After a long long time, got an opportunity to connect back with one of the passions of my earlier life… Pink Floyd. Was surfing channels on a Sunday and found a program on Syd Barrett, one of the founder members of Pink Floyd. He was the one with immense potential, talent and ability, that was completely wasted. Perfect example of Bharatiyar’s “Nalladhor Veenai Seidhae... ்”; Anyways, personally, I could not and did not, dig much of the music that he made, except for the quirky sound of Arnold Layne – even that to did not measure up to the early-mid Pink Floyd; with the trade-mark blues sound, lyrics couched in powerful poetry (as in echoes) and the haunting sounds of the “wailing” guitar later (like that of in Comfortably Numb)… However, seeing the program and see how in awe Roger, Nick, Ric and Dave talked about Syd, I believe there has to be something about Syd that was genius. Perhaps, it is in our nature to magnify the aura of an unfulfilled potential and make that much bigger than it actually is. Particularly if it has an early demise; in this case it was a figurative demise (from music), as Syd moved to seclusion and away from the sounds and lived his life in solitaire (and with his mother).
Funny enough, it is perhaps much chronicled and much repeated story about the connection between SOYCD and Syd Barrett. That’s true. However, in the interview, both Ric and Roger talk about their own complete breakdown when they see Syd at the recording and Dave talks about “Wish you were here” as the other connection to Syd – WYWH is another of enduring PF classics – an example of perfect poem set to great music… Here it is reproduced, with all copyright attributions :-)
So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees? Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change? And did you exchange
a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,
year after year,
running over the same old ground. What have we found?
The same old fears,
wish you were here.