Suits and schizophrenia

After using a substantial number of my last twenty texts for the month trying to explain to Mat the meaning behind the Storm Thorgerson graphic on the front cover of Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here, I realised that it might be a good idea for me to do a serious write-up detailing my interpretation of the overall package. To properly understand the symbolism that lies in the artwork, one must take into account the dual concepts of the album -- those are, the impersonality and manipulative nature of the recording industry, and Syd Barrett's mental disintegration. These concepts overlap significantly for reasons that I will explain in due course.

Obviously this analysis is going to make a lot more sense to those of you who have heard Wish You Were Here. If you haven't, I can honestly recommend it as one of, if not the best, albums I have ever had the pleasure of listening to. Judging by the huge acclaim that it has received throughout the thirty years since its release, I think it would even be fair to pick that it's one of the greatest albums in history. Therefore, you should definitely try and find someone who has it and have a listen. If you're thinking of buying it, hold out for a while because it is going to be re-released -- probably around Christmas time -- as an SACD, in recognition of the album's thirtieth anniversary. Enough dawdling though -- on with the analysis.

Syd Barrett was the original frontman of The Pink Floyd, as they were called when they were starting out in the sixties. He was -- and still is -- regarded by many as a musical genius; a pioneer of psychedelic music. During his relatively short time in the band, Syd was the dominant creative influence, responsible for writing the vast majority of their material. He was well-known for his fusion of sixties pop whimsy with intense psychedelic elements. He was also regarded as the "pretty face" of the band, which planted him immediately in the spotlight as a sort of poster boy for the exploding British psychedelic scene. This all came at a very young age for Syd, who was barely nineteen by the time that The Pink Floyd had started achieving acclaim all over the country.

He was gifted. However, the latter period of his childhood had been far from idyllic. His father, with whom he had been very close, died during Syd's adolescence. Many of Syd's then-friends have spoken out about how hard it hit him. Syd was also a very undisciplined child. Not long after entering the psychedelic music scene, Syd became a user of LSD. His rapidly emerging psychological problems reached their peak during The Pink Floyd's mini-tour of the US in 1967, where he frequently made special efforts to de-tune his guitar during their sets. Syd continued with this behaviour later in the year when The Pink Floyd toured Britain in support of Jimi Hendrix, as well as allegedly not showing up to some gigs. In the following year, the band simply stopped picking Syd up for gigs, as he was obviously becoming detrimental to the quality of their live shows.

No one is sure exactly what it was that spawned Syd Barrett's mental breakdown and the development of his schizophrenia. It is likely that it was a combination of all of the factors that I have mentioned above. However, for the purposes of this analysis, it is helpful to focus on the fact that Syd's fame came to him very easily and at a very young age. The sudden position of significance that he held in the world around him would have been hard for him to get his head around, particularly given his frequent use of LSD. Also, as a talented artist he became a target to the whims of the recording industry, who were constantly trying to mould and shape his musical output to their liking, for the sake of ensuring its commercial viability. This, of course, is a theme focussed on extensively in the album Wish You Were Here, particularly in the songs Welcome To The Machine and Have A Cigar. Therefore, one can now see the link between the impersonality of the record industry and Syd's schizophrenia.

Three of the four songs on the album, with lyrics by Roger Waters, make reference to the transition between childhood and the adulthood in the context of the recording industry. Shine On You Crazy Diamond, an unashamedly emotional tribute to Syd, opens the album and is the first to mention the issue in the lyric "You were caught in the crossfire/Of childhood and stardom". This is an obvious reference to the fact that Syd achieved legendary status very early on in the piece.

The next track, Welcome To The Machine, is constructed entirely around the idea that the recording industry (or even society in general) tries to craft one in one's young age to ensure maximum profitability. Society likes to think that it spends a lot of time and effort raising its children, and it expects a return on its alleged investment. The lyrics here that pay reference to the transition between childhood and adulthood are, particularly, "You've been in the pipeline/Filling in time/Provided with toys/And scouting for boys/You bought a guitar/To punish your ma/You didn't like school/And you know you're nobody's fool". This paints an image for us that individuals, Syd included, are constructed with the intent of them being turned into products to fit society's expectations. "You've been in the pipeline" evokes thoughts of individuals being fed through an almost mechanical process before being welcomed into the machine that is society, and whatever awaits them in adult life. For Syd, the recording industry awaited him. Its attempts to turn him into a product are referenced in the second part of the lyric lift-out, starting with "You bought a guitar". To me, this conveys the idea that corporate interests are intent on constructing his image for him as opposed to letting him truely express himself. In this example it sounds almost as if they are trying to push a punk image onto him.

Have A Cigar is a more straightforward, blatantly sarcastic take on the manipulative nature of the industry, and although it's a seemingly more appropriate piece to apply to the situation of the band itself at the time of the album's release (1975), it is still applicable to Syd as it confronts a similar concept to what I see in Welcome To The Machine. I think it shows that at that point in time, following the gargantuan commercial success of The Dark Side of the Moon (go listen to that album also -- it's already out on SACD) the Roger Waters-led Floyd felt like they were in the same situation as Syd was years before; under threat from self-interested executives and heading towards possible disintegration. "The band is just fantastic/That is really what I think/Oh by the way, which one's Pink?" is one of the most oft-quoted sections of lyrics in the entire album, for the simple reason that it is the most scathing and obvious allusion to the disconnectedness that exists between musical artists and the record companies. It emphasises the fact that the corporate executive satirised in the song is totally insensitive to the individuality of the band and does not understand them to any significant degree. It's always been characteristic of people who are not fans of the band to think of it as an individual artist, rather than a band, when they hear the name "Pink Floyd". This shows that the corporate exec is simply springing on the latest big thing to try and squeeze as much money from it as he possibly can. The theme of Have A Cigar is reflected in one of the more simplistic readings of Wish You Were Here's cover art -- that the man on fire is one who has been burned in a business deal.

It is interesting to consider that the previous two songs I have discussed are often simplified in people's minds as anti-corporate diatribes, when in fact it's quite likely that they are also highly significant in that they integrate elements of Syd's story. The same sort of simplification is also often foisted on the title track, Wish You Were Here, which a lot of people choose to view as a simple love song or as a call-out to Syd in the vein of Shine On. I strongly believe, however, that it serves to tie together the whole duality of the album and capture the disorientating nature of Syd's schizophrenia. The track commences with the sound of an acoustic guitar playing a solemn tune, coming from what seems to be a tinny-sounding radio. After a few seconds of building up, a second acoustic guitar then joins in, playing an alternate progression but in harmony with the music coming through the radio. Both guitars sound very much the same except for the fact that one of them is somewhat crackly.

It is almost as if someone is playing along to a recording of themself. Just before the vocals start, the quieter guitar comes to the fore and there are now two guitars playing together. This reflects the duality of the album as a whole. To me, it also conveys the idea that in his state of schizophrenia Syd has lost a part of himself; the better part of himself. The recording playing in the background at the beginning of the song could symbolise the part of himself that is distant and lost, whilst the clearer-sounding guitar would be Syd attempting to reunite himself with his other half. This would serve to explain the fact that the guitars are playing different tunes -- Syd is not quite able to pull himself back together but he is making an attempt. "How I wish/How I wish you were here/We're just two lost souls/Swimming in a fish bowl/Year after year/Running over the same old ground/What have we found/The same old fears/I wish you were here". The anthemic focal verse of the song expresses the idea that Syd is longing to find himself again. The "two lost souls" who are "running over the same old ground" are Syd divided within himself. One of the lost souls is the bright shining light that the band and his fans all knew, and the other is the terrified, disturbed, mentally fragile hermit that has come to the fore.

"Did you exchange/A walk-on part in a war/For a lead role in a cage?" -- Syd's interior monologue, asking himself what has happeneda to him. The "walk-on part in a war" represents the frantic, confusing and wearying nature of being a successful musical artist. It was too much for him, especially at such a young age. Now he's achieved a "lead role in a cage" -- he is imprisoned within his own mental instability and unable to express himself anywhere near as well as he could before all this happened. He's also become more of a legend following his breakdown than he was beforehand; he has become a martyr, which is also touched on in the lyrics of Shine On.

Thus, now that one understands the true nature of the album, the cover artwork has the potential to take on a completely different meaning. The two men appear to be standing in a desolate, relatively featureless environment. It is actually a Hollywood backlot. Both of these factors make the image attributable to Syd's story -- the figures look alienated in the context of the strange scenery; it shows the impersonality of showbusiness. They therefore fit in well with the songs Welcome To The Machine and Have A Cigar. Now look closer. The two men actually look very similar. They could even be alter-egos. The two halves of Syd? One of them -- possibly representing Syd's better half -- is being destroyed by fire. Despite this, the other figure is not letting go. He is keeping a firm grip even though the burning figure is progressively slipping away into oblivion. He's not giving up. This ties in with the title track and the band's possible idea that Syd must still be holding on to that other part of himself, no matter how dire the situation gets. The bleakness of the background scenery establishes the conflict inside himself as the prominent feature in Syd's mind and also shows that he feels alienated from the rest of the world.

Needless to say I probably have more ideas that I will add in due course, but for now I think I'll call it a day. Beautiful weather. This entry has turned out pretty long. Perhaps I read too much into things? I hope you enjoy it anyway. It's good to finally get all this written down.

Shine On.

Birth of a Season

As I left my house yesterday, on my way to see Alison and Cynthia, Summer appeared to explode forth from the womb of Mother Earth. I stood there somewhat shocked, albeit delighted at the same time, and let the afterbirth run down my face, squinting my eyes to minimise my discomfort. The bright colours ebbed and flowed across my vision. Slowly I tilted my head upwards in reverence. Summer gazed at me, smiling, her aquatic blue eyes a cavernous submarine cathedral. I smiled back.

Oculus cascaded forth along State Highway 23. By now the engine had achieved a healthy equilibrium and would have been whining along nicely. Except I couldn't hear it; the sound was being drowned by the cool summer air pouring through the fans. Awaken by Yes sizzled out of the stereo, the front left speaker crackling slightly from regular instances of over-abuse. Rick Wakeman's watery keyboard synths washed over me in a heavenly aural foam. Chris Squire's immaculate bassline throbbed sensually through my body. Jon Anderson's angelic vocals lapped at my ears gently, giving me goosebumps every now and then.

It really says something about a band when their music can give you something akin to a religious experience. Yes are one band that does that for me. Is this my song of summer? Quite possibly, so long as I don't play it out before uni finishes. I recommend it. Download it and give it a listen if you have the time. Hey, how awesome is it that it's practically early summer already? We hardly had a winter. The only real sign of winter that I saw was everyone around me falling ill. Gotta love global warming -- no, now I'm just being stupid.

First Impressions of Semester Two

Now that it's the holidays, we all have the choice to not bother to do anything at all, and instead sit back in our loungers and ponder just how great -- or ungreat -- Semester Two has been so far. We can procrastinate from eating breakfast in order to write up a blog entry, because there's no set time by which we actually have to have breakfast. The whole daily routine of our lives has been yanked out from under us, except for those of us who are whittling away their holidays by working full-time. Those people, I do pity.

I certainly don't miss the daily routine. That's been my main gripe with university so far this semester. I went into Semester One with the overriding feeling that something really magical was happening; that I was about to set out on this huge adventure into the unknown, and it wasn't going to be like school at all, because I'm supposedly absolutely interested in all of the subjects that I take. At first the relative flexibility that university allowed you to exercise in your life was wonderful. But now that Semester Two is upon us... Well, I don't know about you, but I get the distinct feeling that everything's settled back into the old mundane rat-race, for lack of a better term, that was high school.

In Semester One, I really looked forward to my Sociology and Politics classes. Media Studies was awesome as well. Even though the papers were quite broad and general, I think I may have liked that. True, it did all feel slightly rushed, but it also provided this feeling that a lot was being encompassed in the teaching and you were really broadening your horizons of understanding. Everything was just so bright and colourful and you were discovering all these new fascinating things. There were those little bits of trivia that I could go home and tell my parents.

But now, it pretty much goes without saying, the papers which many of us share are, quite simply, the sleepmeisters. Honourable mention goes to Jeff K in Politics, the worst lecturer ever. Full stop (notice I didn't say period, because that's just wrong). He may sound like Ringo Starr when he narrates Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends, as Hannah so entertaingly pointed out, but the fact remains that Jeff K cannot assemble sentences in the verbal plane. Yes, Ringo did have a script to read from so it was a bit easier for him -- but Jeff K is a super-mega intellectual and shouldn't have to stop and think after every two words. He really shouldn't. The final stake in the heart of the Beatle is that Jeff K has killed what had the potential to be the best paper ever. Also, while we're on the subject of the subject of Politics, my tutor is Tan, with whom I am absolutely besotted and I just want to give him hugs and start up a Dandy Warhols cover band... and, and we can do vocal duets! That would be awesome.

Film and Anthropology were both enthralling at the outset, but -- not meaning to focus on the negativity -- my interest soon waned and their respective lectures have ended up being endurance challenges (moreso the Film one though). Thank goodness for that necessary Satanic evil, the mobile phone, when you're trapped in a horrible, physically draining class. The Anthropology convenor has consistently delivered energetic and entertaining lectures that draw on heaps of case studies, many of which were conducted by herself. It keeps your attention at least. But like other lectures it has really just degenerated into the frantic taking of notes from the slideshow, which we get on Cecil anyway. It makes me feel like I'm learning something when I actually write it though (I truely do hope I am), and possibly saves trees that would otherwise be killed by my printing all the material from the computer.

Not helping my increasing disillusion with university is the fact that I really don't see myself going anywhere in life. In fact, I don't want to go anywhere, if going somewhere means what I think it does -- that is, earning money. A few years ago my parents told me that when I am rich, they want expensive cars. They were serious. Good ol' parents, raising their children for the primary reason of supporting them in their retirement. I digress. The fact is, I'm worn down by the idea that I haven't actually really progressed any further towards my life goal -- that is, to find myself, yes I know it's an abstract concept, but I know what I want -- since I started university. I seriously doubt that writing really linear notes regarding the definition of "rights" in the context of social policy is going to help me achieve what I want. Basically my mind is always outside of class. University is social now. Academia is filler. That's it put in simplistic terms, but I find the idea a little difficult to put across because it gets real micro and insanely complicated. You get the jist though. Discuss?

Prologue: Sky Dishes On State Houses

In the wake of the academic morass that was the utterly frantic last week or so of Semester Two (Pt. 1), the holidays are here -- at last. And what an epic start it has been indeed, with twenty-four hours straight spent in the company of friends. Gotta love it -- it bodes well for good things ahead in the next two weeks. It's sure looking a lot better than the last "holidays," which turned out to be a down-breaking wage labour-fest bookended by bouts of not-insignificant illness. The worst part was that when I finally got to spend some time with friends at the end, I lost my voice. Such is how things tend to play out.

But enough of the negativity, for now anyway. Welcome to A Hole In The Wall; my blog. For one reason or another, I've been opposed to creating a blog for a long time. In observing the blogging exploits of others, however, I have decided that this activity may be a good addition to my life. I find it substantially difficult to articulate myself and my ideas properly in face-to-face situations. As such, I'm hoping that making A Hole In The Wall will give people more of an insight into who I am, and allow me to express what I am consistently failing to express in other mediums.

The audience with North Shore Labour Party candidate Phil Twyford at Jenni's house on Friday night was thoroughly enjoyable, save for the fact that in the latter stages of the evening I was worrying about the fact that I wouldn't be able to -- and indeed, didn't want to -- make it home in time for the cut-off on my restricted licence. I also became increasingly conscious of the fact that I wasn't contributing anything to the discussion. This wasn't too much of an issue, however, with many of the blanks being filled in by the radical Elam student -- whom I liked but at the same time recognised as possibly quite the elitist -- and that pseudo-fascistic engineer guy who complained that all of the state houses in Manurewa have Sky dishes on them (those bloody bludgers) and that if we have Maori seats in Parliament, why don't we have Korean ones?

I'm sorry. I don't know about you, but I can't stand people who seem entrenched in the belief that somehow, after Britain's brutal invasion of Aotearoa and systematic theft of Maori land, the rest of modern New Zealand doesn't owe them anything. At the very least we owe them an apology, a leg-up given the fact that many are inherently disadvantaged as they are trapped in the poverty cycle, and about forty tonnes more cultural respect than we give them at the moment. You may want to believe that we are relatively kind to our indigenous people, and indeed other cultures in general, than other nations. But do Maori get too much? No, they most certainly don't. In fact they get too little. England ate Aotearoa.

Oh yeah -- Phil Twyford is a good man. I found it really heartening to know that people like him are in the ranks of the Labour Party. Judging by his outwardly-expressed ideology, I thought that he would probably fit better into the Green Party -- it hit me virtually as soon as he began talking and explained that he was a founding member of the New Zealand branch of Oxfam. If I lived in the North Shore electorate, I'm sure that I would vote for him; even if the fact that he's a leftist practically guarantees that he's not going to win that seat. He's quite far down the party list as well, so the chances of him becoming an MP at all at the coming election are remote. Nonetheless he's a great guy and has really increased my confidence in the Labour Party -- not that it was lacking significantly in the first place.

From Jenni's we were to travel to Robbie's, where we watched Anchorman in that room with sofas. I had my direly-needed energy drink confiscated. Hannah couldn't stop laughing heartily at the cat fashion show scene. Richard reminisced to an overly significant extent. When a number of the group had left, we turned out all the lights and listened to Shine On You Crazy Diamond, parts I-V, by Pink Floyd, all the way through without talking, which was a marvellous achievement which I had never thought I would see achieved with a group of friends. On a side note, for an interesting-if-you-are-a-fan dissection of Shine On -- my personal favourite song of all time -- into its separate movements, take a look at the trusty Wiki entry.

Saturday was spent almost exclusively at Robbie's. In the wee hours, when the rest of us went to bed, he played Battlezone. I couldn't quite grasp how he was able to when one takes into account how long he had been awake and how epic a day it had been. But I entertained myself with the concrete floor and the fact that I had no functioning mobile phones. When Saturday got properly into swing, we watched the entertaining film Baseketball, which I felt like I hadn't seen while also remembering every gag in the whole thing. We also watched numerous episodes of Blackadder -- in one, there was a provocative pilot who thrusted his hips and said "woof, woof!" frequently -- and took in some enthralling Red Dwarf, which I hadn't seen in a long time and still succeeds in beckoning forth the laughs that are produced through contractions in the diaphragm.

I think that's about all I had to say! Again, welcome to the blog, and I hope that you decide to continue coming. It's important to me that people hear what I hope to express here. I go now to recover from this weird feeling that I have; I think it may be exhaustion. I think I'll try to get rid of it by going to wage labour this evening, and perhaps by going to see Alison. Good idea, I wisely surmise.