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Thirty-five years ago, four English lads held the greatest concert in history in Pompeii, and needless to say, there was no audience.
Until a few years ago, when I heard the name "Pink Floyd," the image of that long-haired guy singing perhaps the most beautiful melody I had ever heard jumped into my eyes, with that microphone that seemed almost detached from the rest of the scene, and the wind covering his mouth with his blonde hair, in an arena empty of people and overflowing with sounds.
It was a childhood friend of mine who showed me that video, and I must admit that even though at the time I listened to Gigi D'Alessio, I was more than impressed, and in my naivety, I fantasized about the most absurd things, and I told myself: "What are these four doing?... Well, maybe they are recording the essence of earthly music on a special tape to send into space hoping some unknown form of life will find it and treasure it... Or maybe it will serve future generations and will be preserved in some underground bunker in Greenland..."
At that time, I didn't know about drugs. As the years passed, I came to know many things: that the guy's name was David Gilmour, that the melody he was singing (and which for me remains the most beautiful I have ever heard) was the singing of "Echoes," that the microphone was part of the frightening equipment the four dragged behind them on tours around the world, that the wind was an integral part of the scenography, that the Arena was the one in Pompeii (not a lost place in the middle of nowhere, Pompeii for crying out loud, just around the corner!), that the Arena was not exactly empty, but besides the four of them, there were various support technicians and some kids who managed to sneak in (lucky them), that those four were the greatest musical group ever to exist on the face of the Earth, that in their intentions there was nothing so technological-futuristic or extraterrestrial (at least I think), and finally, I understood that Gigi D'Alessio sucked (and still sucks).
Then some more time passed and we have arrived at tonight: I wanted to watch that concert again, but first, I wanted to jot down a few words, which are not meant to be a description of the concert because it would be incomplete anyway, nor a description of my feelings because it would be impossible to put them into writing, but simply a brief part of my story with Pink Floyd.
Not just any concert, gentlemen... THE CONCERT!
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