Syd Barrett has died, age 60. BBC says complications of diabetes, Guardian says cancer (and has a really good obituary talkback on their Culture Vulture blog, as well as a decent Xan Brooks piece.)
Pink Floyd mean a lot to me, but I’m from a post-Syd age; he hasn’t been seen in public, unless you count paparazzi/deranged-fan photos, for the entire period of time I’ve been alive. No music, just a self-imposed exile, occasionally disturbed by idiots seeking out something that only existed in their mind. Poor guy.
But we’ve still got Piper at the Gates of Dawn. And The Madcap Laughs. And if it hadn’t been for Syd, we wouldn’t have Pink Floyd’s great 70s albums, much of which emanates from the band’s guilt trip about what happened to Syd (especially on Dark Side and Wish You Were Here.) And for that, we all need to pay our respects.
F L I C K E R I N G / F R A M E 