilmour usually led me back to my first etched-in-rock principle. Serendipitously discovered during my baby steps in College, it went: there was Floyd, and then you had Music (or, more pithily, Floyd is God)!
Indeed, for a musical journey so rich in idiom, varied in vein, and haunting in memory, attempting an epitaph is surely ill-advised. Suffice it for me to exit today, then, with two tickets for Rock On in hand, by reaching into the divine anthology for a composition sans pareil, from the aforementioned 1975 album, and leave you to savour some of its nine-part gem:
Nonetheless, hope lingered for the faithful: that the Floydian bell had not tolled its last yet. Indeed, it grew by virtue of a momentous reunion during Live 8 a few months ago. Mind you, any new note to add to the treasure trove that unfurled with Piper at the Gates of Dawn two score years ago, would be up against sky-high expectations. Their success had been staggering; time since last foray unbearably long.
Miracles were par for the course, however. Like the day when practising a new song for Wish You Were Here, before the evening party for Dave Gilmour's wedding, a fully shaved overweight man, looking aged beyond his years, had wandered in unrecognized in the studio. Amongst friends after a five year hiatus and amidst the strains of Shine On You Crazy Diamond (ostensibly dedicated to him) Syd had asked for a guitar, to find none, and walked away from them forever.
With the tragic demise of Rick Wright this week, alas, that hope is gone. There would be no more from the band that redefined music with experimentative sound, evocative lyric, and phantasmagoric rock opera constructs. Debates as to the order of greatness among the prodigal Barrett, meditative Waters or mellow Gilmour usually led me back to my first etched-in-rock principle. Serendipitously discovered during my baby steps in College, it went: there was Floyd, and then you had Music (or, more pithily, Floyd is God)!
Indeed, for a musical journey so rich in idiom, varied in vein, and haunting in memory, attempting an epitaph is surely ill-advised. Suffice it for me to exit today, then, with two tickets for Rock On in hand, by reaching into the divine anthology for a composition sans pareil, from the aforementioned 1975 album, and leave you to savour some of its nine-part gem:
Remember when you were young; you shone like the sun…
Shine on you crazy diamond…
Now there's a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky…
Shine on you crazy diamond…
You were caught on the cross fire of childhood and stardom,
Blown on the steel breeze…
Come on you target for faraway laughter, come on you stranger,
You legend, you martyr, and shine!
You reached for the secret too soon, you cried for the moon…
Shine on you crazy diamond…
Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed in the light…
Shine on you crazy diamond…
Well you wore out your welcome with random precision,
Rode on the steel breeze…
Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter,
You piper, you prisoner, and shine!
Nobody knows where you are, how near or how far…
Shine on you crazy diamond…
Pile on many more layers and I'll be joining you there…
Shine on you crazy diamond…
And we'll bask in the shadow of yesterday's triumph,
And sail on the steel breeze…
Come on you boy child, you winner and loser,
Come on you miner for truth and delusion, and shine!
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