I listen to this album, "The Madcap Laughs", maybe four or five times a year, from beginning to end, and each listen is a different experience from any of the previous. Then I put on "Barrett", and it's the same 'different' experience.
Each album has several emotive peaks. I can't identify the major pinnacles on "Madcap", but I am sure it's not "Here I Go". This song might actually be the technical nadir of the album. It's a rare type of song for Syd Barrett in that it's a face-value song -- not surreal, nor even abstract, and not stream-of-consciousness.
He is telling a story much like a conventional songwriter would, generally chronologically, using words, terms, and references the listener immediately understands. He starts with a speech-act intro, informing the listener who this story is about, and what the emotional conflict of the song entails. She rejects him, and not only that, but she does so, as any Pink Floyd and/or Syd Barrett fan understands, because he is not in Pink Floyd anymore.
It's all pretty straightforward from there. I imagine that she is a groupie type who wants to excitement of being with a Rock star, and doesn't have time for a low-key, solo singer-songwriter -- a genre that had not quite taken off in 1970 when this album was recorded.
The irony at this point is that she is a groupie type, but doesn't even like Rock & Roll! She also doesn't do the stroll, or at least she doesn't "do it right." Seems like he was better off without her -- which is possibly why he sounds so upbeat, but it also could be because her sister is not as superficial and opportunistic as she is.
The sister sees her chance, and invites him in to "play a song," an invitation to which he happily replies, "Yeah! Here I go!" He takes virtually no time to mourn his previous relationship, and I, for one, feel happy for him. Hell with that bitch sister!
He goes on to play his entire musical catalog for his new girlfriend, and she heartily approves of his repertoire, and thus the relationship is sealed. He ends the song with the near-future prediction, which does not come true in his real life, but we can imagine it nonetheless in the fantasy setting of this hopeful ditty, that he and the new girlfriend will be married soon, and he won't ever think about his soon-to-be-sister-in-law again.
The musical chord progressions are conventional, too, and have a definite pre-Rock feel to them. The music is slightly jazzy, a little folksy, maybe some Music Hall... Perhaps it's best termed Skiffle. It's quirky, yet very accessible -- a style for rather mainstream listeners, except for a trademark 'Syd Barrett Time Signature Change'™ after each verse...
This is probably the most conventional Syd Barrett song from his entire body of work, including the demos from 1965. It really helps the fan to understand Syd's mental state after his ouster from Pink Floyd, which was extremely painful, perhaps even destructive to his sense of self. But he had moments, at least, of hope, he had good times, and he still had creative versatility. His sacking from Floyd was the "rejection that kept on rejecting," as this story demonstrates, but enigmatically, he definitely was not the frazzled, unraveling psyche that most, including at least one of his former band members (Rick, bless his heart), believed for decades afterward.
I listen to this album, "The Madcap Laughs", maybe four or five times a year, from beginning to end, and each listen is a different experience from any of the previous. Then I put on "Barrett", and it's the same 'different' experience.
Each album has several emotive peaks. I can't identify the major pinnacles on "Madcap", but I am sure it's not "Here I Go". This song might actually be the technical nadir of the album. It's a rare type of song for Syd Barrett in that it's a face-value song -- not surreal, nor even abstract, and not stream-of-consciousness.
He is telling a story much like a conventional songwriter would, generally chronologically, using words, terms, and references the listener immediately understands. He starts with a speech-act intro, informing the listener who this story is about, and what the emotional conflict of the song entails. She rejects him, and not only that, but she does so, as any Pink Floyd and/or Syd Barrett fan understands, because he is not in Pink Floyd anymore.
It's all pretty straightforward from there. I imagine that she is a groupie type who wants to excitement of being with a Rock star, and doesn't have time for a low-key, solo singer-songwriter -- a genre that had not quite taken off in 1970 when this album was recorded.
The irony at this point is that she is a groupie type, but doesn't even like Rock & Roll! She also doesn't do the stroll, or at least she doesn't "do it right." Seems like he was better off without her -- which is possibly why he sounds so upbeat, but it also could be because her sister is not as superficial and opportunistic as she is.
The sister sees her chance, and invites him in to "play a song," an invitation to which he happily replies, "Yeah! Here I go!" He takes virtually no time to mourn his previous relationship, and I, for one, feel happy for him. Hell with that bitch sister!
He goes on to play his entire musical catalog for his new girlfriend, and she heartily approves of his repertoire, and thus the relationship is sealed. He ends the song with the near-future prediction, which does not come true in his real life, but we can imagine it nonetheless in the fantasy setting of this hopeful ditty, that he and the new girlfriend will be married soon, and he won't ever think about his soon-to-be-sister-in-law again.
The musical chord progressions are conventional, too, and have a definite pre-Rock feel to them. The music is slightly jazzy, a little folksy, maybe some Music Hall... Perhaps it's best termed Skiffle. It's quirky, yet very accessible -- a style for rather mainstream listeners, except for a trademark 'Syd Barrett Time Signature Change'™ after each verse...
This is probably the most conventional Syd Barrett song from his entire body of work, including the demos from 1965. It really helps the fan to understand Syd's mental state after his ouster from Pink Floyd, which was extremely painful, perhaps even destructive to his sense of self. But he had moments, at least, of hope, he had good times, and he still had creative versatility. His sacking from Floyd was the "rejection that kept on rejecting," as this story demonstrates, but enigmatically, he definitely was not the frazzled, unraveling psyche that most, including at least one of his former band members (Rick, bless his heart), believed for decades afterward.