So Long Syd...We Will Miss You
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What follows is excerpted from an online conversation between two friends about Syd Barrett, founding member of the rock band Pink Floyd, following the news of his death.Friend 1 wrote: I went through some Syd Barrett lyrics online today after getting the news and was struck by how many of them were -- to the degree one can filter through the strangeness -- about lost love. Maybe it wasn't the LSD that drove him over the edge after all.
The poppy birds way
Swing twigs coffee brands around,
Brandish her wand with a feathery tongue
My head kissed the ground
I was half the way down, treading the sand
Please, please, please lift the hand
I'm only a person with Eskimo chain
I tattooed my brain all the way...
Won't you miss me?
Wouldn't you miss me at all? (from "Dark Globe")
Also:
When I woke up today
And you weren't there to play
Then I wanted to be with you
When you showed me your eyes
Whispered love at the skies
Then I wanted to stay with you
Inside me I feel alone and unreal
And the way you kiss will always be
A very special thing to me...
Friend 2 wrote:
I find myself thinking about Syd a lot, surprised at how much his death is affecting me. I remember many years ago being deeply impressed by his musical artistry and lyrical imagery upon hearing Pink Floyd's The Piper At The Gates of Dawn and early singles (a few of which can be found on Works and Echoes: The Best of Pink Floyd). These were imprinting experiences, and the impressions have only grown stronger over time. Syd's post-breakdown solo work also shows brilliance, albeit more raw and disjointed.
One could posit that in attempting to return to an idyllic, childlike state, Syd took himself out to a place from which he was unable to return, thus making him symbolic--a warning, a casualty.
It's awfully considerate of you to think of me here
And I'm most obliged to you for making it clear
That I'm not here.
(from "Jugband Blues")
Unlike Syd, who hid away in his mother's house for the last 30+ years of his life as something of a perma-child, we adults have spouses, career concerns, money troubles, mortgages, and someday maybe even our own children--responsibilities absent in the blissful ignorance of childhood.
It's weird...a chunk of my own childhood feels irrevocably lost.
For all the time spent in that room
The doll's house, darkness, old perfume
And fairy stories held me high on
Clouds of sunlight floating by.
Oh Mother, tell me more
Tell me more.
(from "Matilda Mother")
Digressions aside, yes, I agree that love, lost or otherwise, undoubtedly played an important role in his life's direction, as it does for most people. Of all that we face, what is more wonderful and terrible, healing and horrifying, creative and destructive than love?
Open your eyes and don't be blind
Can't you see we're two of a kind?
I've got to say this, I hope you don't mind
I love you, we're two of a kind
(from "Two of a Kind")
End Conversation
There will be many written and recorded tributes and biographies, so keep an eye on library holdings if interested. In the meantime, we have the following books:
Inside Out: A Personal History of Pink Floyd
Another Brick in the Wall: The Stories Behind Every Pink Floyd Song
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