Summary

The author recounts a transformative experience of listening to Pink Floyd while high, which led to a deeper understanding and appreciation of music.

Abstract

In a personal narrative, the author describes a pivotal moment during a road trip in 1999 when, at the age of 21, they truly connected with music for the first time. Under the influence of cannabis and amidst the scenic beauty of the American Southwest, the author gained a newfound ability to discern individual instruments in Pink Floyd's compositions. This experience, particularly with the song "Wish You Were Here," profoundly impacted their relationship with music and inspired subsequent creative works. The author reflects on the emotional resonance of Pink Floyd's music, associating it with past relationships and the bittersweet nature of memories and lost love.

Opinions

The author believes that Pink Floyd's music, especially "Wish You Were Here," captures complex emotions and the essence of longing and nostalgia.
They suggest that their understanding of music was enhanced by the use of cannabis, which allowed them to appreciate the nuances of Pink Floyd's instrumentation.
The author values the personal and creative influence of Pink Floyd, as evidenced by their incorporation of the band's music into their own poetry and fiction.
They hold the view that music can evoke powerful memories and feelings, effectively transporting one back to specific moments in time.
The author implies that Pink Floyd's timeless appeal is due to the profound connection their music creates with listeners on an emotional level.

That Night I Smoked A Joint, Listened to Pink Floyd, and Finally Understood Music

“Wish You Were Here” — On variations of love, longing, and musical understanding

“Pink Floyd Wish You Were Here Wallpaper” by Scott Clark is licensed under CC BY 2.0

I was born in 1978, but I didn’t grow up consuming Pink Floyd. I didn’t try to play records backward to find secret messages. I didn’t mourn the Pink Floyd shows I never saw. But, Pink Floyd permeated my life anyway, starting when I was about 21 years old, back in the summer of 1999.

My best friend drove her family’s Suburban expertly through the New Mexico mountains as the starry night sky enveloped us. Our second road trip from Norman, Oklahoma to Las Cruces, New Mexico to get tattoos.

On these trips, she ended up with an Oscar the Grouch on her bicep and a lotus flower on top of her foot. I chose a small colorful bird off the wall for the inside of my right wrist — a gift from my dad and step-mom, who lived in Las Cruces, for my 21st birthday. The other tattoo I got in New Mexico was inspired by an Angelina Jolie centerfold piece in some popular magazine of the time. It showed a wildcat on her thigh. I got a jaguar surrounded by orange tiger lilies on my inner right thigh. I gnawed a roll of paper towels as I got inked. It hurt.

We drove to New Mexico for tattoos because it was illegal to get inked in Oklahoma at the time.

These road trips were magic. We visited Carlsbad Caverns, the White Sands National Park, passed Area 51 in Roswell.

When we drove, our chitchat was crisscrossed by drags on joints and whatever CD we played. During the day, we listened to a lot of Sublime’s Santeria album. It was upbeat and kept us dancing awake on the long drive.

On this particular starry night, crossing the hills through Colorado or New Mexico or, well we were somewhere scenic. We decided to take the scenic route back. On this dreamy, starry night, I remember taking a few drags off a joint, curling into my seat, and listening, really listening, to Pink Floyd for the first time.

And, I finally got it.

I’d been friends with musicians for a couple of years. Drummers, bassists, guitarists. Boys in a band. My BFF was teaching herself guitar. I felt like the only one without musical talent. Couldn’t even sing.

When I closed my eyes and listened to Pink Floyd, I picked out the guitar, the drums, the bass. I’d never been able to do that before. To me, music sounded like a complete sound — the sum of its parts. My ear refused to pick up singular instrumental nuances that integrate to create a coherent sound — a song.

Up until that moment. I don’t remember which song it was. I don’t even know which album we were listening to. It may have been Wish You Were Here. Maybe “Comfortably Numb” or “The Wall” or a song I’d never heard before. It didn’t matter. I finally understood why people closed their eyes and bathed in music.

Since beginning blogging in 2020, I’ve written pieces inspired by Pink Floyd a couple of times. One is a poem. One is a short story. They’re both inspired by “Wish You Were Here.” I don’t care that it’s one of their most popular songs.

It’s popular for a reason.

“Wish You Were Here” is the title track of the 1975 album by the same name. It’s the 324th song listed on Rolling Stone’s 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.

I love the emotion from David Gilmour, the guitar solos, the feeling of the song.

I remember Pink Floyd playing from a now ex-boyfriend’s stereo around the time I was 21. Standing in his mom’s driveway, leaning in for a kiss. Looking at the sky. Looking up at him. So tall and handsome. Big nose, blonde hair, puppy dog eyes. He was a great kisser. Maybe I’m fumbling it. Mixing it all up. Maybe we were just friends when we stood by his truck and soaked in Pink Floyd. Maybe the kissing was later.

Pink Floyd reminds me of that summer romance.

Mason Jar of Long-Lost Kisses

Poetry Sunday

psiloveyou.xyz

There’s something about “Wish You Were Here” that honors the what could’ve beens of relationships. The loves we’ve let go or never quite initiated. An honoring of separation and a moment of longing before getting back to the reality of our lives.

Maybe that’s why I wove this song into my short story, “Gabriella Faces Steamy Temptation in Her Art Studio,” which is my most popular piece of fiction ever.

Here’s an excerpt from that story:

“She pours half a glass of orange juice and mixes it with half a glass of rum as she hears Josh pull up in the driveway. He’s in his old El Camino. Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” lyrics are carried in on the wind.

And, with the words and the wind she remembers being in the school art studio the day before Aleks asked her out. Josh and Gaby were alone and she’d run out of purple acrylic paint. Josh walked over to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulder saying he’d always have her back when he could.”

The song opens with a 12-string guitar riff (so Lyrics.com says). It’s a beautiful intro to my untrained ear. There’s the mixing of instruments into a harmonious union and the singing of David Gilmour.

When I listen to “Wish You Were Here,” I find myself singing along, listening with my eyes clothes, bathed in beauty of stars and mountains and music, engaged in a tender kiss, reminiscing on moments of past and present loves, on that feeling of time standing still for a perfect moment.

The poignancy of the music and lyrics stand the test of time.

Aimée Gramblin is still figuring out who she is and that’s okay. You can read all her Medium essays here.