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Rating: Dear Wayne
Do you realize what you've done?
Is it possible that every time we deal with you and yours, there is no longer a boundary between the absurd, the garish, the sublime, and the genius?
These are childish things, for which everything is forgiven.
By now, I think you'd be capable of organizing, as I read somewhere, a trip to Mars just to see what effect your music played up there would have.
But do you realize what the innumerable and very serious Floyd fans will say about it?
Enhancing "Speak to Me" with a capsule containing the spirit of "Clouds Taste Metallic," and especially the tail of "Bad Days"?
Starting "Breathe" with repeated coughing to keep the rhythm instead of the drums (here's Steven's touch).
And then leaving your strained voice wandering alone amidst a few cymbal crashes, drums, and "low-fi" guitars that happened to end up there.
Or disturbing the sidereal sweetness of the siren's song wandering in the Milky Way of the original version of "The Great Gig in the Sky" with ultra-reverberated noise distortions.
And replacing in the same piece Richard Wright's wonderful piano with a few guitar strums and a solitary vibraphone.
Or destroying the vocals of "Money" with the vocoder.
And what to say that every time I listen to "Brain Damage" it seems like somewhere your "embryonic" "Worm Mountain" must jump out?
But David and the others, did you warn them?
Tell me the truth, when is the psychedelic reinterpretation of Beethoven's Ninth?
Anyway, I don't think I'll follow you to Mars.
But let me know before you leave, you never know, if I'm still alive.
You certainly will be, if you continue to never grow up.
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