Throughout their classic tenure together, former frontman Syd Barrett’s presence always haunted Pink Floyd’s work.
Be it poetically direct on the suite of ‘Shine On You Crazy Diamond’ compositions, or forming a nebulous, thematic shadow lurking behind The Wall’s examination of alienation, Barrett’s presence was never far away across their classic album run. A mythic character that unwittingly generated a popular lore around them, he also suffered the unfortunate romanticising of mental health issues, keenly indulged in by fans enamoured with the psychedelic pioneer as an avatar of ‘tortured artist’ over a real human being.
Such an impression isn’t entirely unfounded. As 1967’s The Piper at the Gates of Dawn debut unleashed to the world Barrett’s surreal lyricism, swinging London was routinely witness to their lysergic live shows as residents of the city’s famed UFO Club.
Yet, whether through natural disposition or too much acid, his creative captaining began to wane, with erratic onstage behaviour and diminishing creative returns seeing his dismissal from the band in 1968 and the slow, ensuing ebb away from the music industry and to the reclusive lifestyle that came to shroud his troubled story, settling in his Cambridge hometown for good in the early 1980s.
An insight into Barrett’s private life away from the lore has been revealed in the upcoming Pink Floyd Shine On: The Definitive Oral History book. Compiled by Mojo journalist Mark Blake, including unearthed letters dated between January and September 1965. Documenting private correspondence between his former girlfriend, Jenny Spires, they touch on all manner of captivating Floyd titbits, from their attempts to play ITV’s Ready Steady Go!, bestowing praise on an upcoming Small Faces, bemoaning his toothache, and occasionally decorating his messages with artful collages.
“They’re an honest reflection of what was going through his head as a young man,” Blake tells Mojo, “There’s one letter where he’s slightly upset because the band had actually broken up; Nick Mason and Roger Waters were working as architects and getting on with real life, but they get together a few months later and play at a party with David Gilmour’s group Jokers Wild.
“He talks about his first recording session as well—he hates the sound of his voice and feels quite intimidated being in a little studio in West Hampstead. There’s also a lovely line which relates to sharing a room in London with Roger Waters: ‘You can have too much of Roger, even though he’s a good mate’.”
‘A bit too much Roger’ would serve a perennial disgruntlement so long as he was in the band. As the group spent several records finding their second lease of life in Barrett’s absence across the early 1970s, bassist Waters would gradually accrue conceptual direction duties, standing as principal singer and songwriter to the extent that 1979’s The Wall was essentially a rock opera biography.
According to Barrett’s personal gripes to Spires, Waters may well have been a big character in their shared flat as well as the studio, a wry yet prescient anticipation of future personal and creative dynamics between the band he founded that would ultimately spell Pink Floyd’s ‘Mk III’ chapter.
