Pink Floyd’s “Piper at the Gates of Dawn” — a Succinct, Long-Winded Review and Reflection

One of my main creative influences, this colorful, cosmic mess of a record sends the listener through vivid scenes of gustatory-infused space jams, poignantly balancing them with short, percussive numbers that recall a nostalgia for old fairy tales. Initially not the most accessible album, repeated listens and summer fun ultimately imbued me with a better appreciation.

Iconically late 60’s, this album took Psych rock from being a point of reluctance for me, to one of infatuation. Anything that abused effect pedals, far-fetched lyrics, or zany costumes instantly held my interest. Subsequent maturing experiences helped faze me out of this obsession. That said, where bands like the Doors or the more dubious Strawberry Alarm Clock stand as testaments to when cursory style undermines long term substance, perhaps due to Floydian studio touches, or Syd Barrett’s unmatched prowess, Piper uniquely circumvents the pitfalls of hasty composition.

It may be attributable to the album’s distinctly artistic purpose. It may be more so the awareness that the band were destined to mature, where others failed and thus have legacies indelibly stained on the grave of 60's complacent euphoria.

Always a joy to listen to, I relish in each track, even the succinct Scarecrow. Qualitatively dissimilar to later Floyd albums, this one has to be weighed in its context: 1967, London, clubs, acid, strobe lights, the Beatles, cultural appropriation, etc. The band were young, and even the eventual ego-maniac Roger Waters takes a back seat, as he and the other members seemingly assist Barrett’s vision. As kooky as Alice in Wonderland or Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, the album’s literary coloring makes it a narrative gem, even if like it’s influences, a rather arbitrary one.