Fast Forward to 1986 and my first acid trip. There were melting faces. There was stomach-quaking laughter around the absurdity of life on top of the shedding of hot tears around the newfound realization that I had a hot date with mortality at some distant point in time. There was also my first viewing of Pink Floyd’s wicked-mindfuck of a masterpiece film The Wall, based on their epic album of the same name. My friends and I were obsessed with Pink Floyd at the time, as any teenage acidhead is prone to be.
As I grew and changed into adulthood, Pink Floyd ebbed and flowed in and out of my awareness as they too grew and changed as a band. The songs, new and old, continued to tickle my ears with edgy lyrics and heavy, emotional concepts in conjunction with a constant psychedelic dreamscape of sound.
As I witnessed this band’s execution of some of my favorite Floyd songs, I was brought back to the vivid memories of my past and there was nothing to do but pause to feel and honor those memories. I then began to sing; utilizing my voice, shouting the lyrics loud and clear as I did when I was young & wild and trying hard to understand myself. As I stood amid the audience of like-minded music lovers, singing along with these songs I knew so well, I felt a sense of much-missed peace inside my mind; and then there was that familiar feeling of possibility that I am not as alone as I thought.