Retrospective show of eleven minute anecdotes – Part 3

And at last the third part of nonsense tales from the old Roger’s cellar...


Under enemy control

That evening we gathered in my house. We took our psychic Alexander.
First we have smoked some joints, listened to some music and drank some Red Bull with vodka. When twilight has turned to night we sat down in a circle while Alexander started to enter the trance.
All of us have been inspired with music which just played. It was early Floyd. Someone, obviously it was me, has suggested to call spirit of Syd Barrett. Some people were in confusion as they didn’t know who he was. I have explained to them in short so that they could understand. Fortunately, Alexander knew who that Syd was.
His fingers nervously knocked on a floor and he told us that he sees Syd, but very far-away. Alexander wasn’t sure, that man who was called is dead. "It seems, that this person has not died, but is very sick ", said Alexander.
"Ask him, where is he?"
"He is so far", Alexander repeated again, "And it seems, he wants to return"
"Why he didn’t compose the songs in such long time?"
"He speaks, that he did, but nobody knew, that it were his songs"
"What songs?"
"It was music which sometimes playing on local radio. He has gifted few songs to one guy. And he doesn’t want call his name because of afraid that will break his life"
"Ask him, what he thinks about Pink Floyd", someone asked.
"He does not like them and their music especially “Dark Side of the Moon”. He said they’re spurious"
"Whether his solitary life has connected to their offence to him"
"No"
"What he did in last 35 years?"
"Waited for the end"
"What he thinks of his own music?"
"He considers its silly. He speaks, that he has something what he wants to share but cannot yet. He doesn’t see that person to whom he could give it."
"What is it?"
"He has left", said Alexander, "now I don’t see him at all, he spoke something about porcelain or something like that, I haven’t absolutely understood"
And then one from the guys asked him to call Jimi Hendrix's spirit and I have left a circle. They still discussed something and spoke for a long time, but it wasn’t completely interesting to me. I have opened a window, inhaled night air and have truthfully envied to Alexander.


See you at 101 Cromwell St.

I saw these cats around not so long ago. Maybe it was twenty or thirty years ago. They both were old and witty. I spoke with them about Syd.
Let’s drink a pint of milk. Let’s go in the nearby milky pub. Let’s go by feet.
Pink said that he knows why Syd left the band. It could be probably because of he was nutty.
But Floyd said the other things. He said that Syd was brainy as he is left his band. He escaped the tragic role of superstar, all that fame and money.
He lived alone in his house tried to remember his cats that he missed at 101 Cromwell St.


Back to the Mill

Yairn wis telt by grannie o ma youthie freend frae Glesga.
Wee-oors Soothron dancing baund Pink Floyd cam tae Glesga an gaed tae Green's Playhouse for playing thair ceilidh. Lads an queans cam tae pairty thare. The lang muisicker wit muckle guitar banin aw time insteid o rantin caller sangs an gat gardevines tae his bollocks. Drummer winkt aw time tae little queans an made wir lads verra radge.
Guy on pianae wis feart an dernt unner sicht.
Ae mirk an skyre guy wha awbody cried orra stuid in mids an poukt strings o his guitar. He ae wisn’t banin at oor lads even he gat bottles frae time tae time.
It seemt that one queer socht til keep him awa at dock o the club.
An syne he saunt frae stage.
Daes onybody ken her? Clatter says: she lifes in Glesga: fowerty years auld. Mebbe rubbage. Syd's dauter wis frae Sweden or something like that.
This wus auld spin telt by ma freend wha kent ae quean. Alas, she dee’d of a drogs mony time ago. She telt him she wis a 'groupie' cam frae Sweden efter Pink Floyd in saxties an she wis biggen.Faither like eneuch wis Syd Barrett. That's aw.
An dochter lifes in Glesga: she is ah gangrel artist. A thank ye aw, sae deeply sae sencerly.
A knaw less aboot her nor ma foregane freend... He see’d her somewey, she leuks like gangrel aw in duds, free artist.


Bask in the shadow of yesterday’s triumph

On Thursday, Jan 1, 1972 Syd was in Cambridge, did a gig in Union Society Cellars probably with Stars. In the end of January they did a gig in The Corn Exchange in Cambridge. In February there were four gigs - in the begining, in the middle and two in the end of February. Between these dates Syd was in London on Floyd's early perfomance of DSOTM in Rainbow Theatre. He changed his look, now he got the moustaches. In the begin of March Floyd by the rumours goes to Japan, probably taking Syd in a role of roadie. In that time Stars performed without Syd (because he was in Japan). In April Syd returned to England with Floyd and went apparently to in Abbey Road studios to make some mess records but he couldn't do anything and he goes to Cambridge. Floyd goes to States without Syd. Then in fall Syd performs with Steve Took, but where..? in London or in Cambridge..? In the end of 1972 Syd got a nervous breakdown in Hills Road house's cellar and went to hospital for a while... Syd lived in Cambridge up to summer of 1973 leaving sometimes for visiting London and another good places. He might be invited by Floyd to States in the spring. By the rumours he was there in exact that time. He spend two weeks in New York's cheap hotel while Floyd toured around US. In that time Syd Barrett worked as a gardener for a while. In the summer Syd's got good fees and went to London in the fashionable hotel to enjoy his life in London clubs. Again there were some attempts to get him in the studio but all unsuccessful. In the end of this year Syd moved to Chelsea Cloisters.


This could be a dream

I was in tears when I saw them together and kept in mind that Syd was alone.
No one fucking rock hero would raise my tears except him. I hate I hate Pink Floyd, these trembling voices these shaky hands with old fashioned guitars.
I also disgust of what Roger Waters said who think that he is one who responsible for the Floyd and always was and now after Syd and even because when he left the band practically because of sick.
Really nothing to add...

Retrospective show of eleven minute anecdotes – Part 2

Let's open the old diaries and stir them up in other direction...


A day in the garden with mad genius

Let me in... Let me in through these gates of this yard, in this hole and waiting for someone who standing behind the blue door.
No answer.
The man in the black coat silently gazed at me at the rear of the garden.
“Hello”, my broken English sounded awfully and I was confused a little bit.
The man disappeared in the bushes. I was confused little bit more.
In the course of a few minutes he reappeared, wiping his lips with the back of his hand and rumpling his plastic bag. He stood looking outside for some moments, and then I saw him walk in an oddly furtive manner towards the gates.
Nobody there, today I was alone, I hope.
“Hello, Mr. Barrett”, I said thinking how is better to call him, like this way I have said or just “Sir”.
“Hi”, he answered finally.
“Are you Mr. Barrett?” I asked.
“Yes, but if you are looking for Syd or something like that he is not living here. Okay?”
“Well, I am looking for you, Sir”, I said, O, God, I should say “…for you, Mr. Barrett”
The man after some hesitation, leant against of the gates, produced a small can tin, took the plastic lighter and prepared to smoke. His fingers trembled while doing so.
...
4:00 p.m.
...
“What do you want to know?” he asked calmly with warm in his voice and smiled.
“Everything”, wordless at moment I quite lost in astonishment.
“You know, there are lots of people who came here to know everything, but you have already know everything since you came here. Nothing to add. Nothing at all.”
“But what happened in the last years, what happened actually then?”
“Nothing happened”, old Syd has grinned quite same he was on his old pictures.
“Did you write new songs?”
“Yes, a little… I spent more time for painting, you see”, he just felt to thinking for a while, “You see these roses and leafage around? I still wonder how they are helping to live here, so many years… So many fucking years they thought I was mad, and that was actually my idea. It is better to be mad hiding in nowhere and being nobody. They’re used to call me “crazy diamond” but I don’t like it really, so foolish. No sense to use these symbols then, what “crazy diamond” am I? Look at me. When I was younger I thought the music can join with painting and then with colours, with tastes and everything that I felt. But I am losing. Now I didn’t felt sounds or colours, I have lost that gift.
What about Pink Floyd… I listened them several times, they became bigger, and what I remember from sixties we didn’t agree to make such machine for making only money, this was nonsense for sixties, you know. And I was honest, the only…
Music? I don’t think its music or art. Just a pop muzak, nothing else. I don’t remember who said first we should record Emily on there? Was that me?
No, no. I was a big fan of glam era, really. I bought tons of albums living in London. This exciting vivacious pulsating music it is so helpful when you’re smoking a dope and something more.
Acid? No more acid again. Above and beyond I misplaced it. You can’t buy good acid now. You feel like dirt in your mouth. When they started to use the blots I have denied it ultimately. No more good acid again.
Women? No comments… Had them a lot but was only one you’ll never know who she was…
Roger Waters? Who is it? Never heard about it before…
...
5:00 p.m.
...
5:30 p.m.
...
“My wonderful roses, I love them all. Do you believe that I have a little bird living under the roof. Little bird coming every night to sing a song for me before a sleep...”
...
6:00 p.m.
...
6:22 p.m.
...
“Once upon a time a red tail squirrel was my important guest. Very important, you know...”
...
We spent more hours when evening came. I felt it would be imprudence to leave so precious him alone. But he required.
Some piece of paper wind rolled on the ground...
...
I have gone for the next day to come again.


Lost seventies? No, stolen ideas...

Our special reporter went down to the mysterious cellar of Syd Barrett’s house where he found irrefutable proofs that Syd was hided from public after late sixties.
Recently a discovered proof that Syd Barrett was hided from public after late sixties accuses someone who used his ideas in the seventies. Being on the dark side of the Moon and behind the Wall all that time, Syd Barrett made a secret interview in 1973. He shared with his bizarre ideas such as autobiographical movie and massive book about worldwide history of art. As well, he mentioned six channels audio system for realistic sound recordings with positioning the source of the sounds. He described a simple sampler that he made in his own cellar and that could control by computer. He even ordered a small computer system from the States after his meeting with Steve Jobs on the Technical Exhibition. His cellar filled full of synthesizers, guitars and other musical equipment. There are lots of sensational pictures that someone did as if for magazines but he cheated him all that time. Feeding him LSD and saying to publicity that he is Crazy Diamond. No, Syd was a sanest than anyone who dealt with showbiz. He was as Brian Wilson in his agenda but cooler and truthfully. He invented punk, rave parties on his travels to India and Ibiza. Once he noticed in his interview: “Only small sucker prier bothered me all that time. He looked at through the fence from the period of working on “The Wall” up to “Division Bell”. Twice I’ve tried to shoot him from my hand-gun but him still alive and laughing at me.


From the sixth page (Sid sings Syd)

I am just starting to publish excerpts from my new book about Syd Barrett’s life. I've already start a new topic on The Astral Pipers forum with news about brand new eleven pages from the Syd's past. Earlier I described one significant night on the cemetery on Ibiza in 1967 where demons tried to steal Syd's soul.
I hope someone will help me with English grammar and sentence structure as my poor English. I hope I will build here this book with your give a hand. Anyway, I am looking forward to your help and interest. I will just get into this story from the sixth page with these strange remembrances of some person who saw Sid Vicious in Dallas around 1978.
There was an empty bar with some stoned longhaired Americans sitting around. Sid walked out onto the empty stage with few romping musicians on the background. He stood alone and looked exhausted. The nonsense band played some chaotic knocking-off punk tunes and then he explained to the missing crowd that he has something special. To a certain extent mystified twitching his bass he sung the song I did not identify from the beginning but later realized what this was. Goddamnit it was Lucifer Sam from good old times. Oh well, the best thing on this week I saw. Sometimes Sid forgot the words and just scratched his bass. After one or two verses, he stopped and mumbling something about Syd Barrett, that he maybe was his friend and this maybe was too far from here. After twenty minutes, Sid vanished from the scene left me in total confusion until these days.

Retrospective show of eleven minute anecdotes – Part 1

I have moved to Spain mainly for finding that cemetery and I have found there a plate on which the following has been scratched: “You’ll find it, read. I don’t live anymore
in the body. What for me is to come back? I would stay here.”


Should be there silent alone inside the noisy crowd?

“On Thursday, we finally came off. Just away from Sound Techniques Studio. I’ve even took some tapes with me because they all well sorted were in my hands. I sorted them on shelves. Of course, it should be a new hit, some noisy guitar stuff, three and thirty cuts for each week.
This was a mystery trip. Nobody should know how we could come off. Rog and Rick go by boat, with Julie we go by two special aircrafts lone. Nick did not come since he stood everyday with car. There were also some dudes with dopes I do not remember them all as took some acid that morning. I started my emerald diary.
We landed on one of the sunny islands somewhere in Spain. Sam and Rog met us. Afternoon we should go swim right now. I thought I was a kid. Even I was a kid. Blackhill sent us a post that we‘ll supposed to take another break on Hawaii that fall. I hope I‘ll invented to go to Vegas that autumn.
On Sunday some stoned dude gave to all of us, the yellow MELODY MAKER with the black lettered header PINK FLOYD FLAKE OUT for read it aloud. What they know about Pink and Floyd and all these tunes?
There weren’t radios. Nobody tell us the news. I trust PIPER POPPER should go top.
On the next day, I didn’t want to listen to and smoke of Sergeant Pepper for fortieth time and said to everybody that I have to discover adjoining area and be some point alone.
I like some Spanish guy playing guitar so swiftly I can’t remember accords and fingers, I stood awestruck behind him and gave him five pounds and some dope. He was so small five or six years old or even younger. Yeah, fantastic.
I never saw an emerald grass. Usually it has a yellowish greenie grassy colour. However, behind this old mill it was emerald like the deep in sea. I never saw. It was not an acid. It was real. As well as this mill was with no one door and window. This was so surrealistic night long before those three nights of the violet sky.
Sam Hurt with his baby son sitting and smoked grass all this time. I do not think he knows he is in Spain. All this time he was so comic. Tho living in own his house nearby. All this dudes and children lived in his house. And I did.”


Excerpt from the forth page of eleven-pages, the chapter one

This story one-by-one was confirmed by my old good friend who said that he chatted one day on with nursery who sat with Barrett in Fulbourn Hospital in those days.
“I do not remember how I came out this rot soaked room. I am alone. What I see is open door I just have to go out. I did. I left the hospital and Cambridge. All I need is to be a new artist. So I have to go back in London. The world will know about new great artist soon. But door is locked and thus my life is locked. It is frightful.
What somebody fears more? Scary tales before sleep or rustling ghosts in the basement? Somebody fears to go insane. On the other hand, be near to somebody who insane. It is a scariest thing in the whole world. You are afraid because you do not understand. What will be soon? Maybe you also can go insane. There are could no jokes with mental. This is risky.
I have just remembered I watched for one man who lived by neighbourhood; the schoolteacher and he become mad one day. He came successful one with family and children. Later his family left him and went back to London. He was lost alone with pupils after school. Nobody knows what he did. Rumours were he was an exhibitionist and probably he demonstrated his dick to them. Nobody knows. However, from time to time he changed his look, his clothes, was fire from the school and spent all his holydays in mental hospital. After that, he was throwing out from the window.
I can’t jump from this window. Lattice.
Next day I asked nice nursery to shift me into another room. Refusal.
Next week I was sitting here in lunchtime and began to tremble with weakness. Green sky was above me. Chris and Joker gave me an acid again. They can go through the walls. But I can’t.
I saw at least twenty three nurseries at one time around me. I just told them I am not ill. Nothing troubles me, but they all were deaf. I have to cry it loud. Lattice.
They gave me a light up. This small cigarette melted with months. How much time I am here? Maybe ten years or twelve. Yesterday they gave me back my diary. The only thing I wrote I the size of window. How many feet? This is not paper. This is bowels. It’s so hard to write on bowels.
On the next mouth, I hardly ate something sour. I was so much get tired from my new book about art history. These right few words destroy a whole week. On the television, somebody believed he likes pigs. All this time is pigs he said. Dirty swine pigs. All around and music. He said much of music. Queers vote’s punk. What does it mean? Lattice or the next door.”


The biopic movie

Shall we wait for a three or fourteen years to get a superior movie about the crackled branches? Good ever-young American guy Johnny Depp was going to dig up it. Maybe such driveller as Ashton Kutcher will portray Roger Waters. We will roar with laughter at him finally.
One person who once previously performed Syd on wide screen was Sir Bob Geldof and he did it with a lot of precision. On one occasion, we talked about that deal after all with him in 1982 on excellent glow exhibition.
Closely a year before Mister Johhny Depp made much of the rustle said that a movie based on the story of Syd, would be a great idea. Great idea or nothing. There are no good ideas to listen on crackled branches in the dark wood. Can you imagine a movie with three hours of empty screen and some person in far place trying to get up, walk up, and buy up something edible in the near store?
“No more rumours. I will never walk on the television again. Actually, Johnny Depp will well once more to act Freddie Mercury as well as this allure life and not this gray our fatality.”
This bald-headed person in short tee bought Le Monde. He never speak fluently French but still remembers from his past life when spoke with Dave accurate as he did. And later on that glow excellent exhibition.
Johhny Depp never told to French Newspaper he likes the roles with depth. And that Syd had depth. Most of them cannot tell between Keith Richard and Syd Barrett at all. Most of them playing guitar as Johnny Cash and singing this loony tunes.
Exactly a year before they played again on the night show broadcast. I will never forget this old geezer singing with his raspy voice the song I heard so many years before in car across the road. Wish him was there.
At last, few American guys wants to get a buy and sell biography of broken being who went insane in lovely wood just as he wants and particularly for himself.
Another guy wanted to get an interview. He had switched on his Dictaphone and recorded a half an hour of silence. Excellent blankly glowing silence. All about what this bald man think if Johny Depp will actually act Syd on the wide screen.
Moreover, after year the complete article will end. Therefore, we possibly will not pass the time for a three or four years more.

Being caught with Guiness at the Mill

“I have to live near flowers,” Roger says to old gentleman over a beer, a Guiness stout. “I can’t exist without flowers and birds.”


However at the Mill Irish Stout is tastier than Guiness. Even say more, the Granta is a much better bet, but at least the Mill sells you beer in plastic glasses for the green.
Young guys sat down nearby.
By coincidence, one of these guys sees his face in the magazine and calls his name at the bar, wanting to know if he would play tunes. Assholes.
Debora, little girl from Sydney, wants to know how long he has been losing his eyesight and how long he has had missing teeth. When he tell her, she puts her hand, that soft white hand, on his arm and tells him how much she admires him for making all those sacrifices for a worthy cause...

Scarily obsessive mumbo-jumbo bollocks

In 1974 roses were selling at 30p per stem and the grass was yellow in the end of summer. And the grass was beautiful for smoking it alone.


It was on the cold August Monday morning, this first arrival in the studio. The lanky unshaven guy got off the blue bus behind a porch on Abbey Rd with two guitars under his arms. There were two other guys dragging a huge box filled by multicoloured wires. The unshaven guy loudly yawned and stretched. Eventually he has put his guitars near a porch and went back to the blue bus. After a while the hirsute nerd has run out from the studio and took this sleepy unshaven guy from the bus with him inside the studio.


The same thing went on three or four days on end. Unshaven guy (whose name was Syd or possibly Roger), left studio from time to time, smoked nearby, sat on rungs and then went back home. In the studio Syd behaved silently, long thumbed through his many shabby scrappy notebooks, wiped strings of his guitars with rag and bet the drums for hours.


Once, it seems it was on the second day, Syd has brought some Persian pillows with him and spread out them on a floor. All of them were multicoloured and very cheerful. Syd told to everybody that if to arrange them in a definite order the surprising melody would be produce which he couldn’t remember anyway. But that day he couldn’t arrange them in the correct order; the melody hasn’t been recorded.


Peter (this is that nerd which so much fussed around Syd) attentively listened to that he told and tried to record practically everything that he did.


Last day when Syd left to smoke outside, the thick guy who has learnt him on the street has approached him and spoke a long about somewhat, then convinced him to descend somewhere. After that Syd has returned to studio, removed strings from one of his guitars, put them in his pocket, left outside and never got back any more.