People who have gotten drunk with me know I cannot carry a tune and that I screw up the lyrics of pretty much every song.
There are lyrics I never get wrong, lyrics which resonate with life, lyrics so powerful they became a part of who I am.
If you’re a bit older you remember running towards the radio when That Song started to press “record”. You remember the frustration when That Song was interrupted by stupid commentary of the radio host.
I’ve learned so much English trying to understand Insomnia. Back then, I had no idea how and why would someone smoke weed. I had no idea what a duvet was and I even had to look up yeast. Twenty three years ago I had no idea what insomnia was and I had never burned a whole in a mattress.
When it comes to music, my appreciation for Pink Floyd is unparalleled. I experience their music on a primordial level – instinct and reflex. Yet at the same time the mind is restless, in a dreamlike state; old and new worlds coexist, dreary truths of our past coalesce with unruined future.
Three things passed through my mind after having heard the new album for the first time:
- whale song
- elevator music
- was this song (Anisina) on the Lethal Weapon soundtrack?
Having listened to The Endless River a few more times I somewhat moved past those impressions. Somewhat. I scarcely ever have a feeling about an album, I normally enjoy music on a level of a single song. Except with Floyd. The Endless River lacks that unifying experience, and it lacks poetry.
All in all, it’s unispirational, bland and at times seems to be endless – and not in a good way.