When I was 17, the former acquaintance now known as Shitbag said to me:
“Pink Floyd don’t make any CDs anymore. You’ll not find this in HMV so don’t go looking”
So naturally I went looking, opening up a whole new world to me. I’d been aware of Pink Floyd for several years up to that point, but mostly only for their work The Wall. But as we learnt in Animals, there was a lot more to the band. Indeed, much later works like A Momentary Lapse of Reason and Division Bell just proved that there was still a lot to be produced and earlier albums like Atom Heart Mother and A Saucerful of Secrets proved there was a lot more to discover.
Darkside of the Moon was the second Pink Floyd album I bought. At the time a lot was going on in my life. It was also a time when the new millennium was approaching and with it esoteric disaster, spiritual end times and a new age of yogurt weaving, tofu knitting and miso misery was dawning.
There was also a total eclipse of the sun that was to be visible from the British Isles and Cornwall was to be the best spot to view it from. So, to avoid the crowds I planned an excursion to the nearest westerly point my girlfriend and I could reach without breaking the bank. Having bundled the tent and the king size duvet into the Citroen AX, all that was left was to make a mix tape for the car as entertainment.
Driving through rural Wales with the album on the car stereo blaring out in time to every twist, turn, 60mph stretch, open road and chicane it was uncanny. Culminating in coming down the hill into the picturesque village of Aberdaron on the western Llyn Peninsula just as Pink Floyd broke into Eclipse was possibly on of the most inspiring and thought provoking moments of my life. It was as if the album was written for the journey, the experience and the event.
Synchronicity at its best. Although next time I’ll try the whole experience again while watching Wizard of Oz and see how that works out.
I also have Dark Side of the Sky. A live recording of a performance of this album, but I see little point in writing a separate entry for it.
Dear God. WTF is this album supposed to be? I guess at some point, someone nipped down to Hell with a sampling machine and a moog and gave the demons down there the job of creating the most painful music ever using the ambient sounds of tortured souls and what’s left of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop.
By the time I became addicted to Morphine, it was too late. 
A man with a mullet going mad with a mallet in 
A film about two well to do toffs, the kind of people that need a good old balaclava wearing slap in the woods, doing bad things to people lower down the socialite spectrum at their school. Only one of the toffs falls for the lower down socialite and ends up in a pickle.
I’ve always been the kind of person that really digs a peculiar name.
Sticking with bearded half mast corduroy wearing hipsters; there was a time in the noughties when Syd Barrett was cool. Long after the weird guy had left or been ejected from Pink Floyd, albums showcasing some of the never heard before work circulated on the internet and were snaffled by fans of both the band and the tragic genius that was Barrett.
Bryan Ferry greases his way through 42 minutes of butteresque songs.
Benny Bohm and Sylvia Ryder from sunny Los Angeles do their stuff again. We’ve met 
Look hard and long at Vangelis’ catalogue and you’ll struggle to find this album. Probably because it is an unofficial compilation.
Stegzy's Music Project 