I’ve loved Pink Floyd since the first time I heard Piper at the Gates of Dawn. I’ve spent long hours with headphones on laying on the floor coming to terms with the ultimate meaning of the universe. I’ve had insights and realizations and bored my wife to tears.
For a period in the early part of the 21st Century I was part of a bootleg hub. Until the politics and bickering got too much and I decamped to safer waters. I’ve probably owned every album several times over up to the great Roger/David schism I just never bought them.
One of my first gigs was The Wall at Earls Court. Not my favorite album but I still have vivid memories of the day and night. It’s a long way from Liverpool for a 13 year old in the back of a Hillman Imp.
They are my safe band. Comfort music for the soul.
Today I surprised myself by picking up The Endless River. Well it was cheap but it’s the last album under the Floyd moniker. And now there’s a gap. Every obsessive collector knows that feeling and what is inevitable.
Someone I’m not sure who described this album as the only Floyd album that looks backwards and honors the past. Maybe that’s appropriate for a last album there are sounds that reference the entire history of the band throughout the predominantly instrumental album. Ricks organ sound from the sixties the unmistakeable synth sound from Wish You Were Here. Riffs and solos from all over the history and even a brief drum solo that takes you back to Set The Controls.
Gilmour said it’s an album for the fans who want to put on headphones and get lost in a long piece of music and he is probably right.
For me it was the soothing panacea I needed as my brain tries to deal with the hypocrisy and strangeness of my chosen home country. The Trump flags, the anti-vaccine protests, the 9/11 gung-ho ultra-patriotism all melded into the gentle wash and sound affects of the instrumental Floyd.
Good luck out there it’s getting strange.