Inside Out (16 page)

Generally overseas touring went smoothly. The band and crew got on well together, we didn’t miss gigs and our equipment was
still relatively manageable and easily transportable: a stack of 4x4 speaker cabinets for David, Roger and Rick, with a four-channel
mixer at the side of the stage feeding a couple of PA columns, but no mikes for the drum kit. Rick had a Hammond organ by
this time, and we might have started carrying a gong around with us for Roger to beat, but there were few extras. The Azimuth
Co-ordinator stayed at home.

Our light show continued to rely on the slide projectors, backed up by a rack of mounted spotlights, and the whirling Daleks.
Under their glow, and since most of the venues were small, we would get extremely hot and sweaty, but our stage performance
was earnest rather than flashy. After briefly experimenting with a Keith Moon-like barrage of energy, I had settled for a
less flamboyant style. Rick never subscribed to the Little Richard school of performing arts, preferring the traditional use
of hands
rather than feet. David would generally concentrate on what he was playing.

However, Roger was given to roaming round the stage from time to time, and occasionally attacked the gong with gusto. I still
have a strong visual memory of him bending backwards, teeth bared, head thrown back and the neck of his bass vertical, extracting
the most from a typically long and descending run. He frequently gave the impression he was trying to wring its neck. Both
he and Rick smoked on stage, and while Rick’s cigarette burned holes in the edge of his Farfisa, the glowing end of Roger’s
cigarette, jammed in the top of the strings, was a useful point of reference whenever the lights were down.

Meanwhile, when we were off the road, we were working in the studios on a new album, once again fitting the recording sessions
around our touring schedule. EMI had obviously been rather taken by surprise when we announced that Syd was leaving the band:
we had not wanted to unsettle them by communicating this to them with undue haste. They may have considered that since Syd
was under contract to them they had all the bases covered. To their credit, they had the good manners not to intervene…and
in fact only formally wrote a letter to confirm his departure four years later.

The bulk of the follow-up to
Piper, A Saucerful Of Secrets,
was recorded at Abbey Road, and the album represents most of the forces at work during that period. It contains the final
guttering flame of Syd’s contributions: even the lyrics of ‘Jugband Blues’ seem to be a requiem (‘I’m most obliged to you
for making it clear that I’m not here’). For the recording of this – which we’d done in December the year before – Syd had
suggested a brass band overdub. Norman asked him if he had any ideas for figures or counter-melodies: ‘Syd just said, “No,
let’s use the Salvation Army.” I got a dozen Salvation Army bods in, and of course I hadn’t
written anything down. We were all there except Syd. I talked to the musicians and said, “Look, fellows, Syd Barrett has a
certain talent – there’s no doubt about that – but I think you might find him a rather odd character, so don’t be surprised
when he arrives.” We waited half an hour or so and Syd finally turned up. I asked him what they should do, and he said “Just
let them do what they like, just anything”. I pointed out that we couldn’t really do that because nobody would know where
they were, but that’s how it had to happen.’

We did have a number of other songs of Syd’s in reserve, including ‘Old Woman With A Casket’ and ‘Vegetable Man’. They were
initially intended to be potential singles, but were never satisfactorily finished. Both of these had vocals from me included
in the mix, which may have some bearing on the matter. Neither track has ever officially been released, but they did find
their way to the marketplace courtesy of Peter Jenner.

Peter remembers that Syd wrote ‘Vegetable Man’ straight off at his house in the space of a few minutes: ‘It was just a description
of himself at the time. “I am a vegetable man.” Terrifying to read the lyrics. I let those songs out. I felt that if you wanted
to understand Syd, these were important, fantastic songs, although terribly upsetting. People needed to hear them.’

We returned to Abbey Road to work on the new album once David was on board. Rick contributed ‘Remember A Day’ and ‘See-Saw’.
‘Remember A Day’ had a different drum feel to our usual pounding style, and I eventually relinquished the playing to Norman.
I really didn’t like giving up my drum stool – and never have – but in this particular instance I would have struggled to
provide a similar feel. Re-listening to this it feels more like a Norman Smith track than anyone else’s. Apart from the rather
un-Floyd-like arrangement, Norman’s voice is also prominent within the backing vocals.

Roger supplied three songs, ‘Corporal Clegg’, ‘Let There Be More Light’ and ‘Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun’. Within
months Roger had been galvanised from the awkwardness of ‘Take Up Thy Stethoscope And Walk’ to a lyric style that was much
more flowing. ‘Light’ and ‘Clegg’ had considerable production input from Norman, and the latter some verbal input too. ‘Corporal
Clegg’ has Norman muttering ‘Git yore hair cut’ on the fade-out, an in-joke, and lyrically the subject matter can be seen
as a humorous forerunner of ‘The Gunner’s Dream’. ‘Let There Be More Light’ was engendered by references to Pip Carter, one
of the odder characters of the Cambridge mafia, now deceased. Out of the Fens, and with some gipsy blood, Pip worked for us
at odd times as one of the world’s most spectacularly inept roadies – a hotly contested title – and had a distressing tendency
to remove his shoes within the confines of the van.

‘Set The Controls’ is perhaps the most interesting song in relation to what we were doing at the time since it had been constructed
to make the most of what we had learnt. The song – with a great, catchy riff – was designed to sit within Roger’s vocal range.
Lyrically it is suitably Sixties (based, according to Roger, on late Tang period poetry) and rhythmically it gave me a chance
to emulate one of my favourite pieces, ‘Blue Sands’, the track by the jazz drummer Chico Hamilton in the film
Jazz On A Summer’s Day.
‘Set The Controls’ is a song that has lasted incredibly well. The song was fun to play live – and we had played it over a
number of months, allowing it to evolve and ironing out any wrinkles – but in the studio we could enhance it with echo and
reverb, adding a whispery quality to the vocals.

And the title track, ‘A Saucerful Of Secrets’, is in my view one of the most coherent pieces we have ever produced. Instead
of the standard song structure made up of verses, choruses, middle eight and bridge, and in contrast to the evolution of the
more
improvised pieces, it was carefully constructed. Roger and I mapped it out in advance, following the classical music convention
of three movements. This was not unique to us, but it was unusual. With no knowledge of scoring, we designed the whole thing
on a piece of paper, inventing our own hieroglyphics.

One starting point was a sound that Roger had discovered by placing a mike close to the edge of a cymbal and capturing all
the tones that are normally lost when it is struck hard. This gave us a first section to work from, and with four individuals
contributing freely, the piece developed quickly. The middle section – or ‘Rats In The Piano’ as it was sometimes more familiarly
labelled by the band – was a development of sounds that we used in improvised sequences in earlier shows, probably lifted
from a John Cage piece, while the rhythm was supplied by a double-tracked drum loop.

The end sequence was an anthem that built throughout and in performance gave us an opportunity to use ever-increasingly large
house organs, culminating in the one at the Albert Hall – an instrument with such power that it was rumoured certain stops
should never be used as they might either damage the building’s foundations or cause an attack of mass nausea amongst the
audience members.

We also used a Mellotron, with its weird fluxing tape loops of string sounds, which the Musician’s Union were up in arms about,
as they thought it would mark the end of live string players. The instrument now seems so quaint it feels as though it should
be in a museum alongside the serpent and crumhorn, but its sound is so distinctive it is now digitally re-created in soundboxes
with all its imperfections part of the continuing charm.

I remember the general atmosphere in the studio working on
A Saucerful of Secrets
as being industrious and constructive. All of us wanted to be involved all the time, so creating a percussion sound would
find Roger holding the cymbal, David moving the
microphone closer, Rick adjusting the height, and me delivering the
coup de grâce.

We were learning the technology and some studio technique, and the work was getting done, even if it wasn’t entirely to Norman’s
taste. Perhaps when Syd left, Norman may have thought we would return to more conservative song making. There is certainly
a story that during the recording of
Saucer he
was heard to remark that the boys would have to settle down and do some proper work once they had got this piece out of their
system.

Eventually we parted company with Norman, although Norman retained an executive producer credit on the next two albums. In
the early Seventies he went on to have a couple of hit records of his own as ‘Hurricane’ Smith (‘Don’t Let It Die’ and ‘Oh
Babe, What Would You Say?’) and, to the delight of the audience and himself, was literally wheeled onstage aboard a mobile
podium to conduct the orchestra for ‘A Saucerful of Secrets’ when we performed it live at the Royal Albert Hall in June 1969.

Steve O’Rourke’s notable contribution to the recording sessions for
Saucer
was the continuation in Studio 3 of his wedding on 1st April 1968. Steve arrived with his new bride Linda, and some of their
tired and emotional guests decided to explore the studio complex and try their hand at some of the unusual and intriguing
musical instruments they came across. Roger says they later found the bride fast asleep in the grand piano. A short while
later Sir Joseph Lockwood issued an edict banning alcohol from the studios.

The cover design of
Saucer
marked the arrival of Storm Thorgerson and Aubrey Powell (who was known as Po long before the Teletubbies were ever dreamt
of) as collaborators rather than observers. The cover contains all the politically correct ingredients of the period, and
is a testament not only to the stream of ideas that flowed from their company Hipgnosis, and which still flows
for our benefit from Storm well over three decades further on, but also to the facilities of the Royal College of Art, where
they had both been at the film school. Since many of their friends were current or ex-students they relied on the RCA for
technical support, as there was no budget for the professional labs.

On the day of the album’s release – 29th June 1968 – we played at the first free Hyde Park concert, along with Roy Harper
and Jethro Tull. This was a marvellous event: the weather was fine, the atmosphere mellow and relaxed. Perhaps most tellingly,
it had not occurred to anyone to construct a VIP area, and everyone seemed to be in the same good mood. Plus it gave us the
chance to renew acquaintance with our original fan base, albeit in front of a much wider public, and with Blackhill, who were
responsible for the whole event. This was our first opportunity to work with Peter and Andrew after the split and that there
seemed to be no hard feelings was a bonus. Peter Jenner says, ‘Hyde Park was a great pleasure. The fact that the Floyd played
there proves there was no lingering hostility. Both parties had been gentlemanly. There was mutual respect.’

I think almost everybody who was there has happy memories of the concert, particularly those clever enough to rent the rowing
boats on the Serpentine Lake. They didn’t see much of the show, but it was daylight so the lighting effects were non-existent.
Other fans were obviously less attuned to the mood, though, since
Melody Maker
reportedly fielded a number of calls from anxious fans who wanted to know exactly how much it would cost to get into the
free concert.

In August, we returned to the States, ten months after our first disastrous sortie. Before we left, Bryan approached us and
explained that as a formality he needed us to sign another agency agreement in order to smooth the path of the tour. Roger
smelt a rat, and only signed on the basis that it was a six-week contract.
He was right to be suspicious. Two days later we learned through the press that the agency and management side of Bryan’s
business had been sold for £40,000 to NEMS Enterprises, Brian Epstein’s old music company, now owned and run by Vic Lewis.

Vic was very much old-school music business – complete with pencil moustache and Brylcreemed hair – and we were ushered in
to meet the great man at his grand offices in Mayfair. Horrorstruck we listened as he told us proudly of the album he had
recorded of Beatles songs arranged his way with strings. He suggested the possibility of Pink Floyd getting the same treatment.
Was this a threat, a promise or a joke? Unable to tell, we glanced at each other nervously.

Although we had signed the agency contract, Bryan had overlooked the management aspect and neglected to get us to sign the
relevant contract. This gave us enough leverage to extract some cash from NEMS – a great assuager of artistic pain, I find
– and to insist that Steve, who was due to join NEMS, be released to become our personal manager.

Bryan now maintains that one of the primary reasons he sold the agency to NEMS was that his doctor had told him to cut his
lifestyle and workload back, as he was suffering from ulcers. But, to his credit, Bryan did understand the importance of getting
us back to America for a second tour, and was instrumental in making it happen.

It was, and probably still is, fantastically important to achieve success in the US, both in terms of record sales to such
a huge market, and live performance…However, a strike by American air traffic controllers in 1968 ensured that a relatively
small-scale tour became a full-scale drama. Because our work visas had been delayed yet again, we were forced to arrive as
holidaymakers, and then to make a quick jaunt to Canada (it had to be a round trip because we couldn’t afford an overnight
stay) to get the correct
paperwork in the middle of a residency at Steve Paul’s Scene Club in New York. This basement club on 47th and 6th was an established
New York showcase and, although tiny, was an ideal launch pad for us. As an added draw, Fleetwood Mac was booked as support
for a number of nights, although I have no memory of how we dealt with equipment changes between sets. A free bar for the
bands compensated for low pay. With New York summer temperatures and a low ceiling height, the atmosphere was intense. Carried
along on a wave of percussive creativity, and perhaps also by the bar arrangements, Roger sustained some nasty cuts to his
hands throwing glasses at the gong during ‘Set The Controls’. After his run-in with the Vox bass at the Cheetah Club on our
first tour he seemed to be making a habit of spilling blood in America.