I have always found strength in his music to keep moving forward, his stories, the sparse yet fascinating music, have always impressed me more than all those two-bit singers who think they can enchant you with their failed love stories...
The crazy diamond fell silent softly when everyone had forgotten about him enough not to talk about him every day, but not enough to erase him from their minds; I had bought this record about four days ago and it had become the soundtrack of my mornings, between cigarettes and guitar, it spun on my turntable making my day different, positive, there are songs in it, just whistling them makes me imagine trees dancing in time with these suggestive nursery rhymes...
All this until tonight, the record keeps spinning, but the needle conveys a new side of the Barrettian melodies to me, the sad one, tormented by being trapped in the cage of not being able to communicate with anyone because they think you are crazy...
Usually, I don't appreciate posthumous collections very much because of exhumations of unfinished or poorly played pieces, but this is different: it seems a complete album in every respect, it may falter in the decision to include tape parts with Barrett's voice talking about the song, but the material is valid despite being outtakes, showcasing his compositional genius...
Syd is dead and even though he hasn't released anything for more than thirty years, the void he leaves is enormous, the last true artist in a world of poor and commercial music has flown to the sky, and this makes one reflect on how music is increasingly Paris Hilton and less and less Syd Barrett...
"There really is no trace of bizarre interstellar beetles dismantling language here... There is only a strange kind of blues, speaking of claustrophobia and lack..."
"I donât know, one remains astonished in front of this heart-wrenching essentiality... it seems to ruminate... creating a sense of waiting, an almost unbearable suspense..."