Review of Pink Floyd's The Dark Side of The Moon

Released 1973

"Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I'd something more to say".

My first prog rock purchase was The Dark Side of The Moon by Pink Floyd.

My love of music came from an early immersion in my parent's record collections: The Beatles, Elvis, Buddy Holly etc. The first band I decided I liked off my own back was Queen. I delighted in collecting everything they did and threw myself fully into the history of the band. Listening to Alexis Korner's 'Great Guitarists' (or similar) Sunday night Radio 1 series to learn more initially about the influences of Brian May, I was drawn further into the series and became captivated by the programmes on Ritchie Blackmore and Jimmy Page. This drew me into investigating rock music per se from the late sixties and early seventies.

I read voraciously about this classic period and fell in love with the myths and legends of Led Zeppelin. Keen to learn more about their contemporaries I gradually became aware of the better known exponents of prog rock. Fascinated by the other worldliness of the album sleeves of Genesis, Emerson, Lake and Palmer and Yes whenever I visited a record shop, I remained intrigued but did not commit myself to a purchase until I was about seventeen.

I remember very clearly descending the iron steps to the now long defunct basement record store on Menage Street in Helston, Cornwall. This was a tiny dark room with background music which was at the time completely unfamiliar to me; probably Frank Zappa or Captain Beefheart in hindsight. I felt out of my depth, but somehow knew that serious music fans were more likely to be seen here in the dark rather than down the road in Woolworths.

Thumbing through the albums I stopped when I recognised the name TDSOTM. In those days (early eighties) albums were still presented in see through plastic sleeves. I removed the album from the sleeve and rubbed a thumb across the emitted spectrum of light emerging from the prism. This had quality. It told me that this was a significant item; time and effort had gone into the design of this. It felt right. Opening the gatefold, the spectrum of light formed a repeating pulse motif across the middle, with lyrics above and below. I knew I wanted to own this piece of art and I knew that in doing so, things would change.

Later, at home, when I placed the record on the turntable, and turned on the Amstrad tower system carefully lowering the stylus onto the outside edge of the album, I swear I was holding my breath.

To first hear a pulse, to then hear sound effects, rather than just 'music', followed by mechanical noises and a soaring crescendo, all before the first track settles into a laid back almost stoned groove left me speechless. My life changed at that point. Odd time signatures, long instrumental passages, glorious female wailing, stunning guitar solos, atmospheric keyboards and lyrics that seemed to speak directly to me with absolute immediacy, all served to freeze time. I stood throughout that first listen, desparate for it not to end.

I studied the accompanying poster wondering what inspired these strange looking men pictured against a background of pyramids, flames and gongs to compose a piece of music that flowed effortlessly and beautifully across forty five minutes suite, of such complete perfection. Why wwere there two postcards? What did it mean? I had no idea, but I knew it felt right.

I felt proud and priviledged just to hold the complete package. I wanted to both shout it out loud and keep it utterly to myself at the same time. I lay back on my bed, put on my headphones and listened to it once more straight away.

I was hooked. My appetite had been whetted. I wanted more and was overwhelmed at the thought of the unknown world I was about to tap into.