An Essay About the Destruction of Syd Barrett by Alexander Ahlstrand

THE MADCAP LAUGHED AT THE MAN ON THE BORDER

An essay about the destruction of Syd Barrett by Alexander Ahlstrand

Authors foreword

I had no intentions to release and distribute this essay when I at first began to write. The essay was in some ways intended to be a internal joke limited to the closest of my friends. It happened later that one of my friend wanted to distribute the essay on his mailing list, so he asked for my permission.

The response were extraordinary. This was mostly because the mailing list was for the band “Tool” and not the Pink Floyd. The tone varied to some extent. Some “Tool”, and what I suspect, Floyd fans were outraged and hollered evilness in my direction. I was now accused of blasphemy.

The main thing that lead these people to their aggravated states of mind was that they couldn’t interpret my tone. That is why I am adding a foreword.

This essay is in all ways speculatory. I do not and will not claim to be telling any truth. Many of the things written in this essay has been added or exaggerated to make the whole thing more amusing to read. I am a great Pink Floyd fan and a fan of Roger Waters, as a solo artist. This story has it’s origin in a joke a friend told me. It goes: Why did Syd go insane? Because Roger was the one with the psychiatrist appointment!

There’s really no reason to make a big deal of it. Please this as a work of fiction and not a work of
fact. This is simply one of my turns coming on.

Alexander Ahlstrand - July 2001

THE ESSAY

The lives and times of the Pink Floyd remain one of the best documented and intriguing.
This can be credited to the story of the enigmatic Roger Keith Barrett, also known as ‘Syd’ but also to the intriguing and prodigious music the Pink Floyd played and recorded during their prime years, from the musically redefining ‘Piper at the gates of dawn’ to the monumental ‘Dark side of the moon’ and retrospective ‘Wish you were here’.

But there is one story that stands untold. A story hinted along the way, but never fully disembowelled. The story and the question are: Why did Syd Barrett go insane?

In 1996 Boxtree publishing released the book ‘Lost in the woods’ by Julian Palacios. One of the most intriguing looks at the character ‘Syd Barrett’. This book presents series of clues and speculations to the question, what did happen to Syd? Amongst the answers lie: He was schizophrenic? He cracked due to the rejections of several male role models? And the most common answer: He lost himself to the drugs!

Though there is an alternative that hasn’t been speculated upon. He was forced into reclusion.
This small essay should, hopefully, present an alternative based on both speculation and facts.
We will reveal the name of the man who forced Syd Barrett into obscurity. But more of that later.

I take it that all you that read this already know your ‘Pink’s’ and ‘Floyd’s’ so I cut to the chase.

Syd Barrett was an original and audiences love originals, they love their stories and frolics. A good example is ‘Surfer bird’ Brian Wilson and ‘The Fleeting Mac’ Peter Green (I won’t bother to mention Captain Beefheart!). There is almost an obstruction In the path of the true madman. For many of the loonies this would be the reluctant approval of the audiences and record companies. Syd’s obstruction came from within his own ranks. In other words: Syd Barrett had an enemy.

The list of people close enough to Syd is rather short. Actually there are four persons that had the opportunity to destroy Syd Barrett, namely the members of the Pink Floyd. Let’s line ‘em up shall we.

- David Gilmour - Friend, tutor and old friend.
- Richard Wright – Silent Jazz pianist.
- Nick Mason - Upper class drummer and full-time band member.
- Roger Waters – Cynical Bass player and rivalling songwriter.

Four persons that had the possibilities to eradicate Syd Barrett. But who would and what would the motive be.

Let’s be rationale. David Gilmour was and is a complete wank. He’s a great guitarist but a lousy songwriter. He seems, these days, to care more about the career of others than his own often leaving his own band behind in a state of ‘Non-existence’. Dave Gilmour is an enterprising man that knows what the audience wants and knows how to give them what they want.

Dave Gilmours best motive for getting Syd out of the way would be the money. But, it is very unlikely that Gilmour that considered himself friends with Syd would do such a thing. Gilmour is too soft. Gilmour is a wank.

Richard Wright was a great musician, actually the only one with any formal education in music and most probably the one who turned Syd on to Avant-garde Jazz. Wright is also the one that would have gotten the most satisfaction of working under Syd in terms of musical bonding. Wright is the fundamental experimentalist with his jazz background and the one who would loose most on the eradication of Syd Barrett.

Nick Mason…! Let’s face it. One, he is the drummer. Two, he owns a lot of cars today. Three, he was born wealthy. Nuff said!

Which leaves, Roger Waters. The one most likely to gain anything from the eradication of Syd Barrett would be Roger Waters. But what would his motives be? To answer that question I would like to draw a layman’s profile of Waters.

- Roger Waters have a severe emotional problem due to the loss of his father, a problem that has led Waters in to an abysmal self-pity .

- Roger Waters lack tolerance for a great number of things including: Popular culture, Arts, the people surrounding him and, strangely, his own self and his past career.

- Roger Waters blindly believe that he is an artist and that his music is important and relevant to the great public majority. A belief that often leads Waters into a semi-depressive state when the public fail to understand him. This state subsequently feeds his anger and results in the birth of new paranoia that brings inspiration.

- Roger Waters are a highly unstable person that often snaps due of pressure and subsequently hurt somebody that fail to approve him.

- Roger Waters are most likely mentally disturbed and in severe denial of this state, with the one exception of his musical alter egos and statements .

But what would possess Roger Waters to turn against his creator Syd Barrett. Once again let me list a few possible scenarios.

- Syd Barrett presented the world with a new and unheard approach to popular music. Often criticised and misunderstood. Roger Waters wanted and want to tell his own story. In this perspective, Waters was threatened by Syd Barrett’s infantile approach to music, often incorporating children’s stories and pure fantasy. Waters on the other hand wanted ‘an artistic approach’ to the Floyds music. This brings me to believe that Roger and Syd were bound to engage in battle. A battle young Barrett most likely would loose. In fact: Roger Waters partially admitted to this in a extensive interview from the 1975 release of the ‘Wish you were here’ song book. Transcription follows:

Nick Sedgewick: A lot of people have made remarks to me over the album's sadness.

Roger Waters: I'm glad about that... I think the world is a very, very sad fucking place... I find myself at the moment, backing away from it all... I'm very sad about Syd, I wasn't for years. For years I suppose he was a threat because of all that bollocks written about him and us. Of course he was very important and the band would never have fucking started without him because he was writing all the material. It couldn't have happened without him but on the other hand it couldn't have gone on *with* him. He may or may not be important in Rock' n’ Roll anthology terms but he's certainly not nearly as important as people say in terms of Pink Floyd. So I think I was threatened by him. But when he came to the 'Wish You Were Here' sessions -- ironic in itself -- to see this fat, bald, mad person, the first day he came I was in fucking tears...

- Roger Waters must have been outraged with the fact that Syd, even though he despised the work he was doing, let the influence of drugs affect his music. Not only in the loss of contact with the band, but also in terms of song writing. Such songs as ‘Vegetable man’ and ‘Scream thy last scream’ must, I sincerely believe, have made Waters very upset with its absurdity, versus Waters own controlled and self-centred writings. In other words Waters must have realised the fact that Barrett’s mental instability would force Waters to retire from the career as a recording artist, long before his time. Waters knew that Barrett was his obstruction and therefore Barrett had to be eliminated.

- Waters is a paranoid yet he knows the fact that he needs help and attention. As in the world of music, there is a constant battle for attention. The Floyd was in a business dominated by bands that would be remembered for their good looks and potentials as entertainers. Barrett was a handsome young man with an interesting and magnetic personality; Waters was, in all honesty, ugly and more reclusive. Thus, the simple fact of envy of Barretts good looks might very well have led Waters to force Barrett into retreat.

These theories might very well have a fabricate of my mind, but there lies a few substantial facts that would make the afore mentioned scenarios even more plausible.

It is commonly known that Roger Waters hold great vices against performing in stadiums or in his own words: “Rock 'n' roll in stadiums is genuinely awful…” Roger Waters took this standpoint early on in his career and that led him to write The Wall “…as an attack on stadium rock”.
This hatred towards performing live actually led Waters to the brink of his wits, resulting in the ‘Spit’ incident during the 1977 Animals tour.

The relevance is added when Waters reveals that the situation within the ranks of the band was suffering. When being interviewed Waters said: “…Dark side of the moon was the last willing collaboration; after that, everything with the band was like drawing teeth…”

As the self-appointed creative leader of the New Pink Floyd, Waters must have been distressed when he saw ‘his’ band lapsing into creative dead space and the mechanical touring the world.
Waters approach to this situation was as simple as it was in 1968! Re-construction was needed.

Mentally ill people often seek out to recreate his world in order to compensate for his lacks in adapting. This is often visualised in ‘A geographical relocation’ hoping to escape from what ever is bothering the inflicted, or in worse cases ‘Impulsive destructive behaviour ’, in the belief that the fault is by the hand of ex. The world or a person, the inflicted needs to destroy his ‘enemy’ (Whether innocent or not).

Taken that this applies on Waters, you should a plausible reason for his reactions and behaviour during the Wall-era. Waters did fire Wright for reasons unknown to us (Lack of creative input), why couldn’t this have happened before. The clearly destructive and schizophrenic behaviour displayed not only on the Wall album and performed live. As stated through out the lyrics, there is, clearly, a second character called Pink Floyd , let’s call him Mr. Sub-Pink. It has been assumed for a long time that ‘Mr. Sub-Pink’ was Syd Barrett. But…where as ‘Shine on you crazy diamond’ had heralded Barrett as a lost hero, The Wall’s ‘Mr. Sub-Pink’ was poignant and filled with anger (Could such a transformation of Syd’s memory really have happened within the short span of five years?). It might be as if Waters weren’t actually referring to Syd but to the alter ego Roger Waters. An alter ego he sadly was turning into.

Syd Barrett was becoming a creative block to the band when the Pink Floyd 1968 ventured back into the Abbey Road studios to record their follow up ‘Saucerful of secrets’. Barretts sporadic behaviour and increasing drug use was jeopardising the future of the band, or more specifically Roger Waters.

A decision had to be made and, as likely as unlikely, Waters made this (Note that if he could persuade the other members of Floyd to accept the firing of Rick Wright ten years later, then why couldn’t he have done this in early 1968?) Not surprisingly the Floyd needed a new front man and songwriter. Roger Waters had already prepared for this. Syd was officially out of his [Syd’s] creation and a new Floyd dawned, more mature, more controlled, more ‘Watersesque’.

Now one might object that the material produced for the following albums (Saucerful of secrets and Ummagumma) shows little if no signs of progression from the experimental sound. But one must consider that the band had to keep a small part of its original audience (So that the sales wouldn’t plummet and render the band ‘a bad investment). In small steps the Floyd would part itself from its ‘raving’ psychedelic outfit into a solo artist and his backing group (The Roger Waters Group!).

There was left a gapping hole where Syd Barrett used to be, a hole that need filling and the band decided upon David Gilmour as main guitarist. This proved to be a good ‘investment’ on Waters behalf. Gilmour was handsome young man, a brilliant guitarist yet a wank. There would be little if no problems in controlling him. Gilmour clearly had no problem as a session musician (something he clearly shows these days) this ensured Waters a somewhat reliable ally. Nick Mason as mentioned before had little or no objections toward the directions the band was taken (He has written a book about all his cars). The only potential problem was Richard Wright. Wright is probably the one who must have been most bothered with Waters excluding Barrett from the band. This problem between Waters and Wright reached its culmination in early 1980 when Wright was allegedly ‘fired’ from the Floyd.

Barretts fate was sealed with the ‘Barrett’ sessions. Barrett had, in small words, triumphantly returned to music the year before and seemed to be doing well. Where as Malcolm Jones had produced Barretts solo debut ‘The madcap laughs’, Dave Gilmour and Roger Waters were called in to assist on the production on the follow-up (and final) record. This might have proved fatal to Barrett. As Julian Palacios states in his book, Barrett had had traumatic experiences of rejection from persons he considered his peers, friends or inspirations. The gap in Barretts world caused by being rejected from his group and by one of his ‘Friends’ (Waters) left Barrett wounded and severely depressed. Abandoned Barrett had engaged in a frantic drug abuse to cope with the pain. Barrett though was not rendered useless. By 1969 he had managed to salvage enough of his torn person to ask for a second chance. This was granted and Barrett proceeded with a solo career. But this ended abruptly after the ‘Barrett’ sessions.

Gilmour and Waters were assigned to master Barretts recording, in-between their chores with the Floyd. It is noted that Gilmour was the one who did most of the job on Barrett . Waters would appear on bass on a couple of tracks, but it seems to be an overstatement to credit him as producer. It seems peculiar for a man calling himself a friend of Syd Barrett, not to participate (as a friend) in the work, unless there was a problem.

It would be reasonable to assume Waters reluctance as spiteful; If Barrett still was a threat to Waters. But by the time Waters had control of the Floyd without Barretts free-form input, so there is no reason to believe that Waters refused to work with Barrett.

I tend to belief that if you have once have made yourself an enemy of Roger Waters, then you will be his enemy for good. Barrett hadn’t made himself Waters enemy, but if you turn it around then this suddenly becomes logical. Waters as a paranoid egomaniac could with ease have made Barrett the enemy and if this were the case there would be a possibility of problems during the ‘Barrett’ sessions .

The risk of a complete relapse in Barretts case was ever present and most likely so evident that the least intrusion would send Barrett back into his hole. This intrusion could possibly be Waters.
When taken into consideration that Waters often regressed to a (To say the least) childish behaviour , it’s likely to believe that Waters in a semi-paranoid state could have ‘taunted’ Barrett during the sessions, to such a degree that Barrett completely lost it. Roger Waters has made himself renowned for his harsh and downright evil remarks about the work of his former band mates, collaborators and others that might have pissed him off (Whether rightfully or not) and I tend to believe that If Waters had started putting Barrett down this would be done to the unavoidable end.

What left behind was the mental corpse of Syd Barrett, now clearly mad and out of the circuit for good. The potential threat to Waters had been destroyed and the option of two Floyds had been narrowed down to one, the Floyd featuring Roger Waters. This Floyd would in the end repeat itself and, once again, be broken by Roger Waters .

Aftermath:

Where as Roger Waters was the reason Syd Barrett lost his mind, I can (and will not) say.
I have written this essay as a purely speculative look into the world of the Pink Floyd, Roger Waters and Syd Barrett. I have tried to raise the question: ‘Who is the true madcap? I have taken pieces of information, whether really or rumoured, and moulded them into a ‘theoretical conspiracy theory’.

I hold the greatest respect for the Pink Floyd (as a unity) and Syd Barrett and hope that this essay will offend none of them. In the case of Roger Waters is want to state this In the blatant manner he uses himself:

Roger Waters are probably one of the worst persons in the rock industry today. He is a severely disturbed man, with a great inferiority complex that is corrupting him and his music (as a solo artist).

He lacks the manner and behaviour that is to be expected by a man of his age and taken all the positive works, he and Pink Floyd, made during the 70’s it is surprising that anyone can make such a horrifying regression. There is only one man who qualifies as Roger Waters enemy and that is Roger Waters himself. I believe that man should live what he preaches so: Mr. Waters take a look behind the wall you so tediously constructed and stop hurting us with your childish anger towards all and everything.

It is with, my sincerest, regret that I have to swallow my pride and say that: Roger Waters are still one of the best writers of contemporary music, since the war .

So I conclude with the words of Syd Barrett and hope that the message reaches you:

“…The madcap laughed at the man on the border.”

Inspiration and reference literature for this essay:

Who the hell does Roger Waters think he is?
Tom Hibbert for Q magazine. November 1992

Lost in the woods – Syd Barrett and the Pink Floyd
Julian Palacios, Boxtree Publishing, 1998

Lyrical extracts from ‘Octopus’ by Syd Barrett.

Thanks to: Nils and Daniel for inspiring this work with our in-joke:

The reason Syd Barrett went mad, was that Roger Waters was
taking up all the time at the psychiatrist discussing his father…

And the two Rogers (Keith Barrett and Waters) for raising hell

Alexander Ahlstrand - 2000-09-28

The Greatest Pink Floyd Hoax of Them All

Please sit down for a while. Empty your thoughts toward the Pink Floyd, forget all the stories that have been told. Cleanse your mind and in the words of the late Publius use all means of communication.

I will pose a question to the reader that may come as the complete opposite to all that you have known / thought / believed.

I sat down in front of my table top computer a couple of months ago, with a thought Roaming in the back of my head: What the hell is wrong with Roger Waters? My finds were rather unique (in the terms of Pink Floyd scholars), not that they could be proved to the extent that they would be acceptable, but they (hopefully) proved to raise a question about the Roger Waters we do not see.

My finds has since then been interesting. A noteable remark toward myself is that I have not mentioned a possible use of drugs on the behalf on Roger Waters; therefor I might as well take the time in this introduction to fill out a gap.

It all begins with a superb bootleg recording of the Floyd live 1975 in Boston note that It is a remarkably good recording of the mid-70’s tour. There was one little thing that struck me when I heard it the very first time. Something happens in the introduction to ’Shine on...’ (That’s track nr. 3 on the CD, just about 1.30 into the song). Accompanied by the droning synth by Rick Wright, Roger Waters steps up to the mike. He says: This one.... then there is a sound that sounds like corss between Roger choking and his usual gutteral screams. He continues and finishes the introduction with ...this one’s called ’Shine on your crazy diamond..’

It maybe hard to visualize the scenario if you do not have the recording at hand, but I can swear that it is the first and certainly the only time I’ve heard Roger Waters make such a sound. The thing the struck me is that I’ve heard the sound before... Now you maybe confused but I have heard exactly the same sounds (Choke and gagging) come from my neighbour. That I know must seem absurd, but there is a conclussion. My neighbour has a severe porblem with ticks due to a long abuse of amphetamines. I think you know what I’m getting at here, but there is also evidence To support my though. Let’s relitterate: Roger Waters on stage 1975 makes the noice of someone that most likely would have used drugs (Prior to the show) or as an alternative, would have a neuroligical disorder, and if such where the case, wouldn’t someone have noted this in some form of ticks and other tell-tale signs?

Back to the evidence and I would like to remark that you should almost read the interview before passing a judgement (Links can be found at the bottom of the page). The source is an interview with Roger Waters over satellite. In the sequence I’ve noted the topic is the Wall and it’s contents. Waters has just been posed the question:

Q: Did this have anything to do with your actual life, or you know, our early life?

And his answer is:

”Yeah it is it is partially uh autobiographical... I've taken. It’s... it's a lot about my early life... I mean my father being killed and all that stuff, and. And some of it's about Syd and some of it's drawn from other experiences, you know... writing a piece like that's a bit like... I suppose writing a novel, or writing anything - you draw largely from your own experience, but also from other peoples that you know well”.

Note that in the very being Roger seems to be saying something that he later regrets and halts: ”I’ve taken...”. What?

What ever the final part of the statement may be is something we most likely never will get to hear. But it seems to me that if one knew that Roger Waters have taken drugs that to such extent cause nervous ticks, then there is a very good possibility to explain the erratic behaviour Roger display in the later half of the 1970, all the way up to the wall. The link to Syd Barrett suddenly seems more visible, and yet there is the great Pink Floyd Hoax.

This should, by all means, be taken with a good grain of salt and /or scepticism. As in my essay prior to this I toy a great deal with the concepts, as in the case of the Publius, there may be a thread of truth running through the essay, but it would be most unlikely if not to say impossible to prove ’my point’, as it is the opposite of the established fact.

When one receive a book of modern mythology and folklore one will find plausible explanations to what the myth may be based upon. One if therefore encouraged not to believe anything one hears. I suspect that the myths without the opposite are the ones most likely to be taken 100% for granted. For example; the myth of Floyd performing live at the Pyramids on new years eve 1999. Proved to be a faked rumour, but everyone wanted to believe it and since there was no opposite, in this case, official statements It was taken for granted, all the way to the end. Others have flourished with the same power for years and years, not only in the case of Floyd but also for many others.

The one I’ve grown interested in is the one of Syd Barrett, of course. The heroic tale of the 60’s genius that simply just went away. One of the first things that strike me is the mix of memories you find printed in memories and books. Memories of a severely disturbed lunatic taking quantum masses of hallucinogens and doing things that astounds decades afterwards. Memories of a mild, mannered, as oppose to the legend, intelligent artist. There is a shroud of histories and tales covering the man Roger Keith Barrett. Most of these tales sanctioned by publishers, without the direct aid of anyone close to the present day Roger Barrett, stories told by the remaining band-members who have not seen the man for 20 odd years. And so on...

Roger Barrett is the puzzle all seems to leave unsolved. Why is that?

Well, first of all. No one sees the fate of Roger Barrett as a puzzle. He went Gaga and moved home. To me the puzzle seems clear enough if one might place the tale of Roger Barrett next to those with whom he so often is compared. I’m speaking about Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys, and Peter Green of the Fleetwood Mac amongst many. I don’t know much about Green but the thing that strikes me with Brian Wilson is that he’s mental state has been widely speculated and publicised through the years and this because of his close ties to his band and his own recollection of the years gone by. As far as I know has Peter Green provided the same link to the lost years. Both Wilson and Green have both returned into the limelight to face the demand for an explanation, and just this has made it clear to the audience what most likely happened through the period they were indispensable as have many of the myths concerning the behaviour and otherwise been confirmed as unsubstantiated rumours.

If Roger where to go public again, what would he say? And how many of our most determined beliefs would be shattered in the process? Would he still be the Madcap?

I honestly don’t think so. The Barrett legend has sustained its force by the lack of inside information. Most of the books written about Roger/Syd spin on the usual myths without the urge to debunking them. Julian Palcious did good work when he partly belittled the myth by posing the question: What exactly went wrong?

But what Palcious as all others doesn’t recognize is the question: Does he have to be mad? I feel that the whole story in many ways have been blown out of proportions. The explanation could be very simple really!

Syd Barrett was a one hit wonder. Initially cut out to be a painter, he found himself engaged in a pop group playing infantile music and singing nursery rhymes. All who ever have been engaged in any form of art making know the wish of making it big time. Syd Barrett and his Pink Floyd began in rather modest scales, developed into one of Britain’s finest psychedelic acts. This factor of fame could easily be contributed to the fact that what the Floyd played in the mid-60s was groundbreaking music, but note that it doesn’t have to be exclusively positive. In the primal days of Psychedelia, I believe, that the concept was so new that the whole scene had to be improvised. Therefore the Floyds experimental cacophony gained its ground, based on vague concepts of the movement and archetypal rebelliousness of the time, as did the Sex Pistols gain ground a decade later, without any obvious skill or talent for that matter. In other words the fitted the emotions and demands at the time.

It is to be taken serious that Syd Barrett took LSD. But then again who didn’t and all did funny things on their high. There is a vague idea of Syd being a drug-crazed maniac, an idea stimulated by the many myths surrounding his disappearance. Syd Barrett used drugs, but no one can be sure to such extent that it explains his fall. As mentioned before Syd could very well have been a one hit wonder. ’The Piper at the gates of dawn’ stands remarkable, as does the singles from the period. But what comes next.... He wasn’t actively engaged in the making of ’Saucerful of Secrets’, ’The Madcap Laughs’ seems very tired to me (more of a demo collection than an album). ’Barrett’ gained on the help of David Gilmour and Soft Machine, but it showed in no way the spirit and mentality Barrett had possessed on ’Piper’. After that Syd stepped down and disappeared back to the suburbs of Cambridge.

One might speculate if the true reason for Syd’s retreat can be contributed to a lack of musical creativity and boredom with the music business (It is known to be harsh). The strange thing is that in a 1971 Barrett interview for the Melody Maker, Syd seems focused and controlled as always. When asked about ”Acid” he actually makes no indication towards the expected reply. Syd talks in the manner of a intellectual young man who as he puts it: ”I work in a cellar, down in a cellar”. Perhaps Syd just decided to abandon his stage persona and go back to live as he preferred?

Suddenly I wonder as to why this seems so wrong? And it’s easy. I have been bread on the tale of the lunatic Syd Barrett who went off the deep end and saw gods in all shapes and sizes. It seems a long way from Syd Barrett onstage persona for Roger Barrett who just found that he had no songs left in him and left the stardom to become a painter. But again wasn’t this the same thing that happened to Don Van Vliet a.k.a Captain Beefheart? What if Roger Barrett suddenly realised that Syd was
dying? What would and could he do?

David Bowie killed Ziggy Stardust and remerged as ’David Bowie’ or did he? Then again David Bowie is just the facade for David Jones and David Jones lives a quite life outside the limelight preoccupying himself as a painter.

Then if Roger Barrett isn’t mentally ill, why doesn’t he come forth? That question seems rather easy. Roger Barrett has a good life today. He earns royalties and lives secluded from the public eye. If Roger Barrett were to suddenly appear and say: ’Hi! I’m Syd Barrett and I’m just fine!’, all hell, I suspect, were to break lose and the peace he has today would be shattered. Fact is that Syd Barrett is equally or even more popular today than he was in the 60’s. The consequences of Syd appearing year 2000 would mobilize a small army of fans hoping to ask questions and chat with him, and I shall not mention the press!

I propose the idea that Roger Barrett is mentally as good as one can be, living in Cambridge, painting and silently watching his former co-workers roam the globe. I would even go to the extent to say that Roger participate in the cult surrounding him in certain ways, with great amusement.

My conclusion is that we only believe what we choose to believe. If we’re being told the same story over and over again we end up believing it, and perhaps this is the reason why Syd Barrett is such a madcap and the man behind him, Roger Barrett, is unknown?

Syd Barrett - Old Shoes

Something written by the Laughing Madcaps' own Jean-Grégoire Royer waaaaay back in 2000!

At least once in a lifetime you wake up and think now is the time: you are going to do something forever. Some get married, others stop smoking, and a very limited number of people actually have a real idea of their own. Among them, some create while others somehow create meaning out of the former’s creation; they try to make sense out of it. It is, of course, much more gratifying, as far as the historical record is concerned, to be part of the first group than of the second.

However, overall, it is also much less risky and tiring to belong to the second. No surgeon ever suffered as much as a mother giving birth did. The same thing applies to the critic. Furthermore, that second group is where the power lies. Creation is always too violent in itself. We need to be protected from it and what keeps us safe is the sense we make of it. Moreover, most of the time, the sense we make does not come directly from us but from the critics. They act like shields.

When I first came into contact with Syd Barrett, I had never heard such a thing before. It was strong, undiluted and dangerous. Moreover, whether because I needed a shield to be protected from that danger or because I was a daredevil and wanted to go further, I started looking for more about Syd Barrett. And as there is not much actually in the way of music, I had to make do with words or pictures.

All I know then is what I have been told, what I have read or seen. There are precious few interviews of Syd Barrett, some articles, one or two biographies, and a chapter at the beginning of each of the numerous books that have been written about the Pink Floyd. There are now quite a number of web sites, some offering copies or excerpts from the former, some boasting exclusive documents (there’s one interview of his nephew!). There have been bootlegs, pictures, T-shirts, badges. At one point you could even buy a box set with his first solo album, plus a beautiful collection of photographs, plus a yellow satin shirt like the one he wore on the rear cover of that very album. They have even gone so far as to release a best of ! Some day, somewhere, there may also be a Pink Floyd anthology, a statue and a museum and a Syd Barrett church or temple, who knows?

For the time being what I have at my disposal is a bunch of songs and some (not all) of the items quoted above. And what do you think I know that I did not know or could not have imagined the first time I listened to him? Well, there is Lindsay Korner. And the Mandrax incident. And the lost year. Stars. The bleeding finger. The cellar incident. And the Chelsea cloisters. The dust and guitars. The 1978 photo of a balding beer-bellied Roger. If you put it all together chronologically, it points out to a most extraordinary story. I mean what is more endearing than a fallen angel ? It is both utterly good and so evil. It is all so human after all.

I can remember a time when I was definitely obsessed with this story. Like any of us, I would sometimes dream about it. There was a mysterious record shop where they had all the unreleased tracks. And I bought everything, spent hours simply watching the sleeves, reading the notes (some pieces were part of the home-made demos!) before I listened to the songs themselves and that was far above anything you would imagine. Or was that, really? When I woke up there would be nothing left of course.

This dream was recurrent. It actually lasted until I went to Cambridge. What happened in fact is that I was in charge of a group of students on a holiday camp in the Fens. And there was this visit to Cambridge : punting, a picnic in a park, the visit of an art museum and about two hours of free time. The latter was all I had been waiting for. It started pretty well : there was a record fair on Marketsquare (imagine that, on Marketsquare !!!). Unfortunately, most of what you could find was legal recordings and, what’s more, mostly hits of the period (late 80’s, Sting, Phil Collins, that sort of thing…). There was only just one stall where they had " 60’s " stuff.

I browsed and browsed and found nothing of real interest. Kind of upset (I was losing precious time) I asked the guy if he had any recording by Syd Barrett (I’m French, it was the first time I had come to England and my English was still rather basic, so I pronounced Syd Beret). He looked at me like I had just arrived from outer space. " Pardon ?", he said. "Syd Beret", I insisted, "former member of Pink Floyd" ! And then the guy turned green, well light green actually, and upped it a bit so that everybody around stopped talking and looked at me : "Syd Barrett", he said, "he’s fallen off his trolley man, leave him alone". And that was it. He then he simply refused to listen to me.

I was as good as dead : cold sweat, blushing so hard as I stumbled my way out of the crowd. Next thing I realized I only had an hour and a half left. I walked past a post office, had second thoughts, made a U-turn and entered the office. Opened a directory. Barrett. There were like 40 people called Barrett in Cambridge. None of them Roger. Then I looked for "Andy’s records". I had heard that Syd was always welcome when he went there. It took me some time to locate it on a map but I finally found it and walked out of the office hurriedly, thinking things like "I’m treading the backward path" or "I’m going far further than you could possibly go". Imagine Syd Barrett walking up and down these very streets, high heeled boots, bell bottoms, an alligator leather coat, cropped hair. Then he enters the shop. Two floors. Lots and lots of records.

But forget it ! There is no Barrett record there. Not even the legal ones. So, I go out of the shop and I realize I have less than an hour left. And then there is this huge bookshop. I get in. There is a board telling you that there is a music and fanzine department on the lower ground floor. I browse again, hoping to come across an issue of Terrapin or Dark Globe or something. But there is nothing. So, I go to the counter and ask my question again, this time paying real attention to my accent. "Syd Barrett ? uh", the guy says, "Oh, I see ! Well, I’m afraid we do not have anything worthy of note here, but go to the hifi department and ask for Mark Richardson, he might have something". Thank you very much indeed, says I, thinking to myself that I have been undergoing some sort of test all the way. This is it now, I have passed the final test, I am going to be handed the pearl !

It so happens that the hifi department is not within the same building. It is another shop altogether, and not very far from Andy’s records, am I told! It is now a matter of minutes before I have to go back to my group of students. I start to run. I see the shop, I come in. Breathless. Mark Richardson please. Wait a minute please, he is not available right now. Then I hear someone flushing the toilet. Here comes my man. I tell him the whole story. The guy’s about Syd Barrett’s age I believe, kind of stiff upper lip. He remains silent for a few second and says, "I have a pamphlet at home. I could send it to you if you like. What is your address? ".

I offered to give him some stamps or some money. He bluntly refused. We shook hands and I raced back to my group and bus and Fens. A few weeks later, back home, I received a huge envelope through the mail. And this is what I found : the Making of the Madcap Laughs, by Malcolm Jones, two newspaper clippings from the early seventies covering the release of "Barrett " (one, headlined: "profile", appears inside the 1974 double album edition), and a badge with an octopus on it. Plus a short handwritten letter. It sort of boiled down to what I had been told at the record stall: “Leave him alone".

I immediately wrote back to Mark Richardson. A long letter. I wanted more. Actually, I wanted to understand why so many people in Cambridge had seemed reluctant to simply talk about Syd Barrett. Was there a sort of secret police in charge of his protection?

Mark Richardson never answered. And I thank him again, not only for sending me this “pamphlet” (back in 1989 you couldn’t find such a thing so easily), but primarily for keeping silent.

Silence does not mean consent. Silence makes good room for music. If you like Syd Barrett, listen to him. You need nothing and no one else. So I played the Madcap Laughs as I read Malcolm Jones’s account of its making. And everything it taught me was already there. Or almost. All this frenzied search for something else from or about Syd Barrett suddenly proved pointless. I should have stayed home and listened more carefully.

Still, something from Jones’s pamphlet caught my attention. He had added a few notes at the end of his text. The Pink Floyd recording sheet and the gig sheet to be precise. It is there that I learned there was quite a lot of unreleased Floyd material “still languishing in the vaults ". It dawned on me while peering at those sheets that no sooner had Piper been released than the Floyd began to rehearse new numbers with Syd, probably with a view to making another album. And this came as a shock. The common idea is that “if he had stayed with the Floyd, they’d have died an ignominious death” (1). You know what that means : Syd was supposedly unable to write new material, he couldn’t or wouldn’t play on stage but stood there staring blankly at the audience, refused to lip-synch Emily on American Bandstand, would spend hours dazed and confused, would sometimes have fits of anger… They had to get rid of him or simply disappear with him. But why talk of death or disappearance when a group is still booking studio time to rehearse and record new songs?

We have all heard some of these songs (One in a million, Scream thy Last Scream, Vegetable Man…). We like them, we cherish them but it is also very difficult, indeed almost impossible “to divorce them from their creator’s personal trauma ", as Brian Hogg put it as a conclusion to the liner notes accompanying the “Crazy Diamond " box set. In other words, these unreleased recordings, as well as those resulting from former and further sessions, have always been associated, consciously or not, with the notion of failure, owing especially and first of all to the Floyd’s repeated refusal to release them. The rumour has it that the last thing Syd’s Floyd rehearsed was a tune entitled " Have you got it yet ?" which Syd kept changing, supposedly so as to make it impossible for the rest of the band to follow him. Then the chorus would go (Syd) “Have you got it yet?” (the others) “No! No! No".

Whatever happened during this last rehearsal we will never know. And it is the critic’s duty to stick to the facts. The critic is not expected to start commenting other people’s comments. The time has come to ignore the rumour and pay closer attention to the bulk of unreleased material recorded by Syd Barrett. From that viewpoint, the initiative of the Laughing-Madcaps is probably the greatest Syd-related thing that has ever happened since he last walked out of a studio. For the first time we will have at our disposal a documented series of recordings covering the whole span of his career. It is most likely that this will come as a shock if only we listen to this music without prejudice.

Chronologically speaking, it all started without a doubt when the Pink Floyd recorded "Lucy Leave" and "King Bee" in 1965. Typical British Beat from that era, you would think, and yet most promising. Musically, the latter is very much akin to the Rolling Stones’ version, cut two years earlier, but also hints at a rather more mature, almost ambient approach to music. The former is an original number, reminiscent of the Pretty Things. It could easily have been featured on Pebbles vol.5, along with recordings by the Fairies for instance. At the same time, what immediately stands out at first hearing are the lyrics: as soon as Syd starts singing you realize something new is taking shape. Things are on the move.

Then we have the "Tonight Let’s all Make Love in London" soundtrack Two long instrumentals that do more than keep the promise of the 1965 recordings. The R&B patterns have given way to something unheard of at the time : free form ambient rock. It has often been underlined that the Floyd were not the first to develop that musical style. Some even said that those two instrumentals are directly influenced by an obscure underground group known as Amm. Amm were actually much closer to the French electronic avant-garde of the late 50’s (Pierre Henry…) than to the Rock scene. The early Pink Floyd sound actually bears more resemblance to mainstream sounds. Mick Farren, singer with the Deviants and Rock critic, once described it as an extended version of a middle section from a song by the Who. But anybody can also trace the origin of that sound back to the 1950’s and the Shadows. Syd’s guitar playing is as pure as Hank Marvin’s, only it is free from any rule.

At the same recording session, the Pink Floyd also cut " Arnold Layne " and "Let’s Roll another one". Both are close in content to the 1965 recordings. It is still a very basic R&B sound or Pop sound but it is as though that sound was living a life of its own, bridging a gap between the present and the future. And, once again, what stands out is the lyrics. Anybody who has tried to play these songs has no doubt realized the importance of the lyrics. If you do not sing along, the music does not seem to make much sense. I remember my guitar teacher’s reaction when I asked him to show me how to play "Astronomy Domine" and the rest of the Floyd’s early material. He would go like " Wow ! That is a riff ", and then "What does that mean ? There is one bar too many!".

It is striking that we never pay real attention to Syd Barrett’s songwriting. Throughout his short career, he remained a lyricist rather than a musician. It is true that his lyrics are for the greatest part so abstruse, as it were, that you will inevitably tend to take no heed of them, indeed sometimes ignore them. But from the creative viewpoint, they are the moving force behind his work. It is blatant with any song from the Piper. Even on Waters’ "Stethoscope ", his playing is modeled on the main melodic line and develops as a variation to it.

The Floyd spent the first half of 1967 recording that album and their second single. For some of their early fans, among which you could count Pete Townsend, the result was a definite anticlimax. Most of what had made them famous on the underground circuit now boiled down to very short instrumental sections ornamenting powerful pop songs. It stood as the clear evidence of a move on their part towards novelty. One of the last songs they recorded during the Piper sessions is "One in a million" a.k.a. "She was a millionaire" (18.4.67). It has supposedly been erased, but a live version from September 1967 (Star Club, Copenhagen) clearly indicates that at the very moment they were completing their first album, they were already making another move towards a new sound. Change returns success.

During the summer of 1967 their music got slower and heavier, still merging R&B patterns and free form improvisations, but somehow turning them into something akin to what would then become the trademark of the New Yardbirds (listen to their early versions of "Dazed and Confused") and then Led Zeppelin. Other examples of such a move can be found on "Stoned Again" or "Reaction in G".

The question is, was this move a reaction indeed, or the first sign of Syd Barrett’s incapacity to cope with stardom and work the seam that had made his group famous? The answer, once more, is in the recordings. What we have next is a bunch of songs cut at the end of the summer of 1967, and then in late October of the same year. At that time the group had taken a break from their exhausting schedule and then made their first attempt in the USA. These events have been detailed elsewhere and there is no need to go back to them. So the first thing the Floyd came up with after the Piper was "Scream thy Last Scream". What is striking with this song, according to me, is that it stands as a turning point. The song itself is a whimsical ditty, somehow reminiscent of (or should I say heralding) the Beatles’ "What’s the new Maryjane" : if you compare the 3rd and 4th bars of Syd’s song to the recurrent melody of the latter, you will realize they are almost identical (and I am perfectly aware that this is going to start a new series of squabbles over Syd’s possibly taking part in the recording of "Maryjane" !). The arrangement on the other hand is closer to heavy metal than anything else the original Floyd ever recorded. At that point then the group seems to be torn apart.

Next come the Fall sessions, and the desperate search for a third single. Both "Millionaire" and "Old Woman with a Casket" (the original title for "Scream", it seems) had been mentioned as the possible A-side for that single. Why the group chose neither will remain a mystery. Nevertheless they went back to the studio and recorded "Apples and Oranges", once more a move away from the past. This one is a pearl. Everything about it is just about perfect. Only it is definitely not the sort of song you would choose for a single. Is this a mistake on the group’s part ? I would tend to think it is Syd Barrett’s" declaration of independence ", or rather a first draft of it.

At that time Syd was supposed to be totally zonked out of his brains. It has been reported that on the Jimi Hendrix package tour of December 1967, his collaboration to the group had virtually boiled down to nothing. On occasions, he was replaced by Nice lead guitarist David O’List. Still his playing on both sides of the third single as well as on the December Top Gear sessions is nothing less than powerful and purposeful. Or was this just a lull before his final collapse?
Well, then there’s the real "declaration of independence". "Vegetable man", to begin with. Definitely the song that paved the way for his future output: words, nothing but words, and music as a background. From then on indeed, his music would definitely tend towards a soundtrack. This song is impossible to play. It is as close as you can get to the spoken word without entirely crossing the barrier. And what message! "I ‘ve been looking all over the place for a place for me, but it isn’t anywhere, it just isn’t anywhere". Was this a way to announce that the band should split? Or simply asking for a break? Apparently the group then recorded more stuff: "Remember a Day", "John Latham", the soundtrack to the " Committee " (I am not absolutely sure whether Syd recorded it anyway) . There may have been no plan on Syd’s part to ruin things, perhaps only a desire to make it clear to the rest of the group that they needed to agree on which course to follow next.

But then there is the conspiracy. The three others were not going to let go of the goose that lays the golden eggs. They were neither patient enough to wait for Syd to recover. So they hired David Gilmour (Mason told him "things are on the move", but he should have known they had always been…) and one day simply forgot to pick Syd up on their way to the studio. Just like Brian Jones during the Beggar’s Banquet sessions six months later.

Only, Syd had left a message. In his so called "ultimate self diagnosis on a state of schizophrenia" (2), he sings: "I’m grateful to you that you threw away my old shoes and brought me here instead dressed in red". It has been reported that at the time he wrote these lines (October 1967), he was totally unable to look after himself and had to be taken care of by the Floyd. And maybe it was true or partially true. But why should he have written a song to tell the world that that was it, he was through with the band, for the latter is sake? This does not make sense. Instead what is intriguing is the details in Syd’s descriptions of the situation in "Jugband Blues". The band is a "Jugband", to begin with, something rather old fashioned, you would think, and above all ludicrous. And the singer and songwriter waves them goodbye, improvising a blues song of his own making. He has been dressed in red for this final performance. Red is just a colour. But it also happens to be the one that used to be associated with madness in the days of yore (the days when you would listen to jugband music for want of anything worthier of note). In other words, the band makes him out to be mad. And they take care of throwing away his old shoes.

Whadayamean? Maybe there were holes in his (yellow) shoes? Of course not! Every one of us remembers this: Syd used to wear sneakers as a sign of protest against the frivolousness of stardom (read " Groupie " again if you don’t recall this detail or simply watch the photos from 1967). He was no shallow person. Throwing away his shoes meant dishonest compromise. Meant he could not walk straight any longer but just "careen through life".

So he was ousted. And then "his band", for better or for worse, tried to make up for lost time. And they eventually managed to do it. It did not keep Syd from carrying on. The 1968 recordings saw him start work again with a bunch of songs he had supposedly written during the Floyd days. I’ve always wondered if "Clowns and Jugglers " is not actually an early rendition of the mysterious "In the Beechwoods": while the fair is going full swing (the music at that fair is not swing by the way but most probably jugband music…), while the clowns make faces and the jugglers blow hot air, it is definitely more pleasant to go away and hide. "Isn’t it good to be lost in the (beech) woods"?

Lost he was, or may have been, but he found his way back, back to the studio with Malcolm Jones. Jones lays the stress on Syd’s being totally "together" in 1969, even if still whimsical and a bit "offhand" (as Syd later put it himself) about things. His two official albums as well as Opel and the Crazy Diamond box set do not reveal him slowly "falling into an abyss" (3) but still carrying on with his search for a perfect balance between new words and new music. Syd once declared that he was absolutely satisfied with "Wolfpack", and with hindsight there is no denying that this is a masterpiece: mingling jet and statuesque. But he went one step further with "Word Song", and maybe one too far. If "Scream" was a turning point, then "Word Song" is a point of no return. It is his ultimate statement on the pointlessness of his search. Words are unrelated to each other. Meaning is a fraud. It is a truth, which no music whatsoever can hide.

Maybe he felt at that time that he was going nowhere. Then he went back home to Cambridge, got engaged, considered becoming a doctor, broke the engagement, owing to a dog, went back to London, and back to Cambridge, made several ill-starred attempts at a come back, and fell off his trolley.

Isn’t it sort of scary to think that the last thing he recorded with a name on it was entitled "If You Go, Don’t be Slow"?

What the Laughing Madcaps propose is the key to a mystery. What the Laughing Madcaps propose is what I have been dreaming about for so long I don’t even remember. What the Laughing Madcaps propose is a boon. That is why I am honoured to be one of the Laughing Madcaps. From a legal viewpoint this may not be allowable. But who pays for the lawyers apart from those who are responsible for the waste of Syd Barrett’s talent? What do the lawyers do apart from receiving stolen goods? What do they do apart from keeping Syd Barrett’s old shoes locked in a box since the Fall of 1967?

What the Laughing Madcaps propose is to tear open the box. Take the shoes, they are made for walking, put them on and walk on up the road to Syd Barrettdom. To everything there is a season. Today is the beginning of a new one: after the Fall, let it be the Rise.

Jean-Grégoire Royer, La Flèche , France, 12.21.2000

(1)David Gilmour in " Crazy diamond ".
(2)Mike Watkinson in " Crazy Diamond ".
(3)Julian Cope in " Crazy Diamond ".

Syd Barrett Article - You Shone Like the Sun

You Shone Like the Sun - Sunday October 6, 2002, The Observer

Syd Barrett was the prodigiously talented founder of Pink Floyd, but after just two years at the centre of the 60s psychedelic scene, he suffered a massive breakdown and has lived as a recluse ever since. In this extract from his candid new book, Tim Willis tracks him down and pieces together the story of rock's lost icon

Remember when you were young, You shone like the sun. Shine on you crazy diamond. Now there's a look in your eyes, Like black holes in the sky. Shine on you crazy diamond.
Pink Floyd's tribute to Syd Barrett on Wish You Were Here, 1975

The received wisdom is that you don't disturb him.The last interview he gave was in 1971, and from then until now, there are only about 20 recorded encounters of any kind. His family says it upsets him to discuss the days when he was the spirit of psychedelia, beautiful Syd Barrett, the leader of Pink Floyd. He doesn't recognise himself as the shambling visionary who, during an extended nervous breakdown exacerbated by his drug intake, made two solos LPs, Madcap and Barrett , which are as eternally eloquent as Van Gogh's cornfields. He doesn't answer to his 60s nickname now. He's called Roger Barrett, as he was born in 1946.

On a blistering hot day, pacing the cracked tarmac pavement in this suburban Cambridge street, I wonder if I can act honourably by him. When the DJ Nicky Horne doorstepped him in the 80s, Barrett said, 'Syd can't talk to you now.' Perhaps, in his own way, he was telling the truth. But I could talk to him as Roger; ask him if he was still painting, as reported. I could pass on regards from friends he knew before he became Syd.

Two housewives in the street say he ignores their 'Good mornings' when he goes out to buy his Daily Mail and changing brands of fags. Apart from his sister, they don't think he has any visitors - not even workmen. But they don't see why I shouldn't take my chances. It's been a few years since backpackers camped by his gate. 'He didn't open the door for them, and he probably won't for you.'

So I walk up the concrete path of his grey pebble-dashed semi, try the bell and discover that it's disconnected. At the front of the house, all the curtains are open. The side passage is closed to prying eyes by a high gate. I knock on the front door and, after a minute or two, look through the downstairs bay window. Where you might expect a television and a three-piece suite, Barrett has constructed a bare, white-walled workshop. Pushed against the window is a tattered pink sofa. On the hardboard tops, toolboxes are neatly stacked, flexes coiled, pens put away in a white mug.

Then, a sound in the hall. Has he come in from the back garden? Perhaps it needs mowing, like the front lawn - although, judging by the mound of weeds by the path, he's been tidying the beds today.

I knock again, and hear three heavy steps. The door flies open and he's standing there. He's stark naked except for a small, tight pair of bright-blue Y-fronts; bouncing, like the books say he always did, on the balls of his feet.

He bars the doorway with one hand on the jamb, the other on the catch. His resemblance to Aleister Crowley in his Cefalu period is uncanny; his stare about as welcoming...

In 1988, the News of the World quoted the writer Jonathan Meades who, 20 years before had visited a South Kensington flat that Barrett shared with a bright, druggie clique from his home town of Cambridge. 'This rather weird, exotic and mildly famous creature was living in this flat with these people who to some extent were pimping off him, both professionally and privately,' said Meades. 'There was this terrible noise. It sounded like the heating pipes shaking. I said, "What's that?" and [they] sort of giggled and said, "That's Syd having a bad trip. We put him in the linen cupboard."'

It's a common motif in the Barrett legend: the genius mistreated, forced to endure unspeakable mental anguish for the fun of his fairweather friends. But it's not necessarily true. There are some terrible tales from that flat in Egerton Court. But on this occasion, as flatmate Aubrey 'Po' Powell remembers it, 'Pete Townshend used to come there, and Mick and Marianne. It was an incredibly cool scene. Jonty Meades was a hanger-on, a straight cat just out of school. I'm sure we told him that version of events - but only to wind him up.'

Similarly, Barrett's lover and flatmate at the time, Lindsay Corner, denies the stories that he locked her in her room for three days, feeding her biscuits under the door, then smashed a guitar over her head. This time, however, three other residents swear he did: 'I remember pulling Syd off her,' says Po. And that's the trouble with the whole Barrett business. There are witness accounts by people who weren't there, those who were there disagree - half of them, being as totally off their faces as Barrett was, must have a question mark over their evidence. If you can remember the 60s, as they say...

By October 1966, Barrett was already well on the way to stardom. Pink Floyd supported the Soft Machine's experimental jazz-rock at the IT magazine launch party, a 2,000-strong happening in the disused Roundhouse theatre, featuring acid aplenty, Marianne Faithfull dressed as a nun in a pussy-pelmet, and Paul McCartney disguised as an Arab. There was a giant jelly and a Pop Art-painted Cadillac, a mini-cinema and a performance piece by Yoko Ono.

'All apparently very psychedelic,' sniffed The Sunday Times of the Floyd, thus encouraging hundreds of difficult teenagers to check out their new residency at the All Saints Hall in Ladbroke Grove.

Now once- or twice-weekly, the shows took time to take off. Barrett's friend Juliet Wright remembers an occasion when there were so few punters that Barrett movingly recited Hamlet's 'To be or not to be' soliloquy onstage. But soon ravers were crossing London for the lights and the weirdness, titillated by music-press adverts using Timothy Leary's phrase of 'Turn on, Tune in, Drop out'. With Barrett's nursery-rhyme freak-outs lasting 40 minutes each, the Floyd become known as Britain's first 'psychedelic' band.

Apart from playing a packed live schedule, the Floyd were in pursuit of a recording contract, rehearsing and making rough demos. Floyd gig promoter Joe Boyd, who had production experience, took them into a studio in late January. Barrett had written 'Arnold Layne' by then, and perfected the relentless riff of 'Interstellar Overdrive'. EMI - the same label as the Beatles - signed them up on the basis of these demos, nominating 'Arnold' as the first single. Barrett was delighted. 'We want to be pop stars,' he said, gladly grinning for cheesy publicity shots of the band high-kicking on the street. However, by the beginning of April, he was already railing in the music papers against record-company executives who were pressing him for more commercial material.

He was even less cheery by the end of the month. Six weeks before, 'Arnold Layne' had been released. This jolly tale of Barrett's childhood pal and later Pink Floyd member Roger Waters's mum's washing-line raider was helped up the charts by a ban from Radio London, due to its lyrics about transvestism. But Barrett had grown to hate playing note-perfect, three-minute renditions on stage. On 22 April it reached number 20, its highest position. On 29 April, Barrett was still playing it, at Joe Boyd's UFO club at dawn and on a TV show in Holland that evening. The band then drove back to London to headline at 3am in Britain's biggest happening ever, the '14 Hour Technicolor Dream' at the cavernous Alexandra Palace.

It was a druggy affair. Floyd's co-manager Peter Jenner was certainly tripping that night, and Barrett is said to have been. John Lennon, Brian Jones and Jimi Hendrix were among those who played to a 10,000-strong audience. There were 40 bands, dancers in strobe shows, a helter-skelter and a noticeboard made of lightbulbs which displayed messages like 'Vietnam Is A Sad Trip'. The Floyd came on as the sun's pink fingers touched the huge eastern window. Barry Miles, the 60s chronicler, reported: 'Syd's eyes blazed as his notes soared up into the strengthening light, as the dawn was reflected in his famous mirror-disc Telecaster [or rather, Esquire].' The truth was less rosy. Barrett was tired, so terribly tired.

There's a horrible ring of truth to Barrett's old college friend Sue Kingsford's contention that, in 1967, Barrett would regularly visit her in Beaufort Street, to score from a heavy acid dealer in the basement called 'Captain Bob'. It certainly sounds more likely than the rumours that Barrett's camp-followers were lacing his tea with LSD. Kingsford's boyfriend Jock says: 'Spiking was a heinous crime. You just wouldn't do it. There was a ritual to acid-taking those days - a peaceful scene, good sounds.'

Cambridge pal and future Floyd member David Gilmour reckons: 'Syd didn't need encouraging. If drugs were going, he'd take them by the shovelful.' Gilmour tends to agree with something fellow Camridgian and Floyd's bassist Waters once said that 'Syd was being fed acid.' But Sue Kingsford giggles: 'We were all feeding it to each other... It was a crazy time.' Despite her attachment to Jock, she had a one-night stand with Barrett. 'We were tripping,' she explains.

Ah, but what does she mean by tripping? Another of Barrett's Cambridge friends, Andrew Rawlinson, comments: 'Acid in those days was five times stronger than today's stuff. On a proper trip, you might take 250 micrograms. But a faction believed in taking 50mcg every day. [There was even a popular hippy-handbook on the subject.] On that, you could function - you might even appear normal - but you couldn't initiate much.'

Perhaps that was Barrett's way. But if he had actually taken a proper dose of acid at the Technicolor Dream then it was a fairly rare event. He simply didn't have the time for anything stronger than dope - which he did smoke in copious quantities. And maybe for a few Mandrax, the hypnotic tranquillisers which, if one can ride the first wave of tiredness, induced an opiate-like buzz when swallowed with alcohol. In legend, 'Mandies make you randy.' They may have appealed to Barrett because they were fashionable in the late 60s - or because they stopped his mind from spinning.

The band weren't worried by his behaviour, yet Syd was Syd. And if, by the end of May, people who hadn't seen Barrett for a while thought he had changed, his month had started well. On 12 May 1967 the band played the 'Games for May' concert at the Queen Elizabeth Hall. Barrett wrote an early version of 'See Emily Play' for the event, which was essentially a normal concert bookended by some pretentious bits. The Floyd introduced a rudimentary quad sound-system, played taped noises from nature and had a liquid red light show. Mason was amplified sawing a log. Waters threw potatoes at a gong. The roadies pumped out thousands of soap bubbles and one of them, dressed as an admiral, threw daffodils into the stalls. The mess earnt the Floyd a ban from the hall and a favourable review from The Financial Times.

On 2 June, the Floyd played Joe Boyd's UFO after a two-month absence. Though the other band members were friendly, Boyd said Barrett 'just looked at me. I looked right in his eye and there was no twinkle, no glint... you know, nobody home.' Visiting London from France, David Gilmour dropped in on the recording of 'Emily': 'Syd didn't seem to recognise me and he just stared back,' he says. 'He was a different person from the one I'd last seen in October.' Was he on drugs, though? 'I'd done plenty of acid and dope - often with Syd - and that was different from how he had become.'

Touring the provinces in July, like the rest of the band, Barrett resented the beery mob baying for 'Arnold' and 'Emily'. The Floyd even wrote a white-noise number called 'Reaction in G' to express their feelings. But Barrett's inner reaction was harder to fathom. With his echo-machines on full tilt, he might detune his Fender until its strings were flapping, and hit one note all night. He might stand with his arms by his side, the guitar hanging from his neck, staring straight ahead, while the others performed as a three-piece.

Perhaps Barrett was making a statement. Perhaps he was pushing his experimental notions of 'music-of-the-moment' to new boundaries. Whatever else, he was now seriously mentally ill. And almost certainly he suspected it himself.

After a couple of further concert debacles, Jenner and his partner Andrew King were forced to act. Though their debut LP Piper at the Gates of Dawn was released on 4 August, Blackhill cancelled the next three weeks' gigs and arranged a holiday for Barrett and Corner on the Balearic island of Formentera. Hutt and Rick Wright would be chaperones, accompanied by their partners and Hutt's baby son. Waters and his wife would be in Ibiza. When Melody Maker learnt of this, their front-page splash read: 'Pink Floyd Flake Out'.

2 November 1967, US mini-tour. Pink Floyd were not prepared for the American way. They had expected the San Francisco scene to be similar to Britain's. Instead, they found themselves in humungous venues like the Winterland, supporting such blues bands as Big Brother and the Holding Company (led by Janis Joplin). The three nights they played with Joplin, they borrowed her lighting because their own seemed too weedy. The crowd weren't into feedback or English whimsy - acid-inspired or not. Barrett was off the map, and when he did play, it was to a different tune.

At the beginning of the week his hair had been badly permed at Vidal Sassoon, and he was distraught. The greased-up 'punk' style with which he'd been experimenting would be better. Waters remembers that in the dressing-room at the Cheetah Club in Santa Monica, Barrett suddenly called for a tin of Brylcreem and tipped the whole lot on his head. As the gunk melted, it slipped down his face until Barrett resembled 'a gutted candle'. Producing a bottle of Mandrax, he crushed them into the mess before taking the stage. David Gilmour says he 'still can't believe that Syd would waste good Mandies'. But a lighting man called John Marsh, who was also there, confirms the story. Girls in the front row, seeing his lips and nostrils bubbling with Brylcreem, screamed. He looked like he was decomposing onstage. Faced with this farce, some of the band and crew abandoned themselves to drink, drugs, groupies and the sights. When they arrived in Los Angeles, Barrett had forgotten his guitar, which caused much cost and fuss. 'It's great to be in Las Vegas,' he said to a record company man in Hollywood. He fell into a swimming-pool and left his wet clothes behind.

The Floyd survived the tour by the skin of their teeth. On TV's Pat Boone Show, where they did 'Apples and Oranges', Barrett was happy to mime in rehearsals - but live he ignored the call to 'Action' four or five times, leaving Waters to fill in. Asked what he liked in the after-show chat, Barrett replied... after a dreadful pause... 'America!', which made the audience whoop. On American Bandstand and the Perry Como Show, he did not move his lips, to speak or mime.
Finishing their commitments on the West Coast, the band began thinking of how to replace or augment him. The next day, they were in Holland, handing Barrett notes in the hope that he would talk to them. The day after, they were bus-bound on a British package tour with Hendrix, the Move, Amen Corner, the Nice and others, playing two 17-minute sets a night for three weeks, with three days off in middle.Though he had worked harder, the schedule was too much for Barrett. Onstage, he was unable to function. Sometimes he failed to show up and the Nice's Dave O'List stood in for him. Once, Jenner had to stop him escaping by train.

Barrett did play occasional blinders through out the autumn of 1967, but these instances were as unpredictable as spring showers, and the band's hopes that he might 'return' dimmed. The Floyd stumbled through to Christmas, while the three other band members hatched a plan: they would ask David Gilmour to join the group to cover lead guitar and vocals while their sick colleague could do what he wanted, so long as he stood onstage.

Barrett couldn't care less, and Gilmour, broke, bandless and driving a van for a living - was known to be not only a terrific guitarist but also a wonderful mimic of musical parts. Drummer Nick Mason had already sounded him out when they ran into each other at a gig in Soho. On 3 January 1968, Gilmour accepted a try-out. The band had a week booked in a north London rehearsal hall before going back on the road.

Four gigs followed in the next fortnight, with Barrett contributing little. He looks happy enough in a cine-clip from the time, joining in with the lads for a tap-dance in a dressing-room. 'But in reality,' says Gilmour, 'he was rather pathetic.' On the day of the fifth gig the others were driving south from a business meeting in central London. As they drove, one of them - no one remembers who - asked, 'Shall we pick up Syd?' 'Fuck it,' said the others. 'Let's not bother.' Barrett, who probably didn't notice that night, would never work again with the band that he had crafted in his image. And they never quite put him out of their minds.

Not that their minds were made up. Though the Floyd would go on to huge fame and fortune, at the time they believed they probably had a few months left of milking psychedelia before ignominious disbandment. Barrett, as Waters says, was the 'goose that had laid the golden egg'. Now their frontman had become such a liability on tour, they would rather appear without their main attraction than risk his involvement.

However, Barrett still had the band's schedule. Waters remembers him turning up with his guitar at 'an Imperial College gig, I think, and he had to be very firmly told that he wasn't coming on stage with us'. At the Middle Earth, wearing all his Chelsea threads, he positioned himself in front of the low stage and stared at Gilmour throughout his performance. Now he had to watch his old college friend playing his licks. Undoubtedly, he felt hurt by this treatment.

Though the money from Piper came rolling in, Barrett's work went completely to pot. Jenner took him into the Abbey Road studios several times between May and July 1968, bringing various musicians and musical friends to help out, but achieved next to nothing.

Barrett was all over the place - forgetting to bring his guitar to sessions, breaking equipment to EMI's displeasure. Sometimes he couldn't even hold his plectrum. He was in a state, and had little new material. Jenner had the experience neither as a person not as a producer to coax anything out of him. By August, he and King were having less and less to do with Barrett - which could equally be said of the other lodgers in Egerton Court.

According to flatmate Po, 'Syd could still be very funny and lucid, but he could also be uncommunicative. Staring. Heavy, you know?'

In the spring of 1968, Roger Walters had talked to the hip psychiatrist RD Laing. He had even dri ven Barrett to an appointment: 'Syd wouldn't get out. What can you do?' In the intervening months, however, Barrett became less hostile to the idea of treatment. So Gale placed a call to Laing and Po booked a cab. But with the taxi-meter ticking outside, Barrett refused to leave the flat.

By the autumn of 68, he was homeless. Periodically he returned to Cambridge, where his mother Win fretted, urged him to see a doctor, and blindly hoped for the best. In London, he crashed on friends' floors - and began the midnight ramblings which would continue for two years.

By the mid 70s, the Syd Barrett Appreciation Society had folded, due to 'lack of Syd'. But he wasn't quite invisible. In 1977, ex-girlfriend Gala Pinion was in a supermarket on the Fulham Road. 'Where are you going, then?' he said. 'I'm going to buy you a drink.' They went for a drink, and he invited her back to his flat. Once there, 'He dropped his trousers and pulled out his cheque book,' says Pinion. 'How much do you want?' he asked. 'Come on, get your knickers down.'

Gala made her excuses and left, never to see him again. However, even as an invisible presence, he loomed large. The previous year, punk rock had appeared and the King's Road had become heartland. Without success, the Sex Pistols, their manager Malcolm McLaren and their art director Jamie Reid tried to contact Barrett, to ask him to produce their first album. The Damned hoped he would produce their second, realised it was impossible and settled for the Floyd's Nick Mason ('Who didn't have a clue', according to the band's bassist Captain Sensible).

Barrett continued to do as little and spend as much as ever. Bankrupt, he left London for Win's new Cambridge home in 1981.

From then until now, only a handful of encounters with Barrett have been reported first-hand, but some facts have come to light. An operation on his ulcer meant that Barrett lost much of his excess weight. Win thought he should keep himself occupied, so Roger Waters's mother Mary found him a gardening job with some wealthy friends. At first he prospered but, during a thunderstorm, he threw down his tools and left.

By this time, he was just calling himself 'Roger'. In 1982, his finances restored, he booked into the Chelsea Cloisters for a few weeks, but found he disliked London. He heard the voice of freedom and he followed - walking back to Cambridge, where he was found on Win's doorstep - and leaving his dirty laundry behind.

The circumstances of his final return to Cambridge were rightly interpreted by his family as a 'cry for help' and he agreed to spend a spell in Fulbourne psychiatric hospital. (It has often been said, on the grounds that he has an 'odd' mind, rather than a sick one.) He continued for a while as an outpatient at Fulbourne, with no trouble.

Barrett has never been sectioned. He has never had to take drugs for his mental health, except after one or two uncontrollable fits of anger, when he was admitted to Fulbourne and administered Largactyl. However, he has received other treatments. In the early 80s, he spent two years in a charitable institution, Greenwoods, in Essex. At this halfway house for lost souls, he joined in group and other forms of therapy, and was very content. But after an imagined slight, he walked out - again all the way to Win's house. The increasingly frail Win moved in with her daughter Roe and her husband Paul Breen, according to Mary Waters, 'because she was so scared of his outbursts'.

Some people think Barrett suffers from Asperger's Syndrome. It certainly seems he can't be bothered to think about anything that doesn't directly affect him. He kept rabbits and cats for a while but forgot to feed them, so they had to be sent to more caring homes. Thereafter, the only intimate contacts he maintained were with Win and Roe. Otherwise, he seems to have lost the habit - and become wary - of human interaction, limiting himself to encounters with shop assistants and his sympathetic GP, whose surgery has become a second home. He was - and is still - in and out of hospital for his ulcers.

Paul Breen revealed that his brother-in-law was 'painting again', and meeting his mother in town for shopping trips. It was a 'very, very ordinary lifestyle,' said Breen, but not reclusive: 'I think the word "recluse" is probably emotive. It would be truer to say that he enjoys his own company now, rather than that of others.'

As more years went by, other news leaked out. Barrett was collecting coins. He was learning to cook, and could stuff a mean pepper. On the death of Win in 1991, he destroyed all his old diaries and art books - and also chopped down the front garden's fence and tree, and burnt them (though more in a spirit of renewal than grief). He had been a great support to Roe in her mourning, but hadn't attended the funeral because he 'wouldn't know what to do'. He still wrote down his thoughts all the time. He still painted - big works, six foot by four - but destroyed any that he didn't consider perfect, and stacked the rest against the wall. And sometimes he was unable to finish them, because obsessive fans had climbed over his back fence, and stolen the brushes from the table outside, where he worked.

A few titbits, to finish. In 1998, Barrett was diagnosed as a B-type diabetic - a genetic condition - and was prescribed a regime of medication and diet to which he is sporadically faithful. His eyesight will inevitably become 'tunnelled' as a result - sooner, rather than later, unless he regularly takes his tablets. However, he is far from 'blind', as reported on the more excitable websites.

For Christmas 2001, Barrett gave his sister a painting. For his birthday in January 2002, she brought him a new stereo, because he likes to listen to the Stones, Booker-T and the classical composers. However, he evinced no interest in the recent Echoes: The Best of Pink Floyd (on which nearly a fifth of the tracks are written by him, despite the fact that he only recorded with the band for less than a 30th of its lifespan). To coincide with the album's release, the BBC screened an Omnibus documentary about him, which he watched round at Roe's house. He is reported to have liked hearing 'Emily' and, particularly, seeing his old landlord Mike Leonard - who he called his 'teacher'. Otherwise, he thought the film 'a bit noisy'.

'Mister Barrett?'

'Yes.'

His voice is deeper than on any recordings, more cockneyfied than on the TV interviews he gave in 67. Behind him, the hall is clean but bare, the floorboards mostly covered in linoleum. I mention someone dear to him, from his childhood. She'd be coming to Cambridge in a couple of weeks, and wondered if Barrett might like a visit?

'No.'

He stands and stares, less embarrassed than me by the vision of him in his underpants.

'So is everything all right?'

'Yeah.'

'You're still painting?'

'No, I'm not doing anything,' he says (which is true - he's talking to me). 'I'm just looking after this place for the moment.'

'For the moment? Are you thinking of moving on?'

'Well, I'm not going to stay here for ever.' He pauses a split second, delivers an unexpected 'Bye-bye', and slams the door.

I'm left like others before me, trying to work out just what he meant. 'I'm not going to stay here for ever.' Does he just mean, 'One day, I might move house.' Or is it a nod to the fate that awaits us all? A coded message that he may re-emerge into the world - perhaps show new work or perform? And is opening the door in your underpants an unwitting demonstration of self-confidence, or an eccentricity, or worse? I retrace my steps, cross the main road to my car where I write a note that I hope is tactful: 'Dear Mr Barrett, I'm sorry to have disturbed your sunbathing. I didn't have time to mention that I'm writing a book on you...' I plead my case, give my telephone number, and return down the cracked pavement.

As I reach the gate, I see him weeding in the front corner of the garden, on his knees.

'Hi,' I say. 'I've written you a note.'

'Huh,' he says, not looking up, throwing roots behind him.

'May I leave it?' He straightens and stares into my eyes, but doesn't answer. He's wearing khaki shorts now, and gardening gloves, which aren't really suited to receiving the note - and I would be tempting fate to rest it on the side of the wheelbarrow which he has bought with him.

'Shall I put it through the letterbox?'

'It's nothing to do with me,' he says. So I do.

'Nice day,' I say, on leaving. 'Goodbye.'

He doesn't reply, and I never hear from him.

The Adventures of Syd Barrett, Roky Erickson, Bootsy Collins & Ginger Baker

JUST FOUND THIS AGAIN! THIS DATES BACK TO 1998! READ AND LAUGH!

...and so on that note Roger & Syd agreed to form a band and call it: THE REAL PINK FLOYD. Roger even had an idea for a concept record: The Fence. The final refrain: "Put up the Fence, Put up the Fence, Put Up the Fence..." symbolized his desire to fence himself off from his audience and former band members.

Roger even started work on an ambitious "reunion" tour with Syd. Before each show the band would purchase rolls of snow fencing from the local Agway. During the concert, the roadies would actually fence off sections of the audience from each other. The show would culminate with Roger being rolled into a huge section of snow fence with Syd standing atop wailing on his guitar.

Things were going along fine until Davey Gilmour and his rotten gang got wind of it. Davey and Roger arranged to meet in the alley, behind the old tannery, to battle it out and see who the REAL Pink Floyd was.

Roger brought Syd with him and Davey showed up with Nicky and Ritchie. Roger and Davey went at it and Syd, Nicky, and Ritchie faded against the brick wall. This was about Roger & Davey. It had always been about Roger & Davey.

Syd wasn't into violence and Roger tricked him into going by saying they were going for tea and crumpets across town. Nicky was always a little schemer and only came hoping to forge an alliance with any new group. There was no fight in him. Ritchie didn't think it was his fight because Roger already threw him out of the band and Davey didn't stand up for him.

Beside the fracas, Syd, Ritchie, & Nicky agreed to form a new group and call it: The Most Real Pink Floyd You Ever Saw. As they left Roger frantically called out to Syd: "SYD, HELP! HE'S BEATING ME! HE'S BEATING ME!" Imagine Roger frantically calling out to Syd for help. But the new group had already left to find a bass player and Roger's cries faded out in the wind.

Davey held Roger in a choke hold and blurted out: "Now your time is up you..."

And so Syd, Rick, and Nick decided upon Bootsy Collins as a bass player for their new band. When asked about the incongruity of playing with a bunch of white boys from England Bootsy replied that Syd could reduce his molecular activity to such a low level that he could actually DISAPPEAR for hours at a time. Bootsy said that anybody who was successful at THAT could have him as bass player anytime. When asked how he knew that Syd was successful Bootsy replied that Syd had told him.

The next step was to fly to Austin, Texas and try recruiting Roky Erickson for the front man position. Meanwhile Roger nursed a swollen lip and plotted revenge...

Syd and Bootsy flew out to Austin, Texas to ask Roky's Mother if he could be in the new band with them. On the way over, Syd asked Bootsy if he had ever been to Texas with P. Funk. Bootsy replied: "Along about down the waaaay. Yeaaaah....."

At Roky's home Mrs Erickson was hesitant to allow Roky to joining the new band but Syd stated that Roky HAD to join because this information was beamed down to him from a UFO that followed a concentric path around his head high above the earth. Besides, Syd said that these could turn out to be actual PAYING gigs if everything went according to the plan.

Mrs Erickson asked Roky, who had been silent up until now, if he wanted to be in Syd's new band. Roky replied: "I already voted today". With that hashed out, Roky left with his new friends to find a place to practice.

A large room, above a strip joint along the highway, was soon procured. Syd, Roky, and Bootsy took out their instruments to see if any chemistry existed. And it did! Things gelled almost immediately.

With Bootsy laying down the groove on the bottom, Roky pounding out the rhythm, Syd opened up his beautify flowered mind and played like he had never played before. This was not over-produced pap either but aural beauty in its most raw form.

Roky said that the new sounds reminded him of the cries of souls being thrown into eternal hellfire by Satan. Syd asked if Bootsy of his opinion on the new group's sound. Bootsy said: "'round long down the road... Yeaaaah...." Roky said that he wanted some fried chicken...

Meanwhile, back in England, Roger Waters heard about the new group and ground his teeth. Dave Gilmour was busy recording a new solo album and enmeshed in mixing the same guitar solo into every song. He had no time for Roger. Nick & Rick told Roger that they would: "See what developed" before considering a new group with Roger. Roger knew that both wanted to take the best opportunity. This enraged him even more but it was a powerless rage borne on the wings of frustration; a decades long frustration.

You see, EVERYTHING about Roger Water's musical career had been in response to Syd Barrett. Nobody else saw Roger wake in the middle of the night, sheets drenched in sweat, with Syd's name still echoing off the walls of his room. Syd Barrett! Hah! Roger was obsessed with Syd Barrett and made every musical decision based on what Syd might have done. This was
responsible for the beloved Pink Floyd catalog. Any deviations from this process were twisted attempts, possibly from his subconscious, to free himself from Barrett's influence. This yielded such gems as The Final Cut.

Roger began to plot how he could derail Syd's new group and gain the control that he so desperately needed. Syd couldn't be allowed to beat him after all these years! But how? His brain began to churn...

The evil Roger Waters found out that, after a short practice time, Syd's new band was ensconced in a studio outside Austin busy recording an initial, CD single, release. Damn! So quick! But how to get near Syd so as to steal the idea?

After much thought Roger hit upon the idea of dressing up as a cleaning lady. Possibly he/she could acquire a job at the studio and pick up ideas. He could even steal the tapes! Nobody would expect an old woman! How smart he was!

The idea was to come on like an old, English, cleaning lady. He would work cheaply; even free if need be. Anything to get close to Syd and those tapes! Syd always had a soft heart and he was sure he could get through.

Roger went down to the local Salvation Army and bought several bags of used woman's clothes. He even went so far as to purchase silk underwear and pantyhose. The disguise must be perfect to work!

Upon trying on his outfit, Roger decided that he actually LIKED how the clothes fit him. The feel of the silk panties really turned him on. He really liked the feel of the too tight elastic draw on the inside of his upper leg. This was going to be easier than expected!

Possibly even, after this business was over, he could get a Bowie thing going and appear in his new outfit. He could be the first member of 'Floyd to cross... No! Right at that time he remembered Arnold Layne and Syd's brief experimentation with cross-dressing. Damn! Beaten by Syd Barrett again. Arrrrgh! Still, it would afford him great pleasure to wreck Syd's attempt at a new career. He booked a flight for Austin.

Meanwhile, Syd, Roky, and Bootsy were working out an arrangement for one of Roky's new songs I Cut My Wrists for Your Satanic Love. This was to be the new track. But first they needed management.

Enter Booker W. Jones. Mr. Jones ran the talent acquisition for the strip club downstairs. He had been kicked out of college for a key role in organizing the sororities into a slick call-girl operation. He heard the band upstairs and thought that they sounded "tight".

Upon his knocking on the upstairs door, Roky answered. When asked if he was one of the members of the band Roky replied: "No, I already bought a television" and closed the door. Booker knocked again and Bootsy answered. Bootsy said: "Now'n then down the waaaaay, Yeeeaaah" and closed the door.

Far from giving up Mr. Jones was keenly interested. He thought: If I fill these fuckers with enough Haldol they could do ANYTHING! He knocked again and Syd answered this time...

So, Mr. Jones was acquired as the new group's manager. Even though Syd thought all middlemen were bad he knew that he needed a manager to at least answer the phone. When Syd asked Roky if it was OK for Mr. Jones to manage the new group Roky replied: "Yeah, after I talked to the zombie when he died in his sleep". Boosty said: "If'n now'n then waaaay down de line, yeeeeaaaah". With that hashed out Mr. Jones soon added this to his duties of managing the strip club downstairs.

One thing that Mr. Jones floated to the group was the idea of a kind of release to the public. Something in the order of a CD single, or EP, would do nicely. Something that could whet the appetite of the public. Booker was thinking of an initial pressing of 25,000 copies that could be
distributed for free to college radio stations.

This showed Mr. Jones to be the sharpie that he was. The pressing of 25,000, and the distribution to college stations, was not directly marketed to the hardcore Barrett fans.

The hardcore Barrett fans! These were a group of misguided souls who practiced a most twisted and warped form of hero worship. They eagerly supped at every burp, fart, & squeak that their fallen idol ever put to tape; even forming chat rooms where every kind of inconsequential information was fawned over. What kind of wires did Syd use? What's his favorite food? Is he gay? What shade of brown is in the bottom of his shorts?

No, this release was to be marketed AWAY from the hardcore Barrett fan. Screw them! They do nothing but drag their idol down Mr. Jones thought; better to exclude them from the process. No, this was to be an offering to the, previously untapped, market of college kids, ages 17 to 22. The
trendsetters. The pulse.

Roger Waters, dressed in his high heels & wig sweeping the floor, had to smile to himself when Mr. Jones was discussing the new release. The hardcore Barrett fan! Ha! In a very large way, he had been RESPONSIBLE for the hardcore Barrett fan.

Hadn't Roger Waters ...

Roger Waters continued sweeping up the Practice Room upstairs from the strip
club. Damn! This was actually turning into a job! Cleaning toilets, scrubbing floors, washing windows, picking up trash, all the while dressed in drag. The worst part was having to endure the flirtatious advances of the strip club's Janitor, Solly.

Solly was in his sixties and had no teeth. He pushed a broom by day and stuffed his paycheck down G-strings by night. Solly kind of took a fancy to Roger. His way of flirting was to come real close and talk dirty in Roger's ear, real dirty. And his breath! It could have knocked a cat off a gut wagon, as they say in Texas.

In Roger's mind, this was a small price to pay to again gain access to that unlimited creative well known as Syd Barrett. All he would need is a few months and he probably could purloin enough ideas for another hit album. Syd didn't need his ideas anyway. He, Roger, was the one more qualified to construct them into something cohesive. Anything to get to those in the studio!

Meanwhile the Austin Chapter of the Baptist International Take Christ Home Society (B.I.T.C.H.) found out that the infamous Roky Erickson was ensconced in the studio, right in their back yard, recording some new, for-the-soul-of-Satan, music. BITCH was a women's organization founded by the Reverend Billy T. Hogworths's wife, Nettie, to spread the name of the Son while combating communist ideas like gun control & racial integration.

The Treasurer of Bitch, Bertha Deaver, remembered Roky from thirty years ago; back when he was with the 13th Floor Elevators. Back then Roky, in his music, used to do things like tell the kids to take LSD and not work. She was glad when he was committed to Rusk State Hospital for the criminally insane back in 1968. He deserved it. The commie had dope on him, two whole cigarettes worth.

Now he was back in Austin recording again? She went down to the record store and bought a copy of his The Evil One. This CD had song titles like: Don't Shake Me Lucifer, Bloody Hammer, & Two Headed Dog. She brought the CD back to BITCH's headquarters and the women were appalled. Not only that but, the-son-of-Satan was practicing above a strip club nearby! Something had to be done. The women grabbed their Bibles and headed off to Big Mike's Strip Club to picket. First they notified the local TV station.

Upstairs at Mikes, Roger Waters was perplexed. He viewed himself as an architect of music. He didn't write songs & melodies; he constructed them. Each song required a tremendous effort. In concert, most people didn't know this but, seventy five percent of his music was taped. He couldn't let any musician's "artistic interpretation" get in the way. It's better to have it all taped and have the musicians up there miming onstage and playing the occasional part. Then it would be perfect.

What perplexed Roger was that Syd & crew just turned the amps up to "MAX" and let it rip. They never played the same song the same way twice either. Syd sounded so good that it scared him. Roky vibrated like a crack baby when he belted out the lyrics. And the lyrics? They made no sense; just words strung together it seemed. How was he to make sense of this?

As BITCH were on their way over to Mike's Strip Club, Syd received a telephone call from Nick Mason. After some niceties, Nick explained that he and Rick had decided not to join Syd's new band. You see, Roger had been very busy on the phone with them and both were so easily swayed. Rick was quietly arrogant about his keyboard playing and thought himself a much better musician than he was. Nick was just waiting for the money to roll in so that he could get back to his beloved motorcars. They both had no time for something that was not assured. Hadn't Roger told them? Shit, from the sound of things, Roger was directing the effort and Syd was sweeping up around the studio. Better to wait for Roger to return.

After wishing Nick a wonderful universe, Syd hung up. What to do about a drummer? Enter Ginger Baker, fresh from his 19th narcotics rehabilitation.
Ginger heard about the resurfacing of Syd Barrett and he called Nick Mason asking if Syd needed a drummer. Nick gave Ginger the telephone number in Austin.

When Ginger called Bootsy answered. Ginger asked for Syd Barrett. Bootsy replied: "Sho' 'nuff'n I do de thang down de waaaaaay. Yeeeeeaaah..." Ginger asked for Syd Barrett again and Bootsy said: "Ms. Thang! she'n up'n de hous'n. Yeeeeaaaaah..." Finally, Syd came to the phone and Ginger asked if he was talking to Syd Barrett. Syd replied: "Yes, I'm full of dust and guitars". Ginger thought: "Christ! They all sound ripped to the gills! This is my fucking scene man!" Arrangements were quickly made for Ginger to hop the next UFO to Austin.

Meanwhile, BITCH began to assemble outside Mike's Strip club. Nettie Hogworth's plan to also notify the local TV stations paid off; camera crews were arriving and beginning to set up. That son-of-Satan Roky Erickson would soon wish that he had never been born!

When the camera crews were all set up, Nettie and the others grabbed their Bibles and started marching up and down the sidewalk in front of Mike's shouting things like: "Down With Satan and Roky Erickson!", "Down With Flesh Merchants And Roky Erickson!" The camera crew was busy getting everything down on tape.

Syd peered out the upstairs window and said: "Look, a group of fans have beamed down from Andromeda. I think I'll go out to greet them." Syd and Roky, followed by Bootsy, went out to greet their fans- BITCH. As they approached, BITCH's cries rose up to a crescendo. Nettie saw this as a golden opportunity, with the cameras going, to confront that son-of-Satan.

Roger, still in his costume, followed the group outside...

Outside Mike's it was chaos. BITCH was chanting. Roky was standing at the center of it all stating that he was not the son-of-Satan but that he, in fact, was Satan himself. Bootsy was waving to his Mother and dancing in front of the cameras. Syd looked like he had drifted into a catatonic state and was staring into one of the camera's lenses.

Roky was in fine form. Amid the chants of: "Down With Satan and Roky Erickson!" and "Down with Flesh Merchants and Roky Erickson!" He put his arm around Syd and crowed: "Here Is My Angel of Death Syd Barrett!" Heads turned. Syd Barrett, here?

A crew hurried over and started peppering Syd with questions: "Are you Syd Barrett?" "What are you doing in Austin?" "Are you in Roky Erickson's new band?" "Are you really crazy?" "What have you been doing since you left Pink Floyd?" Syd just froze. Nettie Hogworth did not know whom Syd Barrett was but started to keen: "Another Degenerate!" "Another Degenerate!"

Meanwhile, a member of one of the news crews present sidled up to Roger Waters. He was interested in why this old lady was with this strange group. His name was Rick "Slick" Reiser and he was an avid Pink Floyd fan.

He took one look at Roger in the dress and said: "You're Roger Waters." It was a statement not a question. Roger said: "Whatever do you mean dearie?" But it was too late. Never mind the English accent, or the stubble on his chin, that mouthful of piano ivories that Roger called teeth were a dead giveaway.

"Slick" Reiser turned his head and yelled: "HEY LOOK! IT'S ROGER WATERS AND HE'S DRESSED UP LIKE HIS MOTHER!" For a split second everything came to a complete stop. Roger Waters? Here? Dressed up like his Mother!? Instantly Roger was now the focus of all the attention. People surrounded him with video cameras asking him questions. Nettie Hogworth tried to vainly bring the spotlight back onto BITCH by going over to Roger and ripping his wig off. She spat: "YOU ARE A DEGENERATE! GOD SAVE YOUR SOUL!"

Roger saw his whole world suddenly collapse in on itself. But wait! If he could only somehow destroy the evidence things might work themselves out. Plausible deniability. Nettie stuck her face up to Roger and started to scream: "YOU ARE..." but Roger said: "Shut up Bitch!" and punched her in the mouth. Reverend Hogworth's wife collapsed in a heap.

Roger, like a dervish, started running about and trying to smash the film crews' equipment. He was quickly tackled, restrained, and somebody called the police. When the police came they took one look at Roger and radioed for a strait jacket.

Meanwhile, all of the reporters had run to the nearest telephones and called their home stations. Somebody then alerted the API wire. The person at API began to construct a headline: ROGER WATERS ARRESTED FOLLOWING SYD BARRETT AROUND DRESSED AS HIS MOTHER. But wait. Whose Mother? Syd's or Roger's?
Good God, the whole thing was too sick to even contemplate for very long. It would make perfect Front Page fodder.

Back at Mike's, the police began drawing up a list of charges on Roger beginning with assaulting a Minister's wife...

As Roger was being carried away in the strait jacket and Nettie was being administered by the E.M.T., Booker collared Syd and Roky. He put his arms around their shoulders and announced to the cameras: "These guys are MONSTERS! They are going to shake the music industry to its foundations! You better watch out!" With Syd staring into the nearest camera with a wide eyed, catatonic, stare and Roky crowing about his "Angel of Death" (or something) that bold assertion did not seem impossible.

On that high note, Booker decided that they had better make a hasty retreat back into Mike's. But first, he had to get Bootsy. Bootsy had attracted his own audience of news people. Bootsy was in fine form and was fielding questions from a number of reporters. One reporter asked: "Are you in the group?" and Bootsy replied: "Yow'll 'n up'n de hous'n bout'n down de waaaaaaay, yeeeeeaah!" Another asked what instrument he played and Bootsy replied: "nuff'n up'n down'mm do dat funky thaaaaang, yeeeeeeaaaaah!" One asked: "Are you Bootsy Collins?" and Bootsy replied: "Yeeeeeeeaaaaah!".

Booker stepped in and stated that "All questions would be answered at the Press Conference". He had no idea about any Press Conference but it sure sounded good. And it worked too. Immediately a chorus of shouts went up asking when and where.

Back up at Mike's Booker started laughing "That bitch was the best advertisement we could ever have asked for!" Booker asked Syd if that was really Roger Waters in the dress. Syd said that information had yet to be beamed down to him. "Anyway, he has an ectechrome way and I have played in the sun enough for him". Booker thanked Syd and thought: "Jeeeezus! If I can only get this son-of-a-bitch to open up when he sees a camera!"

Meanwhile, Ginger was boarding the plane for the trip to Austin, before he left he went and scored. If he was going to be in a band with this bunch of party animals there was no sense in getting off on the wrong foot. The stuff looked good: translucent crystals with a brown tone to them. Now he would be ready for the great Syd Barrett!

Roger quickly adjusted to life in the hospital. Being a former architectural student, he like the efficiency of how things were run: get up, eat breakfast, exercise, group, meds, eat lunch, quiet time, group, meds, eat supper, watch the telly with the others, meds, go to bed. Things sure worked efficiently here!

His psychiatrist was a nice young man by the name of Dr. Barron. Roger kept trying to explain the reasons for why he was incarcerated in the hospital but Dr. Barron kept steering the conversation back to his mother, his childhood, Syd Barrett, Syd's mother, and what The Wall was "really" about.

Syd Barrett! Why for-fucks-sake talk about Syd Barrett? He knew how he had robbed Syd Barrett! None better. He was the perpetrator! Why go over it? Hadn't he fooled almost everyone? Look at the masses of his fans! He secretly referred to them as "sheep". The sheep bought into it hadn't they. That's all that really mattered. When a lie get told enough doesn't it become the truth?

The doctor kept coming back to his mother. Did he love his mother? What does he think of his mother now? Had he ever been sexually attracted to Syd's mother. Had he ever been sexually attracted to HIS mother. Had he ever been sexually attracted to Syd? What did he think The Wall had to do with his mother. Why had he been apprehended dressed as an old woman?

It was enough to drive a person mad! And the more he tried to explain the deeper he was dragged into it seemingly. The way this shrink could twist a phrase! Shit, HE should have been the songwriter!

At the apex of his time between meds, when he was most lucid, Roger even envisioned this incarceration, not as a setback but, as an opportunity. Hadn't Syd been the Madcap? Couldn't he use this as a springboard to yet another career?

The more he thought about it the more plausible it seemed. All he had to do was act "crazy" and when he was released, and eventually he would be released, he could resume his career as a madcap. Syd was the laughing madcap. He would be the morose madcap! Yes! The dour madcap! The sad madcap! He would weep all the way to the fucking bank. The sheep would swallow anything!

That night he decided to put his plan into effect. After the nightly check his door began to creak open. Maybe this was an unannounced second check or the orderly forgot. As the door swung open Roger sat up in bed and exclaimed "Mommy! I'm here!"

There was an exclamation of surprise and some harsh laughter. A voice said "I'm not yer fucking ""Mommy"" but I hear you like to dress like a woman". Roger saw that it was three of the other patients.

There was Chester "The Child Molester", Billy- Who killed his mother with a hatchet, and Ruff- another pre-vert who stuttered. Before he could do anything Chester wrapped a bathrobe cord around his neck and held it like a yoke. He whispered through clenched teeth "If you dress like a woman, we're a gonna treat you like a woman".

He was roughly bent over the toilet bowl and he heard Billy say "I love my mommy I want to go first". Ruff replied "nnnnnno! IIII'm ggggggooing fffffffirst!" We will mercifully take a leave of absence here.

Meanwhile, at the Austin International Airport, Roky and Booker were waiting to pick up Ginger Baker their new drummer. Roky was amusing himself asking each airline when the next plane to Hades was leaving.

Ginger had fixed again in the planes' lavatory right before the descent. God! This shit was awesome! It was a rough landing but Ginger didn't feel a thing. He never felt the Stewardess shaking him. Only when the rush began to wear off a little did he open his eyes.

Booker was getting impatient waiting for his new Drummer. Where the **** was he? Just like those stupid Brits! Most of them would **** up a wet dream! It was then that they saw Ginger coming down the walkway.

Ginger wasn't walking. He wasn't staggering. He wasn't swaying back and forth. Ginger Baker, the renowned Drummer for Cream, was crawling down the walkway. Two security men flanked him.

Booker and Roky ran up to them. The first security guard asked "Is he with you!" Roky said "Yeah! He's my demon child of Satan! He came alive after the Premier was killed in his sleep last night." The guard looked surprised. It was nothing a few carefully placed fifties couldn't handle. Booker ended up telling the guards, as he palmed them a bill each, that it must have been some kind of allergic reaction.

Looking at the battlefield of scars and puncture marks that comprised Ginger’s arm he knew better. "Shit, three nuts and a junkie" Booker muttered under his breath. Roky heard him and said "Hey, I like that name!" So that's how Syd Barrett's new band got their name.

Back at the rehearsal room outside Austin Syd muttered "What the sun said I can never feel." Bootsy exclaimed "You'n up'n de house'n down'n de Ms. Thang. Yeeeeeeeeeeeeah!" This was their way of telling each other that they needed to go through some more chord progressions.

Roky, Booker, and a unconscious Ginger Baker headed back to the strip club...

Syd Barrett pondered the significance of everything that had happened in the last week. Instead of being a setback, losing his keyboardist and drummer, might in fact make his journey into the sun on the ectechrome plane easier. He could coalesce his sound around the fat bottom chords of Bootsy and the manic wailings of his new friend Roky. Upon the divine enshrinement of the fourteenth disciple he could then more effectively enter his new existence. But what did the old woman, who claimed to be his Mother, play?

Roger Waters managed to climb out of the crevice between the wall and the toilet where he was wedged. God! Did his rear end hurt! That last one, Chester, had a roll of Kielbasa on him over a foot long; and fat too. This whole experience was going to be much worse than he had anticipated.

How had HE ended up in a mental hospital while Syd Barrett and his gang still roamed free? Everything had going been fine until that young cub reporter had identified him. He had been so close! His rival, Syd Barrett, had been about to start recording. He could have swooped down, stolen the master tape, and been back in England fashioning his new release from it before anybody would have been wiser.

England, a place where all the men seem fascinated with buggery and all the women look like they need a tan and a shave. England, the "seat" of culture. He knew better! As soon as he was able (and could sit down properly), he would immigrate to the United States just as Syd Barrett had.

As Syd Barrett waited for the arrival of his new Drummer he questioned Bootsy about some of the tracks. Bootsy replied: "Sho' nuff'n down'n de house'n wittin' de fust of Mizz Thang. Yeeeeeeeah!" Syd Barrett folded his hands in front of him and said: "Yes, yes, I see." To try the new arrangement they had discussed, Syd picked up his guitar and Bootsy started laying down that fat bottomed low end as only he could. Syd started to wail.