Lucifer in the Sky with Demons

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but Nature more.


I'm in love with rock 'n' roll,
satisfies my soul


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No one can replace Richard Wright. He was my musical partner and my friend.
In the welter of arguments about who or what was Pink Floyd, Rick’s enormous input was frequently forgotten. He was gentle, unassuming, and private, but his soulful voice and playing were vital, magical components of our most recognised Pink Floyd sound. I have never played with anyone quite like him. The blend of his and my voices and our musical telepathy reached their first major flowering in 1971 on ‘Echoes’. In my view all the greatest PF moments are the ones where he is in full flow. After all, without ‘Us and Them’ and ‘The Great Gig in the Sky’, both of which he wrote, what would ‘The Dark Side of the Moon’ have been? Without his quiet touch, the album ‘Wish You Were Here’ would not quite have worked. In our middle years, for many reasons, he lost his way for a while; but in the early Nineties, with ‘The Division Bell’, his vitality, spark and humour returned to him, and then the audience reaction to his appearances on my tour in 2006 was hugely uplifting and it’s a mark of his modesty that those standing ovations came as a huge surprise to him (though not to the rest of us).
Like Rick, I don’t find it easy to express my feelings in words, but I loved him and will miss him enormously.

—David Gilmour (via noceblanche)

For me, playing music is like meditating - I just play and don’t really think about what I’m doing, I just let it happen.

— Richard Wright ( 28 July 1943 – 15 September 2008 ) <3

alexpattie:

We miss you so bad,our Great Rick in the sky…

alexpattie:

We miss you so bad,our Great Rick in the sky…

Focused and pointed she was, buried in the depths of her star, swallowed in its peace and strength; and not feeling her flesh growing cold, cold as the rain that fell from the invisible sky upon the doomed living and the dead that never dies.

—Richard Wright, from “Bright and Morning Star” (via the-final-sentence)