This piece of writing is a tribute to the band that has made most sense to me and has given me kicks more than anything else, that has put me to thought unavoidably and has mesmerised me every single time. And of course the writing below is a celebration and a dedication for and to their loyal fans. (Only loyal and ardent fans are supposed to read this strictly)
Try imagining this. I know it’s not easy but not unthinkable. Imagine yourself snorting the best cocaine in a dark room caressed by the woman you always fanaticised about in your dreams, gently, convincingly, desirably and amorously, oblivious of the light beyond the room and oblivious of your bonded family ties and intentional unawareness of your own ethics. The final result- an ineffable ecstasy. Well, if you could never imagine that, try feeling it for real.
It’s the same feeling you get when David Gilmour slides his fingers over the six- stringer to play the solo of their band’s chef-d'oeuvre "Comfortably numb". Wonder how many people would have titled their Orkut profiles with these two words, wonder how many times a Pink Floyd fan would have exaggerated about it to his friends, wonder how many times people would have slept to it and wonder how many times people would have failed to understand the lyrics.
You press play and an ambient music of a synthesiser just fills every corner every space every void around you. I won’t be shy to bet 99 out of a 100 Pink Floyd admirers lose control over their optical lobes; eyelids fold down like the curtains in an opera theatre dimming away and giving way to an un-understood light within the dark territories of blinded eyes. And then come the magical words "Hello hello hello. . . " and if you were human and you loved them you cant do without humming. The lyrics keep flowing and your brains have gone dormant already to analyse the words. There’s good chance you might have already fallen deep into your sub-conscious self but just then. . . "There’s no pain you are receding. . . ." and you wake up (eyes still shut) to sing along. You continue till you have said "I have become comfortably numb". And now you leave it to the master. What happens in the next few seconds is not possible to put in words. The music grows on you like a dreaded creeper that refuses to leave the tree that has been its support all its life. You bask in timeless existence. The artwork continues. Oh . . . how do I describe . . . each string flirted is a gem of a disturbance, a kind of elusive emotion. The guitar seems to weep in achievement as if feeling proud to be done by the master, proud to be showing off its capabilities. But the master stands motionless, a black round necked shirt and a pair of jeans, an uncharacteristic vintage glow is all that can be noticed. As you indulge in the aura, the music starts to descend down into your veins, flowing through the blood and finally leaving your skin with hairs raised. The guitar seems to move away into a distant horizon but only after it has infected you, consummated you and narcotized you.
You press play and an ambient music of a synthesiser just fills every corner every space every void around you. I won’t be shy to bet 99 out of a 100 Pink Floyd admirers lose control over their optical lobes; eyelids fold down like the curtains in an opera theatre dimming away and giving way to an un-understood light within the dark territories of blinded eyes. And then come the magical words "Hello hello hello. . . " and if you were human and you loved them you cant do without humming. The lyrics keep flowing and your brains have gone dormant already to analyse the words. There’s good chance you might have already fallen deep into your sub-conscious self but just then. . . "There’s no pain you are receding. . . ." and you wake up (eyes still shut) to sing along. You continue till you have said "I have become comfortably numb". And now you leave it to the master. What happens in the next few seconds is not possible to put in words. The music grows on you like a dreaded creeper that refuses to leave the tree that has been its support all its life. You bask in timeless existence. The artwork continues. Oh . . . how do I describe . . . each string flirted is a gem of a disturbance, a kind of elusive emotion. The guitar seems to weep in achievement as if feeling proud to be done by the master, proud to be showing off its capabilities. But the master stands motionless, a black round necked shirt and a pair of jeans, an uncharacteristic vintage glow is all that can be noticed. As you indulge in the aura, the music starts to descend down into your veins, flowing through the blood and finally leaving your skin with hairs raised. The guitar seems to move away into a distant horizon but only after it has infected you, consummated you and narcotized you.
If at all anyone’s feeling that I am exaggerating about just another song of just another band played dominantly by just another musician, please allow me to say that all I wrote now was just an "understatement". Its criminal to describe Pink Floyd’s six odd minutes of virtuoso in a page of English alphabets. God forgive me or Floyd forgive me. . . after all they mean the same.
The number of hits on their site is not a joke. When people vote them as the band they want to see reunited again, they mean it, so what if the people were in diapers when they started playing. When Chetan Bhagat cited the "vodka Floyd combination" to get high, he wasn’t day dreaming. You need to give your "auditory faculty" a chance to appreciate. And then, you might just wish to check out their sites again, try voting for them again and read "Five point someone" again or may be try vodka again.
I had thought of writing about the band at first but my media player started playing "comfortably numb" and I became partial to just write about the one song. No doubt they have given "high hopes" to everyone, they have shown "bricks in the wall" and they have made people "come back to life" after being "comfortably numb". I tried my best on being a Floyd fan to make you feel what their music means to me but as my media player comes to stop. . .
"now I’ve got that feelin once again,
I cant explain,
you wil not understand , this is not how I am,
I have become comfortably numb "
Amen.
"now I’ve got that feelin once again,
I cant explain,
you wil not understand , this is not how I am,
I have become comfortably numb "
Amen.
