Each good record slips away from its era and easily merges into the future under the power of a new listener. Of course, topics around which “Dark side of the Moon‘ did not stop repeating itself. Like an eternal loop. Or a farce: life, greed, madness. In this sequence. How will their eighth album sound? Pink Floyd when did it come out in 1973 exactly fifty years ago? Like to slide along the string? Like Rainbow which passes through a prism and becomes a thread? Nothing seems to have changed.

Pink Floyd began to digest the forced resignation of Syd Barrett, the most brilliant lunatic in the history of rock and roll, which left a critical mass of music fans still wondering how the group would have developed if he had a leader. remained in his place and did not prematurely burn his reserves. Of course, that would be a less fanatical course.

Actually Pink Floyd were two bands. What has advanced and what has fallen. As much as we appreciate the music he wrote, especially in the 70s, we regret the songs he didn’t write with Barrett: a singer, guitarist, songwriter, gem who preferred to hide in his mother’s house in Cambridge. I wish we had the good fortune to meet both versions of the band. And let them be contradictory.

“Run Rabbit Run”

So, here I am in the National Garden early in the morning, running with my little ones, a little less than a record, and listening to “Dark Side” on my cell phone, for the first time for real, although I have already been on vinyl since January 90th. It happens that music is born again in front of us where we do not expect it, at an unexpected moment. Maybe it’s age that suddenly reveals the obvious. The heartbeat in “Talk to Me” and “Eclipse”, the alarm clock in “Time” and the cash register in “Money” are the same device, the metronome of the descent: “Run, rabbit, run / Dig a hole, forget about the sun / And when work finally done / Don’t relax, it’s time to start another one,” Gilmour sings on “Breathe”. breath or vice versa.

Actually Pink Floyd were two bands. One with Syd Barrett and one without him. What has disappeared and what has moved on.

“kitsch masterpiece”

Music critic Robert Christgau was absolutely right when he called the album “a masterpiece of kitsch”. Because he probably wanted to emphasize that all life is a masterpiece of kitsch. Because we’re like those haunting voices that come and go behind the cosmic musical texture of the record and say, “You’re crazy, even if you’re not.” During the last week of recording, Waters printed out a series of questions on cards that he distributed to friends and colleagues. He put them in front of a studio microphone and recorded. The questions are like condensed answers given—or not given—by ten tracks of a record. “What is your favorite color?”, “Are you afraid to die?”, “What do you think about the dark side of the moon?” Someone answered that there is no dark side. The entire moon is dark. First of all, we are daily ghosts collecting dull days.

“Dark Side of the Moon” is a double disc on a single vinyl case. One disc with a double soul. When the first side ends, the illusion is created that three more sides will follow. But, on the other hand, the record grows with the naturalness of a person who turns from an infant into a child, becomes an adult and ages within forty-three minutes. His heart beats in the intro and at the end of the album, and if you put it on repeat, it’s a perfect loop. The perfect lens. The record never ends. In fact, he achieves what ten years later “The Wall” failed to do, which has the momentum of a single disc forcibly stretched to cover four sides, thus becoming arrogant and pompous. Even if he has one of the most shocking lyrics overall, “Mom, do you think they’re going to try to break my balls?”. I’ll leave it without translation.

good seed

However, this gloomy record, screaming as it slides on thin ice, did a lot. Technological perfectionism will still return, but the seed buried in him, which influenced countless musicians – from the punks that grew out of his grooves as a reaction to Radiohead – has survived as a good poem by T. S. Eliot. We go, plunging into the desert of cities.

As I run, I remember that black-and-white photograph of graffiti on Tito Street during the siege of Sarajevo. On a makeshift concrete barricade, someone spray-painted PINK FLOYD with white. It is similar to a rectangular prism, only in it white light is not decomposed into its color spectrum, but retains its one-dimensional state and resembles a thread. Cardiogram, ready to cut: “Everything you touch, see, hate and love is lost under the sun hiding in the shadow of the moon.”