Pink Floyd
Marooned

I was little, I must have been at most ten or eleven years old.
In the afternoons, I had the habit of going down to the garage, where my dad worked, and spending time in the family's Fiat 131, the "macchinone" as I used to call it, the car we used for long trips like when we went to the beach in the summer. Once inside, I would turn on the stereo and play around with the many tapes my dad used to keep there. A big fan of tape trading, he probably had only three or four original tapes; all the rest were copied tapes, whether they were compilations of music recorded from the radio or copies of original albums. I remember my dad used to do a very nice thing, which I, too, in the years to come, did, not knowing that perhaps, unconsciously, he had passed it on to me: he made the covers. He would take images cut from magazines, or his own photos, reassemble them with glue and scissors, cut them to the correct size, and stick them to the cassette case cardboard. So you never knew what you had in your hands, whether it was a compilation or a copy of an album, and you only found out by opening the cassette case.
Among all the cassettes, one always struck me deeply: it depicted two heads observing each other, mouths open, eyes wide, in a field. No writing, no words, the atmosphere was suspended, undefined, dreamy, and enigmatic. I don't know why I was so fascinated by this cover; it was comforting and unsettling at the same time, it expressed warmth and coldness simultaneously.
Years go by, I grew up taking my own path, making mistakes, making the right choices, and at the same time, that dad watched me go my way, bringing me back on track if needed, but overall always staying in the shadows. Over the years, I refined my musical tastes, expanded my "library," but by chance, more or less consciously, I came across that cover again one day, or rather, that album. This time I knew exactly what it was about, over time I had begun to know, appreciate, and eventually fall in love with Pink Floyd, and the day I saw that cover again, and associated it with the texts and music it represented, I finally managed to make sense of that perception of unease and coldness.
More years pass, that dad who had always been by my side is no longer there, but of course, he continues to live on in my memories, in his/our things, and in the songs. Yesterday, I had casually put on Pink Floyd's "The Division Bell," an album I always liked, although I didn't consider it a milestone in the English band's discography. I have always appreciated its sounds, the sweetness with which Gilmour plays the guitar, the comforting warmth of his voice, the mild, reassuring atmospheres outlined by Wright's keyboards, and the nostalgic aura that animated the entire work. "High Hopes" was my favorite piece for a long time, but yesterday, while listening to "Marooned," I got a chill.
marooned: adjective UK, /məˈruːnd/ US - /məˈruːnd/, left in a place from which you cannot escape.
I gave meaning to the unease that lately has been overwhelming me, to the sense of "missing" something, probably a piece of my heart. And, as suggested by the concept underlying the album, I too perceive the absence of communication, distance, lack, "silence that speaks so much louder than words," borrowing the words of another Floyd song. The instrumental track is a Gilmourian guitar monologue, a distant cry that gently lies on a keyboard carpet offered by Wright: an immense atmosphere that allows each of us to wander and lose ourselves in our souls.
We grow up, our tastes change, the songs you once deemed essential for your growth make way for others, but it is beautiful to note that at the base of so many things there is always music keeping memories alive.

Side note:
This is not a review of an album ("The Division Bell"), nor is it actually a review, even though there is a song at its core ("Marooned" by Pink Floyd). It is rather an attempt to say that music must be listened to with the heart, it must be felt, it must be linked to memories and not left as a passive background. It is a very strong spring, an indestructible anchor that will always allow us, anywhere, to stay in touch with our past and at the same time have indications about our future.