dark side of the moon (1973) - pink floyd: harvest records 1975 reissue, SMAS-11163

At the risk of losing whatever credibility I may have, I feel like I need to enter the rock music confessional and beg forgiveness for my sin. You see, the truth is I was never really a huge fan of Dark Side Of The Moon.

I know, that sounds like sacrilege. If there is any album that is supposed to be untouchable it is this one (and, maybe, Sgt. Pepper ...).  This is supposed to be The One.  The monolith from 2001. Mount Everest.  King Kong. The Holy Grail. The Platonic ideal of albums against which all other albums are measured.

But while my friends were rabbiting on and on about how incredibly awesome and transcendent DSOM was, I would just nod silently, while shaking my head on the inside.  Because, for me, DSOM was always a contextual album - only suitable for those times when it was very late, the lights were turned way down, I'd have had a bowl or two, and the headphones were on.  It was an album simply screaming for some icky sticky and a navel-gazing frame of mind.  The songs seemed like they were engineered to exacting specifications to make the most efficient use of the time-distortion and acceptance of a mind on hash.

Side 1: Speak To Me Breathe On The Run Time The Great Gig In The Sky
Side 2: Money Us And Them Any Colour You Like Brain Damage Eclipse

When listened to with the proper pharmaceuticals, DSOM may be without peer. But as something to toss on while straight, it always seemed to fall short for me.

The problem as I see it is that DSOM may be too ponderous and introspective for it's own good.  When I sat down to listen to it this time it seemed as if the album would collapse under the weight of its own deliberate intent.  The songs are at times so moody or melancholy or philosophical that without the aid of some THC they start to fall in to themselves, creating a singularity of psychological agitation.

This is particularly true of the songs Breathe and Time.  When high, these are mellow songs opening ideas and allowing consideration of bigger things.  But when straight they are just creepy, man.  I mean, those clocks ticking and dinging on Time just gives me The Fear. It's like a countdown of my own mortality.

DSOM is absolutely a product of its time, and it's no wonder a gang of freaks tried synching it up to Wizard of Oz.  Whether or not that synch thing is legit isn't the point.  The point is that someone got baked enough and came up with the idea that DSOM would work with Oz.  That's not something anyone would think of normally, and it's the best example I can give of why this album only works for me after burning one.

Up next: The jesters of LA's 80's punk scene