Syd Barrett: Lucy leave & other rarities Interview CD circa 1970
Transcribed by Geoff Rimmer
There is a formiable and sometimes rather tasteless mystique surrouding Syd Barrett not very different to that which until recently went hand in hand with the name of Arthur Lee. What little has been written has only added weight to the myth of a modern Nietzsche/ Nijinsky figure who mumbles inanities and vague things about “getting it together.” Strangely enough, Syd turns out to be as normal, unkempt, and emaciated as most of us. Talkative, unpretentious, and above all, very human…
Piper at the Gates of Dawn?
Wind in the Willows. That was very difficult in some ways, getting used to the studios and everything. But it was fun, we freaked about a lot. I was working very hard then; there’s still lots of stuff lying around from then, even some of the stuff on Madcap.
Some of your songs seem rather obscure—like Chapter 24 on Piper.
Chapter 24… That was from I Ching, there was someone around who was very into that, most of the words came straight off that. Lucifer Sam was another one—it didn’t means much to me at the time, but then three or four months later it cam to mean a lot.
How important are lyrics to you?
Very important. I think it’s good if a song has more than one meaning. Maybe that kind of song can reach far more people, that’s nice. On the other hand, I like songs that are simple. I liked Arnold Layne because to me it was a very clear song.
Some of your words don’t come over too clearly, like on Octopus there’s “little Minnie Conn coughs and clears his throat”. Have you though about printing the words on the sleeve next time?
Yeah that would be nice (laughing). That was “little minute gong.”
What about Octopus—that was my personal favourite.
I carried that about in my head for about six months before I actually wrote it so maybe that’s why it came out so well. The idea was like those number songs like “Green Grow the Rushes Ho” where you have, say, twelve lines each related to the next and an overall theme. It’s like a fool-proof combination of lyrics, really, and then the chorus comes in and changes the tempo but holds the whole thing together.
There’s a strong childhood feel to a lot of your songs with lots of fairy-tale and nursery rhyme elements. Have you ever thought of writing for kids?
Fairy-tales are nice… I think a lot of it has to do with living in Cambridge, with nature and everything—it’s so clean, and I still drive back a lot. Maybe if I’d stayed at college, I would have become a teacher. Leaving school and suddenly being without that structure around you and nothing to relate to… maybe that’s a part of it, too.
There was a strong science-fiction thing in the early Floyd. Were you ever into that?
Not really, except “Journey into Space” and “Quatermass”, which was when I was about fifteen, so that could be where it came from.
Your lyrics could be described as surrealistic collages. Did your art training affect your writing?
Only the rate of work, learning to work hard. I do tend to take lines from other things, lines I like, and then write around them but I don’t consciously relate to painting. It’s just writing good songs that matters, really.
Do you still paint?
Not much. The guy who lives next door to me paints, and he’s doing it well, so I don’t really feel the need.
Do you want to do other things?
A lot of people want to make films and do photography and things, but I’m quite happy doing what I’m doing.
Are you into other people’s music?
I don’t really buy many records—there’s so much around that you don’t know what to listen to. All I’ve got at home is Bo Diddley, some Stones and Beatles stuff and old jazz records. I like Family, they do some nice things.
What about the Underground?
I haven’t been to the Arts Lab or anything, so I don’t really know what’s happening. There are just so many people running around doing different things and no kind of unity. It doesn’t really bother me.
Do you read poetry?
I’ve got Penguins lying around at home. Shakespeare and Chaucer, you know? But I don’t really read a lot. Maybe I should.
Were you satisfied with Madcap Laughs?
Yes, I liked what came out, only it was released far too long after it was done. I wanted it to be a whole thing that people would listen to all the way through with everything related and balanced, the tempos and moods offsetting each other, and I hope that’s what it sounds like, I’ve got it at home, but I don’t listen to it much now.
Madcap is rather gentle compated with your Floyd stuff. What about the new album?
There’ll be all kinds of things. It just depends what I feel like doing at the time. The important thing is that it will be better than the last.
In “No Man’s Land” on Madcap there’s a long spoken part which is barely audible, like the “faded” lyrics of Astronomy Domine. Was the intention to abstract the words into just background noise?
Originally the words were meant to be heard clearly, but we went and actually did it, that’s how it came out, which wasn’t really how I’d planned it.
How’s the guitar playing?
I always write with guitar. I’ve got this big room and I just go in and do the work. I like to do the words and music simultaneously, so when I go into the studio I’ve got the words on one side and my music on the other. I suppose Icould do with some practice.
What about the future? Are you looking forward to singing and playing again?
Yes, that would be nice. I used to enjoy it, it was a gas. But so’s doing nothing. It’s art school laziness, really, I’ve got this Wembley gig and then another thing in summer.
What about forming a band?
I’ll be getting something together for the Wembley thing and then just see what happens.
I’m working on the album. There’s four tracks in the can already, and it should be out about September. There are no set musicians, just people helping out, like on Madcap, which gives me far more freedom in what I want to do… I feel as if I’ve got lots of things, much better things to do still, that’s why there isn’t really a lot to say, I just want to get it all done.