Reinventing Pink Floyd
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Reinventing Pink Floyd
Reinventing Pink Floyd
From Syd Barrett to
The Dark Side of the Moon
Bill Kopp
ROWMAN & LITTLEFIELD
Lanham • Boulder • New York • London
Published by Rowman & Littlefield
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Copyright © 2018 by The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc.
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British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Kopp, Bill, 1963– author.
Title: Reinventing Pink Floyd : from Syd Barrett to the Dark side of the Moon / Bill Kopp.
Description: Lanham, Maryland : Rowman & Littlefield, [2018] | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017046199 (print) | LCCN 2017046374 (ebook) | ISBN 9781538108284 (electronic) | ISBN 9781538108277 (hardcover : alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Pink Floyd (Musical group) | Rock music—History and criticism.
Classification: LCC ML421.P6 (ebook) | LCC ML421.P6 K67 2018 (print) | DDC 782.42166092/2—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017046199
TM The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.
Printed in the United States of America
For Annelise, Daniel, and Audrey.
Acknowledgments
The writing of Reinventing Pink Floyd would not have been possible without the dedicated and tireless contributions of my partner, Audrey Hermon Kopp. Audrey performed countless hours of research, and served as a wonderfully critical sounding board for the various ideas I set out to explore in this book. Audrey also patiently listened and commented as I read aloud each of the book’s chapters.
When Jim Dougherty learned of the book project, he kindly purchased 2016’s The Early Years box set, and handed it over to me on long-term loan for research purposes. Jim also welcomed me as a guest on his weekly radio program, “Closer to the Edge,” allowing me to read selections from the manuscript many months before the book’s publishing date.
Quite coincidentally, early in 2017 my friend Ian Reardon put in place plans for a concert to honor the fiftieth anniversary of The Piper at the Gates of Dawn. Taking place in July of that year, the concert featured a rotating cast of more than a dozen local musicians playing only pre–The Dark Side of the Moon Pink Floyd music. I am honored to have been a part of that project, playing keyboards on eighteen songs. The experience of band rehearsals and performance helped me develop a deeper insight and understanding into Pink Floyd’s music of that era, one that no amount of careful listening alone could have achieved.
Were it not for the ongoing encouragement and mentoring of Cary Baker, my calling as a writer—one that began only in middle age—would not have developed. Over the past decade-plus he has gone from a favorite music journalist to a valued resource, then to a trusted associate, and finally (while retaining all of those descriptors) to a dear friend.
In 2016, my longtime friend Jerry Stubblefield encouraged me to speak at a monthly salon hosted by him and his wife Cindy; the positive reaction I received reading from my shorter published works inspired me to pursue the Reinventing Pink Floyd project.
I am forever in the debt of those individuals who agreed to be interviewed by me for this book: Craig Bailey, Scott Chasolen, Ron Geesin, Lon Goddard, Peter Jenner, Steve Howe, Robyn Hitchcock, Barney Kilpatrick, Yogi Lang, Steve Mac, Davy O’List, Joe Pascarell, Jason Sawford, Jerry Shirley, and John “Willie” Wilson.
Sincere thanks are also due to Steve Barker (BBC/On the Wire), André Cholmondeley, Bree Ishikawa, Billy James, Mushi Jenner, Bari Lieberman, Natalie Mandziuk and Katie O’Brien at Rowman & Littlefield, Cheryl Pawelski, Michelle Roche, John and Muriel Vitaglione, Kerstin Vohland, Katrin Weber, Ann-Marie Whitfield, and Andrew Yoder.
Last—but certainly not least—I am grateful for the support and encouragement of my sister Donna and my dad, Don Kopp. My mom, Geri, passed away in 2016, but I am sure she would have been very proud to see her son’s work published in book form.
Bill Kopp, Asheville, NC, 2017
Foreword
Jerry Shirley
When I was barely sixteen years old, I was lucky enough to get a gig playing drums for a professional band called Wages of Sin, based in Cambridge, England. As a result, I had the good fortune to meet and play with many great musicians who have remained close friends to this day. Sadly, two of them, Syd Barrett and Richard Wright, are no longer with us. I am very pleased that the others—David Gilmour, Willie Wilson, Tim Renwick, and Rick Wills—are still alive and well.
When I was approached to be interviewed for Bill’s book, my first reaction was to try and put him off, as I had grown tired of being interviewed about my involvement with Syd’s brief recording career. Plus, I was always mistakenly credited with being the main drummer on both of Syd’s solo albums when in fact my dear friend Willie Wilson played the bulk of the drums on Syd’s first album, The Madcap Laughs.
So, I gave poor Bill a somewhat ridiculous list of wants that were intended to put him off, as I tend to stay away from discussing Syd Barrett with anybody. This I do out of respect to his family, who, when Syd died, gave me the impression that they wished his memory to be left to rest in peace. That, of course, would be next to impossible, as he was such an important part of Pink Floyd and their early days.
One of my requests was that Bill would put things straight and talk to Willie, as well as me, and therefore give my old flatmate Willie the credit he so deserves and often didn’t get. To my utter joy and pleasant surprise, not only did Bill say yes to that wish, he had already planned to try to find and interview Willie. So right there, I knew he was not only well-intended but also was well-informed about his subject matter, where so many before him had not been.
As harrowing as working with Syd was, it was an extreme honor to be asked and I am forever grateful that I got to be part of what has become rock folklore.
I played in Humble Pie alongside rock ’n’ roll legends Steve Marriott and Peter Frampton. I also played drums for B. B. King on his 1971 album, B.B. King in London; John Entwistle’s first solo album, Smash Your Head Against the Wall (that same year); and, to top it all off, I played some percussion on George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass. But in all my years, I have never been asked nearly as much about that incredible list of good musical fortune as I have about working with Syd Barrett. Such is the intrigue that continues to surround him and his music.
I have seen every stage of the Floyd’s progression, from when Syd left all the way through to the very end. Much like all of us British bands, the more we toured the United States the better we got. Pink Floyd were no different in that respect. Plus, once David had found his place in the band after Syd left, he kept helping to improve their musicality. Along with Rick Wright, David provided the strong musical foundation of the band.
Whereas Roger was the ideas man and a great lyricist, he relied on the musical talent of the rest of the band—especially David and Rick—to make it all wor
k. A listen to the music each of them makes in the post–Pink Floyd era proves what each brought to the band, and what some of them lacked. The success of the band is largely down to the cooperative, collaborative approach they had in those days.
What makes Bill’s book stand apart from the rest—and what made me decide to contribute—is the fact that he is a musician himself. And with respect to Syd, that is what he wanted to write about: the musical experience of working with Syd, not “how weird was he since he took too much acid,” etc.
Bill has written knowledgeable, well-informed, conscientious, and sensitive chapters about Syd’s music and what it took to record it in somewhat difficult circumstances for us all. And it’s nice for me personally to be able to get a considerate writer to include Willie, because the myth that I played all the drums on both of Syd’s records has been going on for way too long.
In fact, the best drum track on either one of Syd’s solo records was not played by me or Willie! It was played as an overdub by David Gilmour, on my favorite song, “Dominoes.” My personal favorite moment of the sessions was when we were recording “Gigolo Aunt,” but I didn’t realize it until forty years after the fact when I was booked to do some work at EMI’s Abbey Road Studios. As I walked through those famous white pillars that stand on each side of the gateway, I noticed that among the graffiti someone had written, “We shall miss Syd Barrett & Rick Wright. May they rest in peace.” It then struck me that forty-plus years before, I had been granted the enormous honor of playing on what ended up as the only track on either of Syd’s two albums that was recorded completely live in the studio. The lineup for that session was Syd Barrett on guitar and vocals, David Gilmour on bass, Rick Wright on Hammond organ, and little me on the drums.
Money can’t buy that experience. Incredible amounts of luck are what got me there, and I am very grateful for it. Finally, that is what I wish Bill and his book: all the good fortune and luck in the world, because he deserves it. He has written about what really matters: Syd’s talent, what it took to get it on record, and how it contributed to what ended up being one of the biggest bands the world has ever seen or heard. Don’t forget that not only did Pink Floyd make some of the best records, they almost singlehandedly reinvented the visual side of rock ’n’ roll. Bill’s book is a great read and well worth the price of admission . . . much like the tickets were for the band he has written about.
Well done, Bill.
Jerry Shirley
Cornwall, England
September 2017
Why (Another Book About)
Pink Floyd?
Most every creative artist grows over time. He or she learns from mistakes and builds on successes. That fact is neither remarkable nor, on its face, especially interesting. But not every artist or group rallies after a major creative/career setback and then goes on to create The Dark Side of the Moon.
For a teenage rock fan such as myself in the 1970s, Pink Floyd was seemingly everywhere. Though the term “classic rock” had yet to be coined as an idea—much less a marketing concept—FM radio was filled with the sounds of the best-selling, London-by-way-of-Cambridge, England, group. The band’s breakthrough album, The Dark Side of the Moon, had been released in early 1973, and several of its songs quickly became staples of rock deejays’ playlists.
Sometime in the middle of the seventies, my parents had bought a 1900s-era upright piano, and I had been taking lessons. I recall a visit by our piano tuner. I hung around to watch him work, and we chatted about music as he tuned the piano by ear. My interest in Pink Floyd came up in the conversation, and he told me a quick story.
He and his wife led a band that performed original material. One of the songs they had written was in the 7/4 time signature. As he recounted, the other band members were having quite a difficult time learning the song, getting the meter right. Finally, he suggested a solution. “Go home and learn how to play Pink Floyd’s ‘Money,’” he told them. “Once you can do that, you’ll be able to learn my song.”
In those days, I was still learning how to play songs on the piano using sheet music; alongside my Bach, Bizet, and Beethoven, my teacher would allow me to learn the occasional pop song. I quickly discovered there was something very wrong with those written arrangements: they were rarely—if ever—put together by the songwriter (who likely didn’t read music to begin with) and were “arrangements” in the truest sense. The vocal melody was generally played by the right hand, and some gruesome combination of all the other instrumental parts was the function of the left hand. Played as written, the sheet music versions sounded nothing like the songs on the records. Worse yet, they were often in a key other than that of the recorded version. That conundrum would be my impetus to learn to play music by ear.
That goal was helped along when my piano teacher announced that she and her husband were moving to another city. She helpfully prepared a list of teachers with whom I might continue my studies. Instead, I discarded that slip of paper, gathered together my savings, and bought my first electronic keyboard, a primitive and somewhat limited synthesizer-of-sorts made by Elka, an Italian manufacturer. I played it through a Fender Deluxe Reverb amplifier; total investment for the gear plus a stand and cable was about $200. I set about learning to play all over again, this time without the aid of sheet music, and with my focus resolutely on rock music.
It was then that I discovered something special about the music of Pink Floyd. Because much of it was (at least in comparison to much of the era’s popular rock music) somewhat slow, playing along was slightly less challenging than, say, sorting out an Elton John hit of the era. And because the Floyd’s arrangements often (but certainly not always) involved holding a chord for several measures, there was time for my fingers to find their way to the right notes before the chord changed. That quality made the band’s music ideal for learning, and for developing a faculty for playing by ear. So setting the phonograph to repeat-play, I would spend hours upon hours learning to play along with the second side of The Dark Side of the Moon and the first side of Wish You Were Here. Once I mastered (after a fashion) the keyboard parts on those songs, I never looked back.
But back to those songbooks: they were not without their advantages. I recall one in particular; I still have it today. Titled Pink Floyd Anthology, it contained sheet music for several of the band’s most well-known numbers, along with several songs whose titles I did not recognize. My curiosity was thus piqued; like most of my generation, I knew Pink Floyd’s music from The Dark Side of the Moon (1973), 1975’s Wish You Were Here, and—later, and to a slightly lesser extent—Animals from 1977. I made a note to investigate further . . . someday.
A short, uncredited essay at the front of the songbook served as a kind of potted history of the band, with bit of critical analysis sprinkled about. For me, its final sentence summed up the appeal of Pink Floyd: “With a seemingly perfect blend of weirdness and melody Dark Side of the Moon provided fans with the kind of accessible tunes, such as the hit song ‘Money,’ that monstrously successful commercial records are made of.”
In fact, The Dark Side of the Moon was—and remains—among the biggest-selling albums in the history of the recorded medium. While estimates vary, on a global scale DSOTM is widely believed to be the third-biggest-selling album ever—with claimed sales in excess of 45 million copies—bested sales-wise only by Michael Jackson’s Thriller and AC/DC’s Back in Black.
And for many years it was said that The Dark Side of the Moon was the audio standard by which to measure the quality of one’s home stereo system. Even a kid like myself, with little more than a hand-me-down portable hi-fi, could tell that Dark Side was something special. But I didn’t dig into the band’s earlier work at that point; funds were limited, and there were other albums to be purchased, namely those by my favorite group, the Beatles. For me, Pink Floyd was in second place.
When I eventually laid hands on Wish You Were Here and then Animals, I couldn’t help but be struck by the more abstract and tex
tural—perhaps even “jazzy”—turn the band’s music had taken. Neither of those albums felt as immediate to me as Dark Side, though in due time I would come to fully appreciate their many qualities.
Things turned downright weird in 1979, though. Pink Floyd had been very quiet for a couple of years, and then suddenly a new single appeared. “Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2)” had an undeniably disco/shuffling beat. To a rock fan in 1979, that was near blasphemy. But the tune was so infectious, I—like millions of others—was quickly won over. The single reached #1 on at least seventeen charts internationally, top-tenning in several others. Even more remarkable was the fact that Pink Floyd was as far as one could imagine from what was known as a “singles artist.” The band had little interest in presenting its work in the 45rpm format, and—with the exception of two singles off The Dark Side of the Moon—the last time Pink Floyd had scored a chart single in the United States was 1967. And the 1967 band had nearly nothing in common sonically with the group’s music circa The Wall.
The Wall—a sprawling double album—was a massive seller itself, and it renewed popular interest in the band. But as I would discover reading the popular music magazines of the day (Rolling Stone, Musician), Pink Floyd had all but ceased to function as a band by the time of its release. Following on from a trend that had been gathering momentum after the release of The Dark Side of the Moon, bassist Roger Waters was assuming a larger role in the direction of the band. With each successive release, Waters had a greater share of songwriting credits; beginning with Animals, each album’s entire thematic concept came from him.