February 18th – You don’t have to be mad to work here, but it
helps… Talking about Pink Floyd, Syd Barrett’s replacement, Dave Gilmore was
introduced to the public as a permanent band member today back in 1968.
Barrett’s gradual slide into what can only be termed ‘a parallel universe’ has
been well documented and whichever version you read, it all comes across as
highly unpleasant for those around him.
Like many out there and although
nowhere near the same league as Mr. Barrett, I've had experience of
head-moments so can say, in my case, that inside that mental cat’s-cradle of
rocket-fuelled emotion everything seems far less chaotic, it’s just to
outsiders that the sparking wires are visible; maybe that was similar for Syd
because, from all reports, he was always somewhat difficult to work with, hence
the occasional use of Mr. Gilmore leading to his eventual permanent band
membership. So, given that ‘our Syd’ was the only sane person living in a mad
world, maybe a Betty Ford-type sectioning might have helped him?
Certainly his waywardness could be
partly blamed on his intake of LSD, but surely he had some level of
predetermined mental difficulties that allowed the overuse of acid to do its
evil work, not to mention the copious use of other drugs, Mandrax in
particular, that surface regularly in all tales of Syd. But even if his
condition could be given a name, I can’t imagine the treatment available in
sanatoriums around then would have done anything to assuage his obvious illness;
neither would what passed for ‘happening house decoration’ in the 70's, enough
to send any perfectly sane individual over the edge. Being incarcerated,
against one’s will and into a set of rooms painted bright orange and deep brown
with silver foil on the ceiling and light green wallpaper decorated with
freakin’ HUGE bright red flowers could hardly have had a calming effect on
anyone so troubled.
Couple this with the hippie
generation’s ideas of psychiatric treatment, where the slings and arrows of EST
and benzodiazepine awaited the bemused and discombobulated inmate, it’s no
wonder Barrett steered clear; mad but not that mad. Mind you, might it have
helped if they’d said,
“You can bring in some of your own
paintings, Syd, brighten the place up a little…”
Or maybe not. That one of the
screaming mouth and several sets of teeth he dashed off? No, best leave it…or
just send that painting to the psychiatrist instead with a note that read;
“Analyse that.”
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