Michele Mari Red Floyd A novel in 30 confessions, 53 statements, 27 lamentations (11 of them ultramundane), 6 interrogations, 3 exhortations, 15 reports, one revelation and one contemplation
Ninth ultramundane lamentation Stanley Kubrick Strauss in a science fiction film wasnt bad at all, but in 2001: A Space Odyssey there are many other musical parts. For the sound track to the monolith I had thought of Pink Floyd: they had only been going for a few years but showed amazing maturity. Many of their pieces were inspired by science fiction, as was clear from the titles; others could evoke the anguish of the sidereal depths or translate the spatio-temporal paradoxes in terms of neurosis. According to one of my associates, a great rock music buff, their science fiction side mainly came from Roger Waters, so I asked the production team to get in touch with him. We met in a bar near St Jamess Park, and I realized at once that the idea of the monolith fascinated him. Nonetheless, I noticed a strange resistance in him, as if something inexpressible were inhibiting him. I suggested he should work on it in complete freedom, and that we should meet again a month later. When the time came, he told me over the phone that he didnt want to waste my time and wed better drop the idea. Would you mind telling me why, Mr Waters? I asked. Because the person who wrote that science fiction music is no longer with us, thats why. But couldnt he be revived? Im afraid not, Mr Kubrick, because he was right there, in front of your monolith. So I didnt press him, but when I later listened to Atom Heart Mother and Echoes I regretted it. And strangely enough, what I still pine for most is not 2001 with their music, but an album of theirs with a picture of my monolith on the sleeve.
Seventh confession The Catman (3) Almost everyone thinks Dark side is our best album; but if you ask Roger hell say The Wall is, whereas I... yes, I think in the end Id choose Wish You Were Here, especially for the first sequence of Shine On You Crazy Diamond. That sequence is linked to a terrible event. 5 June 1975, Abbey Road Studios. Were recording the definitive version of the piece when we see a strange guy standing outside the window: hes fat, completely bald, fortyish, and bundled up in an enormous overcoat, below which a working apron peeps out. A cleaner, I think, but then I realize that the EMI people are looking at him curiously too. I ask our technicians; theyve never seen him before; someone suggests calling security. I knew from experience how dangerous fans could be, but this guy didnt look like a fan: he seemed like an object, a thing that had been dumped there by the stagehands. The most nervous of all was Roger, who made an imperious gesture to stop the recording. Hey, Rog, Nick says to him, theres a visitor for you from the dark side of the moon. He did indeed look like an escaped inmate from some mental hospital, with that heavy overcoat in June and those shaven eyebrows... Roger was about to go for Nick, when he froze; we all froze, because the guy, dangling his arms like a puppet, started to sway to and fro. I dont know why, but it was an unbearable situation; it seemed as if everything was on the point of exploding. So Rick goes out of the room and we see him talking to that man on the other side of the glass. When he comes back in hes as white as a ghost. Its Syd, he says, Syd! And just when we were recording that piece! Without any hair, and about forty kilos heavier, he whod been the thinnest of us all! Syd, his wonderful curls... Roger and I hadnt seen him for five years, the others for seven, but fancy not recognizing him! I dont remember what happened next, because we were all crying; I know we invited him in and played the whole Shine On sequence to him. It was
stiflingly hot, but he kept his coat on, in fact when Roger made as if to unbutton it he wrapped himself up in it even tighter, with the expression of a hunted animal. I listened to the music and watched him: it seemed impossible to me that that lifeless creature and the Diamond of the text were the same person, and indeed they were not. Whatever he had become, he was no longer Syd. Our Syd would have accompanied the piece by moving his fingers in the air as if playing an invisible guitar, whereas this guy kept waving to and fro like a cactus lashed by the desert wind. And yet there was a moment it was no more than a moment when I had the impression that the old Syd had returned: it was at the end of the piece, when Roger asked him what he thought of it, and he, giving a hint of a smile for the first time, said these very words: Well, lads, if you really want to know, it sounds a bit dated to me. A bit dated! Our music! I was so happy to hear his reply that even now, whenever anyone raves about Shine on, I cant help repeating Syds words... Destroyed by acid, but still funnier than the rest of us put together. Syd, oh Syd!
Eleventh lamentation Sid Barrett Right away, to remove any possibility of doubt, look at the i. Its an i, not a y. Sid, short for Sidney. In my little world I was a celebrity: now that he has swallowed me up Im nothing. Try scanning the interminable bibliography of books on Pink Floyd: my voice is hardly ever there, or gets two laconic lines at most. I was a drummer from Cambridge, and every Friday evening I played at the Riverside Jazz Club; they used to call me Sid the Beat. In the early 1960s I was just over forty: an old man, to that thin boy who always came to listen to me. One cursed evening, someone asked him his name, and he replied, shyly: Roger Barrett. Another Barrett! I dont know why, but I found it very funny, and from that time on there was always someone buying him a beer and calling him Sid. So now there were two Sid Barretts in Cambridge, until he became famous enough to make a distinction necessary, and thats the reason for Syd. I dont think he chose it; in any case it doesnt matter, because from that moment I ceased to exist.
Twenty-ninth statement Mary Waters My maiden name was Mary Ward; I married Eric Fletcher Waters in 1937; we had two sons, Duncan and Roger. The war left me a widow, something the whole world knows because of my younger son. All my life I worked as a schoolteacher. I taught at Morley Memorial Junior School, a short walk from our home: so, in the early 1950s, it became Rogers school too, and, two years later, Syd Barretts too. We lived in the aptly named Rock Road and the Barretts lived in Hills Road, about seventy or eighty yards away. So I knew Winifred Barrett, and our sons met through us. Syd often came to have lunch with Roger, and since he was a bit behind at school I used to help him with his exercises. But Syd wasnt called Syd at that time, of course. He was called Roger, like my son, so whenever I called one of them they both replied... For a while I tried calling him Keith, his second name, but he didnt like it, so I settled for Big Roger and Little Roger, which annoyed them both... In the end they were both just Roger, and I only had to say, Roger, wash your hands, lunch is ready, and theyd both do it. It was nice, but sometimes it gave me the shivers, it was like having a double son... They made things worse, those two, like that time when they did a drawing together and signed it Roger Barrett-Waters, and another time Roger Barrers... Another rather strange thing was their friendship itself; I mean, when youre seven, eight or nine years old, two years difference is a big gap, almost a generation; and yet they stuck together, shunning the company of boys their own age. When I watched them play, at times it seemed as if my son had regressed to Syds level, because I saw him behaving as he had two or three years earlier; for example, he became interested in games and books that he had given up long ago; but at other times it was Syd who seemed to make a leap forward, using language too adult for his age and not being at all overawed by my son. After junior school, Roger, my Roger, went to the County High School, where he met that other guitarist who didnt join Pink Floyd, Klose... and Storm, their graphic artist, too... And of course two years later Syd joined him, but in the meantime things had changed a bit... They still got on very well, but they didnt see as much of each other as they had before, because... Im sorry to say so, but it was because of Mrs Barrett... I dont know why, but Winifred never liked our sons spending so much time together;
while they were at junior school she put up with it, then she started keeping Syd in during the afternoons... I think she was very possessive, and that she became even more so after the death of her husband... To tell the truth, my son never liked her, and I think he was thinking of her when he wrote the terrible words of the song Mother, where the mother, in the tone of a judge passing sentence, tells his son that to her he will always remain a child... And do you know what Roger said after Syd became ill and locked himself up in his basement? There: now the old womans got him all to herself.