A Year of Blind Spots: The Madcap Laughs

Joe is working through a list of albums that he considers "blind spots," i.e. albums that he's never heard but feels like he should.

1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die:

Precisely what does Syd Barrett's legend rest on? Well, for starters, he was the artisan behind Pink Floyd's remarkable debut, The Piper at the Gates of Dawn. And like Kenneth Grahame's book that Piper's title sprang from, Barrett infused his work with charming English whimsy, cosmic paganism, even. Then there is the reclusive painter reputation, and history of LSD mingling with mental illness. For, after his departure from Pink Floyd (for reasons never openly discussed), Syd's solo career was brief and erratic.

Recorded over a few days, The Madcap Laughs sounds hastily prepared, as implied on the false start to "If It's in You." Indeed, without help from Roger Waters and Dave Gilmour (the latter replaced Syd's Floydian role), it might never have surfaced. Barrett's guitar playing is patchy, and his voice often a tuneless wail. You hear the rustle of lyric sheets being turned mid-song. Yet the album's Eastern-tinged melodies and eccentric English pop inspired a host of rock mystics, including Julian Cope.

There are moments of genius, naturally. "Dark Globe," with its fabulous lyric and hammered waltz chords, is gripping. And "Late Night," where gentle percussion checks Barrett's excesses, features lovely slide guitar—played with a cigarette lighter. Elsewhere, there is an eerie setting of excerpts of James Joyce's poetry in "Golden Hair," and the spontaneously catchy "Here I Go."

Depression, schizophrenia, and other forms of mental trauma are forever misunderstood and misdiagnosed. Syd Barrett only gave us a few hours of intensely recorded creativity, but history affords him the contentment of a man who left his mark.

Joe:

I like it, because I believe in rock 'n' roll legends. I buy into the myth completely. I'm not saying that everything ever told is true. I'm saying that I believe in the power of myth, and how it can alter, in positive ways, the way you interpret the craft. I don't actually believe that Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil so that he could become a legendary blues guitar player, but I believe that the story itself is a valuable piece of how we interpret the music he left behind.

I have known about the legend and myth of Syd Barrett since pretty much the start of my awakening as a music lover. This is because Pink Floyd was one of my very first bands that I ever loved, and Syd Barrett's ghost weaves intricately in and out of that band's story throughout their long, complex existence. The story of Pink Floyd recording "Wish You Were Here" about Syd Barrett and then a dazed and confused Syd Barrett randomly showing up at the studio is a story that looms larger in my rock-addled brain than the Robert Johnson story, if I'm being honest.

So it was cool finally checking out The Madcap Laughs, one of two Barrett solo albums, and really the only one you hear about, especially if you're just genuinely curious about Barrett's music after knowing about the guy for so long. I'll gladly admit that I liked this album because it was the man the myth the legend, and not because down-tempo freak-folk is normally my thing. It's not. But appreciating the myth is absolutely my thing, and I buy into it wholeheartedly here.

I remember when Syd Barrett died. I'm looking at Wikipedia now and am shocked and perplexed to see that he died twenty years ago now. I know that I was into Pink Floyd by the time he passed, but still, it could've only been a couple years. I certainly didn't know what he sounded like musically at that time. See? This is part of the myth. I didn't know him in any sense whatsoever, but his death made an impact on me, or at the very least an impact on the circle of music that surrounded me at the time.

About five months after he passed, I was gifted my first iPod, one that was found on the street, and on it, preloaded for me by whatever stranger lost it, was The Piper at the Gates of Dawn. I didn't appreciate it at the time. I didn't get it. Too weird. If I'm being honest, almost twenty years after hearing it for the first time, I still kinda think it falls on the wrong side of the weird/cool divide. But I hold an appreciation for it now, just in the way that it set the tempo for a bizarre and mostly hidden career and rest of his life.

Some of that appreciation comes retroactively, after hearing The Madcap Laughs this week. This album feels very similar to Piper in theme and feel, but obviously not style. Madcap is Piper with its circus-like guts ripped out. It's pure psychedelia played by a confused man on acoustic guitar in a mostly empty room. But, as the 1001 Albums blurb indicates, the genius peeks through. It's not weird on purpose like Piper is, it's weird by default. The man had issues, and somehow, for one brief moment, understood how to turn those issues into music. It's some cool shit.