THE PIPER AT THE GATES OF DAWN

I find it fascinating that Pink Floyd are regarded as gods of music ever since The Dark Side of the Moon, when to me, what they do is watered-down Floyd, sanitised Syd sifted through a veil. The real Floyd are here, in this record, flawed, yes, but relentlessly experimental, daring, wild. Then again, would the music on this record ever have become a world force? More likely it would have vanished along with the sixties, an anecdote in musical history, See Emily Plays and all that.

With Syd out of the way, the artisans in the band could get down to the task of making money and becoming popular. That's not to say they weren't excellent at what they do, in fact, the lack of creative artistry was a bit help, and there was still a lot of creative force in putting together the rather bland meal but spicing it up with slices of Syd-like phrases, both musical and lyrical. It was part of their own legacy after all, so perhaps they were more entitled to use it than anyone else.

It took the world by storm. But I still have a sneaking fondness for the rough-hewn brilliance of undiluted Syd.