Pink Floyd - Meddle 1971

This review goes down like a biju, light and titillating like a nice glass of niveo plumbeo barium contrast liquid for stomach x-rays. I can already hear the vestals of the temple clamoring, the geese of Juno in epileptic fits... How dare you?

Last night I couldn't sleep, water in my ear, diving sea sun-painkiller-night-nothing-hot, I took the opium of the poor, paracetamol-codine-and while waiting for it to kick in- you have that disjointed excitement that lifts you a bit: I take my black dano, strum-strum, a ceramic bottleneck slide that gives you a warm but lunar sound, compared to metal or glass, even if it doesn't make sense with the tuning and you're not in open chords... No, no Santo and Johnny, I think. I had promised myself not to write more de-reviews on the magicians, but the slide brought me back to surfing, skateboarding... swiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnn and then

I fall asleep. Flash at 5.15am.

I recall the mumps, the mumps, just that year of meddle or thereabouts. Jumping on the bed from the pain like a voodoo man, I never moshed so well as that evening; my psychotropic evolutions end with a polished lucid moon almost diamond-like that the sun did wound sang the divine poet rising from a cloud in the left hemisphere of my brain, setting in the right and I fly inside almost in union with her. Guys, opium plays strange tricks, I understand E.A. Poe more and more. Or the young Caligula appearing on the imperial terrace and raising his arms to the sky towards the distant and serene Moon imagining feeling it enraptured with him.

In the morning with Fabri for the umpteenth time like fools, we pick up the main topic of this 33 back to vinyl, this fact of Rita Pavone deleted from the text of Saint-Tropez after that for years official translations circulated with a text in front and the poet's endorsement. Then mid-80s judicial quarrels, it is rumored an intervention by Raita's lawyer, Teddy Reno at her side, Rita preening herself on TV with Red Ronnie about being the protagonist of a Pink song, and then disappearing from the text forever. What happens? No answer.

I wrote this de-review because two great friends of mine, one is a detractor, the other a fanatic of the band. And every now and then they delve into the topic. Today while playing at Andrea Saolini's house, I told him to look for this mono analog synth sound like early Pink on your program and he: Pink Floyd ruined the lives of entire generations, it's a Masonic concoction, they should stop bothering, forget about these people with mental worms. With Fabrizio, who is a water fan instead, we got bogged down on the famous philological quarrel of the song Saint Tropez:Rita Pavon or later by phon hence the review .

But first there's "One Of These Days" opening "Meddle": One of these days I'm going to cut you into little pieces," that's the only phrase, -Nick Mason, with the voice distorted by a "moscowdiscow" mic, at the peak of the piece. Floydian philology tells that the one interpreted by Nick was the furious threat of monna Waters against BBC radio channel DJ Jimmy Young, guilty of being a pathetic conductor without balls and brains who only broadcast boring and substandard songs. (foreign or anonymous reviewer)

I add that the good Portuguese bassman, to avoid paying rights to anyone - as he will later try with Ezrin, even attempting to snatch the band name from everyone - and it went as badly as his lousy solo career - he copied it verbatim codina from the Doctor Who theme, 1963, by Ron Grainer an innovative piece of electronic music; only later, Waters admitted drawing directly from an English sci-fi TV series. The bass line, and not only that, even the space keyboards. Verbatim, same meddley, at my home it's plagiarism, big plagiarism. A Pillow Of Winds, a bucolic elegy in open chords, recalls the atmospheres of More, then Fearless doesn't break out of the usual 4/4 rock moan, and the final soccer anthem "You will never walk alone" of the Liverpool Kop ultras doesn't impress; then the bass poet's capitalist dreams, tycoon in cancun remodeled like today's plastic cocoon - we move on to one of gilmoil's first always-smiling pearls, a blues with a dog singer, Seamus, so silly that perhaps even Barrett would never have served, real rubbish without ideas, a blatant mockery.

But after all, meddle means to meddle, introduce, mumps, big-face, and also medley considering the gerrymandering, and the bassmaster's long ear.

Echoes is finally a worthy song, degenerated into a suite, and feels light years away from Barrett's genius for the old spatial beep, transfigured by Wright's mastery with echo binson. A beautiful song, mainstream psychopop slides but a whole side is really too much, otherwise, it is the quintessential Pink song. Not too depressive, mysterious, used as a soundtrack for surf documentaries in the USA, austere when they abuse seagull effects for 5 solid minutes. resolving sound effects when ideas are lacking. clear no. Here's the thing, Pink works just when you put earplugs in for mumps and decontextualize them into an adjective... like listen to this piece it doesn't sound a bit old pink. E.g. as a kid, there was this theme from a sci-fi TV show, doctor who, which gave me chills, I later discovered it was a rip-off of one of these days, that is to say, then the reverse but it worked, Pink works when they copy and aren't themselves, or when you play and imitate that sound which isn't, but it works, or you find it in records of other artists. THEN YES, UNDERSTAND? taken however as cult exegesis, cover band, industrial apparatus, it all becomes shapeless, false, heavy.

LIKE FELLINI IT'S BEAUTIFUL WHEN you see pieces of films, polysemic references from other directors, but taken as a whole, it's like contemplating a prehistoric animal, beautiful but you wouldn't keep the skeleton in the house, it would take up all the space. To live forever: just become an adjective. Let's say Dantean, Shakespearean, Felliniesque, Rivolian or Kafkaesque; Pinkfloydesque.

I close with the quarrel: making a date for... Rita Pavon-e-o later by phone, or hitler mustache, or rita hair by phone, hitler by phone, laugh mustache, laugh ball, laugh big-ear, hitler bigface, revolution by phone, laugh buffoon... and whoever has more, let him add more.

Tomorrow I'm going to the ENT doctor for the wash...

Tracklist Lyrics and Samples

01   One of These Days (05:57)

One of these days, I'm going to cut you into little pieces.

02   A Pillow of Winds (05:11)

A cloud of eiderdown
Draws around me
Softening the sound
Sleepy time when I lie
With my love by my side
And she's breathing low

And the candle dies

When night comes down
You lock the door
The book falls to the floor
As darkness falls
The waves roll by
The seasons change
The wind is warm

Now wakes the owl
Now sleeps the swan
Behold the dream
The dream is gone
Green fields, a cold rain
Is falling, in a golden dawn

And deep beneath the ground
The early morning sounds
And I go down
Sleepy time when I lie
With my love by my side
And she's breathing low

And I rise, like a bird
In the haze, when the first rays
Touch the sky

And the night winds die

03   Fearless (06:09)

You say the hill's too steep to climb
Climbing
You say you'd like to see me try
Climbing

You pick the place and I'll choose the time
And I'll climb that hill in my own way
Just wait a while for the right day
And as I rise above the tree-line and the clouds
I look down
Hear the sounds of the things you said today

Fearlessly, the idiot faced the crowd
Smiling
Merciless, the magistrate turns 'round
Frowning

And who's the fool who wears the crown?
No doubt in your own way
And every day is the right day
And as you rise above the fear-lines in his brow
You look down
Hear the sound of the faces in the crowd

"You'll never walk alone..."

04   San Tropez (03:44)

As I reach for a peach, slide a rind down behind
The sofa in San Tropez
Breakin' a stick with a brick on the sand
Ridin' a wave in the wake of an old sedan

Sleepin' alone in the drone of the darkness
Scratched by the sand that fell from my love
Deep in my dreams and I still hear her callin'
"If you're alone, I'll come home."

Backward and homebound, the pigeon, the dove
Gone with the wind and the rain, on an airplane
Owning a home with no silver spoon
I'm drinking champagne like a good tycoon

Sooner than wait for a break in the weather
I'll gather my far-flung thoughts together
Speeding away on the wind to a new day
And if you're alone, I'll come home

And I pause for a while by a country style
And listen to the things they say
Diggin' for gold with a hoe in my hand
Open a book, take a look at the way things stand

And you're leading me down to the place by the sea
I hear your soft voice, calling to me
Making a date for later by phone
And if you're alone, I'll come home

05   Seamus (02:16)

I was in the kitchen
Seamus, that's the dog, was outside
Well, I was in the kitchen
Seamus, my old hound, was outside
Well, the sun sinks slowly
But my old hound just sat right down and cried

06   Echoes (23:32)

Overhead the albatross hangs motionless upon the air
And deep beneath the rolling waves
In labyrinths of coral caves
The echo of a distant time
Comes willowing across the sand
And everything is green and submarine

And no-one showed us to the land
And no-one knows the where or whys
But something stirs and something tries
And starts to climb towards the light

Strangers passing in the street
By chance two separate glances meet
And I am you and what I see is me
And do I take you by the hand
And lead you through the land
And help me understand the best I can

And no one calls us to move on
And no one forces down our eyes
And no one speaks and no one tries
And no one flies around the sun

Cloudless everyday you fall upon my waking eyes
Inviting and inciting me to rise
And through the window in the wall
Come streaming in on sunlight wings
A million bright ambassadors of morning

And no-one sings me lullabies
And no-one makes me close my eyes
so I throw the windows wide
And call to you across the sky

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Other reviews

By zuckina

 'Echoes' is a suite of more than twenty minutes, and on its own would be enough to elevate Meddle to the level of a masterpiece.

 There is a melody that continues to be played, again and again, and at the same time it rises to higher frequencies, almost imperceptibly, and reaches nowhere. So is the Echoes chorus at the end.


By Torre Ste

 "One Of These Days" spreads visceral energy to the listener, making one forget that this is the theme for Dribbling for a moment.

 "Echoes" is a classic Pink Floyd suite to be listened to in the dark with closed eyes, freeing the mind from thoughts and letting oneself be carried away by the notes far from the real world.


By FLOYDMAN

 Water, 'Water was the perfect subject for this album'… it is changeable yet constant and controllable, in some ways even varied and different.

 'Echoes' represents the best sound symphony of Pink Floyd: an advanced stage, another step… toward the Dark Side of the Moon.


By Breus

 Meddle puzzled the growing crowd of fans back then, who...did not expect an excursion into blues and intimate ballads.

 'Echoes' remains in the collective imagination a masterpiece, never inflated and never abused, whether for its length, or for its substantial indivisibility.


By insolito

 Long live carefreeness. Long live freedom. Long live youth and long live the first joint under the balcony on a rainy night.

 One day, your children will ask if magic exists. And you will let them hear this echo. They will never forget it.