Pink Floyd‘s debut album, The Piper at the Gates of Dawn, is one of those classic records that deserves its legendary status. Its influence can be found not only among all the other United Kingdom (and many elsewhere, of course) psychedelic bands of the 1960’s and 1970’s, but also among modern psych-rock bands around the globe. No one could have predicted this, of course, because the album is so damn weird.
The opener, “Astronomy Domine,” moves like a funeral dirge across the cosmos – somehow combining space rock with doom-psych. “Lucifer Sam” has a killer, fuzzy bass groove by Roger Waters while Syd Barrett sings a tribute to his cat (“That cat’s something I can’t explain.”). “Matilda Mother” pours on the echo effects as Barrett and Waters sings about a long-forgotten king and Richard Wright lays down a sweet organ solo. “Flaming” is a trippy, hippy track about “lazing in the foggy dew” and “sitting on a unicorn.”
“Pow R. Toc H.” is an instrumental track that brings in jazz piano and softens Nick Mason‘s beats to sound like they kept him behind a velvet curtain in a dark nightclub. It mixes in maniacal laughter and chaotic guitar riffs now and then to keep you on your toes. “Take Up Thy Stethoscope and Walk” is the first track on the album written by Waters, so it’s no surprise that bass and drums move to the forefront while Barrett’s guitar and Wright’s keys seem to be having their own, frantic conversation.
The second instrumental, “Interstellar Overdrive,” would help pave the way for doom-psych with its deep bass grooves, haunted house organ, Tell Tale Heart drums, and Psycho guitar. Just to mess with us, the next track on the album is “The Gnome” – which is literally about a gnome (named Grimble Gromble) going on a “big adventure amidst the grass.”
Need a song featuring Barrett’s view of the cosmos? How about “Chapter 24,” in which he sings, “All movement is accomplished in six stages and the seventh brings return. The seven is the number of the young light. It forms when darkness is increased by one.” Sure. Why not? It’s nice to hear Wright’s organ taking the lead among the instruments on it. “The Scarecrow” tick-tocks along like the subject’s arms “when the wind cut up rough.” The closer, “Bike,” is, believe it or not, a love song. Barrett offers to give his girl “anything, everything, if you want things” including his bike, his cloak, his mouse (named Gerald, although Barrett doesn’t know why), his gingerbread men, and, the most precious gift of all – his music. It’s a lot of fun at first, and then descends into some sort of Lovecraftian dream.
The album is fun, fascinating, and baffling. My dog had no idea what to make of it when I played it in the house one day. I’m still not sure what to make of it either, but that’s okay. You’ll find something different about it each time you hear it.
Keep your mind open.
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