Pink Floyd's "A Saucerful of Secrets": Who Could Be Writing This Song?

Review and discussion on Pink Floyd’s A Saucerful of Secrets (1968).




Relevant links:

The Claypool/Lennon Delirium post that prompted this post: An older post on Syd Barrett

Two Psychedelic Margins: Curating the World

The late 60s were undoubtedly a revolutionary time in Western popular music. The overarching influence of this revolution, however, was not confined to the West. After World War II, Western popular music served a multitude of agendas worldwide, and, as a result, had wide influence on the local music of many cultures. Some might argue that this was unfortunate, because it diluted the traditional styles that were already endangered due to colonialism. On the other hand, some of my favorite “world” music is the kind in which a detectable local flavor seeps into the anonymous gray of globalized Western popular music. Because these styles were marginalized at the time, they existed briefly, and under the threat of extinction. There are, however, an increasing number of devoted curators who expend quite a bit of time and energy restoring and releasing music from this period that would otherwise be lost.

For example, I love a lot of West African popular music, particularly from the late 60s and early 70s.  Ideologically, This region was coming out from under European colonial rule, and artists found James Brown’s “black and proud” message inspiring in their music.  The looming figure of Fela Kuti, the creator of Afrobeat, casts a shadow that eclipses a lot of the other artists from this era, though, so taking the next step in this arena can be somewhat daunting.  I was fortunate in 2005 to have stumbled across a great compilation called World Psychedelic Classics 3: Love's the Real Thing.  This is an excellent document of localized pop styles from the 60s.



Generally speaking, I am not a fan of compilations. Surveys like these can be effective, however, when they are carefully curated and remastered to provide a unified listening experience despite the diversity they represent.  Love's the Real Thing does this pretty well. 

For Christmas in 2010, I got a hold of a similar compilation from an entirely different region, Thailand. The Sound Of Siam : Leftfield Luk Thung, Jazz And Molam From Thailand 1964 – 1975 represents a very interesting syncretism between localized Thai music and Western popular styles.  Be warned - it isn’t always as easy on the ears as Love's the Real Thing. There is one track in particular where the bass guitar is just plain out of tune, and goes further out of tune as the song progresses. Casting aside the interest generated by cultural crossroads, within the first three beats of this track, I have a general feeling of oncoming dread.  The rest of the album, however, paints a vivid and adventurous picture of the popular music in this region during this revolutionary time.



I read somewhere that this style of Thai popular music was on local radio in Vietnam during the war, which obviously I can’t corroborate. It seems possible, though, considering these recordings were most likely printed and broadcast through the increasing influence of what would become the Japanese media machine.  Unfortunately, even the most accessible iterations of Asian and African popular music remained unheard in the West.  It boggles the imagination to consider how much the world would have instantaneously shrunk if just one of these groups appeared at Woodstock, but having their recordings to appreciate today, even out of context, is worth the investment.

Burning the Rulebook: The Who's "Live at Leeds"

In 1986 or so, the very first CD I ever bought was It's Hard by The Who. For quite awhile, it was the only album by The Who I owned, which astounded the more devoted fans I met. In retrospect, it is probably not the strongest entry in The Who's overall canon, but the incredible Eminence Front buoyed the rest of the album and kept it regular rotation on my high school playlist.  In truth, the song is little more than a groovy jam with some lyrics and a minimal bridge.  Considering the incredible songwriting talents that Townshend had developed by this point in his career, close scrutiny makes it seem a little vapid.  As is often the case, however, The Who as a group sell it through impassioned performances and incredible musicianship.

A decade or so later, I was playing in a band called Fletcher. My bandmates were fans of The Who and had a much deeper understanding of their back catalog than I. Under their influence, I backed into the albums that defined The Who in their prime. The drummer suggested that I check out Live at Leeds,  but back then, with the exception of Zappa's releases, I considered live rock albums as ancillary entries to a band’s studio output.  The Who’s approach to staying relevant at the 60s drew to a close, however, revolved around their live persona. The Beatles may have defined themselves by burrowing deeper into the studio, but The Who is remembered as being a top live rock act – perhaps the best there ever was.



Because it’s such a compelling document of them in 1970, Live at Leeds an essential recording for understanding what The Who was really about. Classic tunes like Substitute and I’m a Boy are injected with a kinetic energy that is nothing short of transcendental, which renders the studio versions of these songs comparatively sterile and limp. The version of My Generation featured on Live at Leeds effectively ends after about two minutes, after which Townshend navigates the band through a thunderous fifteen minute exploration of material from throughout their catalog. Although this performance seems very spontaneous, under Townshend’s intuitive leadership the band remains tight and focused, avoiding the loose noodling that epitomizes most jams.



Every member of the band is at the top of their game on Live at Leeds, but I think paying respect to Keith Moon’s drumming is in order.  He’s another example of a musician whose style could not be learned in an academic setting, but must have been cultivated in experience.  Its amazing that with such an impulsive approach, he doesn't rush more than he does.  Of course, my immature prejudice against 60s music embarrassingly constrained my view of the band's important history to the short period with Kenney Jones as drummer, so Moon really blew my mind when I started to understand his idiosyncratic technique.  In he end, Live at Leeds ended up being more than an exception to my weird rulebook - it demolished several chapters and provided a whole new perspective on what is now one of my favorite bands.