Syd Barrett
Dark Globe

Composed on a rainy day without rain...and maybe even without day...and perhaps even without without...

No, the without is there...and it's the key to everything...

that all of us have known only and always the lack...being nothing or being too little...

but let's not dwell on these bothers...

because, to begin with, here we talk about a pussy willow kitten...and poppy birds among the branches of the coffee...

but who is it that flaunts a magic wand with a feathered tongue? maybe the same girl who was a pussy willow kitten? and who now is a bird with a stick in its beak?

and where does this kind of psychic folk come from by someone who had always given us the kaleidoscope and the amusement park...

because this, damn it, is a drunkard's song...

stuff for a vampire (if not for those birds and that pussy willow kitten) and not for my new duke, little Johnny apple seed, the supreme barrettologist..that is, he who closes his eyes and reopens them...

here, he says, it's as if suddenly I couldn't practice my art anymore...because this is a farewell...

a farewell to the matter of the eyes, no longer like a ferret, but catatonic...

because there are "Eskimo chains" and "the brain is tattooed all over"...

oh dear. says little Johnny, that "won’t you miss me at least a little" syd perhaps yells it to the imagination?..

a kind of painful invitation to mother matilda to stop telling fairy tales? but couldn't mother matilda also just get drunk and that's it? and start her tale again tomorrow, after the hangover?

no, she couldn't... she can't... she won't be able to....

but, as we were saying, this is a drunkard's song...and among all the phantasmagorias of the crazy head album, it is perhaps the most touching moment...

perhaps to fully appreciate it you shouldn't start from here, but from the phantasmagorias indeed...

for which I hired my duke...

but here the knight dismounts, do you think it's a small thing?...and lands in one of those medieval inns ala bergman...and gets drunk...and says goodbye....

me and little Johnny know that inn...it's called reality...a place where you live quite well, underground (as syd said of the meadow where he dug his mole's den...)..

oh .you don't know how much I love this song...and how beautiful it is to start the journey with a drunkard’s song...a little thing for two pennies...in the face of the pharaonic tours of his ancient squires...with their music from architecture students the fuck...

ah I know, pussy willow doesn't translate to pussy willow kitten...but what do you want syd is my favorite psychic zoologist...

three versions of this song: the ragged one from Madcap, the "normal" one from Opel, and the one with doubled voice...

all three are magnificent...

magnificent...

MAGNIFICENT.....................

PS those who sing better drunk are the Greeks, and this song also reminds me of a night in Astypalea...

there was sugarloaf with me that time, but that's another story...