My favorite song on that album is The Great Gig In The Sky. It's a Richard Wright piano piece (originally written for a movie) accompanied by Clare Torry's wordless rendition of what madness sounds like.* She was paid a pittance for that performance but later sued for co-songwriting credit. ____________ *More Sid Barrett apologia
I'm having dreams in series about walking along toward a goal and stepping on stones precisely.
This last one was balancing on narrow concrete structures like the tops of remnant walls along the edge of a river interspersed with broad trees, like cottonwoods that suck up a lot of water and have thick bark that you dig your fingers into.
It was sort of a game and it involved articles of my clothing floating down the river. Clothes I needed for the goal or aim that I had in mind. Sort of work-related.
I could not catch my own clothes floating down the river and relied on the help of people who appeared along the river bank. It was a thing with them. They took their whole families to the side of the narrow river. Like Cherry Creek at Confluence where it meets the South Platte. The river running the wrong way toward the city not out of the city. And it smells quite bad.
And the thing that made it a bitch at the end, the thing that made it distressing was all the people spoke Spanish and I could not think of the word for "socks." I had words for everything else and could get by with their understanding except for the word for socks.
It was the stupidest g.d. thing.
Egyptian words were useless to me. Sign language was useless. That would not make any sense at all. French "chaussettes" was completely useless. I racked my brain and could not come up with the essential word, nor manage a descriptive sentence involving shoes, clothing, fabric, knitted, nothing I thought of was useful. Then I saw my shirt caught up on some rocks and an athletic Mexican guy demonstrated how to use the texture of rocks to adhere unnaturally and use the texture of the tree's bark unnaturally to swing around and land on a spot near my shirt. But there was poo where my foot would land. I re-aimed and the new foot-landing also had poo. And there was poo near the shirt And I'm all, "What's with all this shit in this spot? I managed to land without touching poo, reach over and grab the end of my shirt but lifting it made the shirt touch poo. So now it has germs on it, and my shoes floated off as two little boats.
And they were the stupidest f'n shoes. Penny loafers. Ugh.
I was never without a pair of that type growing up. They were perennial shoes. They represent shoe childhood.
I climbed back out using the texture of the tree and the rocks and walked up a street on a hill toward my work-related goal carrying the blue poo-touched shirt, resisting putting it on and devising distressing work-related excuses for being so late, but not really caring about that. Then woke up with an insane headache like an icepick at my left temple.
"Calcetines!" Rhymes with calcified salteenies, you dumbass. Like, who even wears those?
Well, history has proved me wrong. In the 60s I thought/said that, unlike the Big Band sound and jazz, time would not be kind to the rock & roll generation as they aged as that music is all about youth and it's pretty hard to cavort around on stage in one's 50s & 60s w.o. looking totally ridiculous.
How wrong I was I didn't realize that they would continue to appeal to their own age cohort despite the wrinkles, loss of hair and paunch.. And of course it works in reverse, too. Even in my 70s I may like to listen (and do) to the indie/alt music of the Arctic Monkeys, Blue October, Awolnation, etc., but would look ridiculously out of place at one of their live shows..
I was never a waters fan. I always felt like he was a giant dick that was carrying the band into area they really didn't want to go, but did it for other various reasons that always centered around their post ww2 british upbringing.
10 comments:
Nick Mason is an excellent drummer. He never overplays and uses gaps and space between beats like no other.
This video makes me detest Waters even more. You can tell by looking at him that he's been married four times.
Comfortably Smug
What are the odds that Waters has some Cambridge regalia in his closet?
My favorite song on that album is The Great Gig In The Sky. It's a Richard Wright piano piece (originally written for a movie) accompanied by Clare Torry's wordless rendition of what madness sounds like.* She was paid a pittance for that performance but later sued for co-songwriting credit.
____________
*More Sid Barrett apologia
Hey, its Grandpa rockin' to the oldies.
I'm having dreams in series about walking along toward a goal and stepping on stones precisely.
This last one was balancing on narrow concrete structures like the tops of remnant walls along the edge of a river interspersed with broad trees, like cottonwoods that suck up a lot of water and have thick bark that you dig your fingers into.
It was sort of a game and it involved articles of my clothing floating down the river. Clothes I needed for the goal or aim that I had in mind. Sort of work-related.
I could not catch my own clothes floating down the river and relied on the help of people who appeared along the river bank. It was a thing with them. They took their whole families to the side of the narrow river. Like Cherry Creek at Confluence where it meets the South Platte. The river running the wrong way toward the city not out of the city. And it smells quite bad.
And the thing that made it a bitch at the end, the thing that made it distressing was all the people spoke Spanish and I could not think of the word for "socks." I had words for everything else and could get by with their understanding except for the word for socks.
It was the stupidest g.d. thing.
Egyptian words were useless to me. Sign language was useless. That would not make any sense at all. French "chaussettes" was completely useless. I racked my brain and could not come up with the essential word, nor manage a descriptive sentence involving shoes, clothing, fabric, knitted, nothing I thought of was useful. Then I saw my shirt caught up on some rocks and an athletic Mexican guy demonstrated how to use the texture of rocks to adhere unnaturally and use the texture of the tree's bark unnaturally to swing around and land on a spot near my shirt. But there was poo where my foot would land. I re-aimed and the new foot-landing also had poo. And there was poo near the shirt And I'm all, "What's with all this shit in this spot? I managed to land without touching poo, reach over and grab the end of my shirt but lifting it made the shirt touch poo. So now it has germs on it, and my shoes floated off as two little boats.
And they were the stupidest f'n shoes. Penny loafers. Ugh.
I was never without a pair of that type growing up. They were perennial shoes. They represent shoe childhood.
I climbed back out using the texture of the tree and the rocks and walked up a street on a hill toward my work-related goal carrying the blue poo-touched shirt, resisting putting it on and devising distressing work-related excuses for being so late, but not really caring about that. Then woke up with an insane headache like an icepick at my left temple.
"Calcetines!" Rhymes with calcified salteenies, you dumbass. Like, who even wears those?
@rcocean/
Well, history has proved me wrong. In the 60s I thought/said that, unlike the Big Band sound and jazz, time would not be kind to the rock & roll generation as they aged as that music is all about youth and it's pretty hard to cavort around on stage in one's 50s & 60s w.o. looking totally ridiculous.
How wrong I was I didn't realize that they would continue to appeal to their own age cohort despite the wrinkles, loss of hair and paunch.. And of course it works in reverse, too. Even in my 70s I may like to listen (and do) to the indie/alt music of the Arctic Monkeys, Blue October, Awolnation, etc., but would look ridiculously out of place at one of their live shows..
Pretty hard to not appeal to people when you "despite the wrinkles, loss of hair and paunch" is what your admirers also look like.
I was never a waters fan. I always felt like he was a giant dick that was carrying the band into area they really didn't want to go, but did it for other various reasons that always centered around their post ww2 british upbringing.
@Methadras: It's possible to both admire and to suspect their work.
Waters is great bass player. But he, like so many other rockers, felt compelled to go political when his muse gave out.
"Well, history has proved me wrong."
XP, you aren't alone. I wouldn't have believed 20 years ago that people would still be paying money to see 60-70 y/o rock n' Rollers.
For some, 65 is the new 15.
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