The days are long

in our sluggish chateau

where laughter is balanced

with yelling, like the emergency

broadcast system,

“this is only a test”.

The floor is peppered

with bits of banana

and the occasional lonely

green bean-

lovingly abandoned by curious

fingers that have decided

to move on.

Water is the name of the game,

from hand splashing

to the daily run of baths,

the river of life flows on,

little bits of avocados

left in its wake.

Yes, the days are long,

but the nights, well…

Momma has been contacted

by the church-

for sainthood!

Or at least a vacation in Rome.

I have sat for hours

alone on tall, snowy mountains

and made friends with peace

and her noble family of intangibles.

I have driven out in all directions,

gone on walkabout,

until I found the call, answered it

and rested until called again.

I have walked with laughter in my heart

and was met by miles of smiles.

I have tracked the black bear,

shared the sacred pipe

and have been the leaf in the breeze.

I’ve broken bread with my brothers,

drank wine with my sisters,

held deep communion with the Earth

and the Great One

who fills her with life.

Yet somehow, with the passing of moons,

I have become muddled in this world,

hurried along the caffeinated highways of constant information,

single-minded in my quest for a solid ground

and somewhere lost the gift of gentleness.

But then the path split,

like veins in the hand

fingers pointing towards the sun.

My eyes softened like morning dew

as I gazed upon

my sweet daughter.

We have a bee tree

in our front yard.

The bees swarm

around the hive

by the thousands

all trying to get

into one opening.

Like all the thousands

of things I try

to accomplish

in the moments

of a day,

trying to fit them

into the one opening.

How were we ever fooled

into worshipping a man?

Like those bees,

working tirelessly

for their queen,

everything natural worships

woman.

Now don’t get me wrong,

I like the idea of men being worshipped,

of course!

Unfortunately for we men,

nature overwhelmingly proves otherwise.

Terrapin
Syd Barrett
Eric Brown: vocals, guitar, bass
John Paul Davis: keyboards, beats, programming
Recorded by Eric Brown and John Paul Davis
Download MP3 | Download iTunes AAC

I can remember the first time I heard Syd Barrett’s voice as a teenager and how my musical reality changed instantly. My friend and budding musical compadre, Matt Borders, had exposed me to the Madcap muse one spring afternoon after school. Now I had been a big Pink Floyd fan since about age 7 when I would curl up on my parents couch with BIG headphones and would listen to Dark Side of the Moon on 8-track tape for hours. Of course, I had no idea that it was Syd who was the subject of that album or that his influence had affected everything Pink Floyd has ever done. So finally being introduced to Syd and his solo music was enlightening on many levels. As I learned of his passing this month, I wanted to reflect a moment and pay tribute to one of the major influences on my
artistic life.

Syd Barrett the artist.
Syd’s first love was painting, which he continued to do until his death. I believe it was his focus as a visual artist that prepared him to approach music in such new and creative ways. There always seemed to be a freedom in Syd, an certain child-like imaginative genius that made him special and unique as an artist. I fell in love with that quality in Syd’s art and it inspired me to strive for a similar place artistically.

Syd Barrett the musician.
The first Pink Floyd album, Piper at the Gates of Dawn, changed the way popular music was approached. The Beatles listened to it and immediatley ran off to record Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band. But it was all Syd, all at his best. The use of music as a canvas, not unlike many jazz artists had done, was someting completely new in 1967. Again it was Syd’s child-like melodies and simple lyrics that helped make the music so personal and charming. And what he was doing as a guitarist was completely original. Jimi Hendrix spent a lot of time with Syd and often marveled at Syd’s playing style. Even though his two full solo albums were off-center, as it reflected his collapsed mental state, the moments of his genius still poke through from time to time to remind us how remarkable Syd was. What Syd taught me as a musician is that the simple things, like melodies and songs about elephants, last the longest and make the sound personal.

Syd Barrett the myth.
I have read all the books and heard all the amazing tales about how Syd did this and how Syd did that and how he slowly lost his marbles and lived out the rest of his life in seclusion. Sometimes the myth is more interesting than the man. But it is never more interesting than what the man did. I will never look at music the same after hearing Syd Barrett. He was the real deal, something rarely found. And like a rare thing, he was fragile, or so the story goes. Nevertheless, he was a crazy diamond and I have no doubt that his genius will shine on and on. Thank you Syd, thank you.

Eric Leonhardt Brown
25 July 2006

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