When I first fell in love with the Pink Floyd it was through Wish you were here. Highly curious and instantly attracted by the playful notes, in the adolescent era of rage and rejection (my top 3 were Metallica, Marilyn Manson and a Romanian indie band called OCS) the little song reached my softer side (I also liked folk) and I knew I wanted more.
The second time I fell in love with Pink Floyd was when I bought The dark side of the moon. I was 18.
Year after year their music, whether made by one or all of them, grew on me. Funny thing, it was never in my head, on my mind but let itself listened to when I most needed it.
Third time I fell in love with the Pink Floyd I was 21 and a half and just discovered the Division Bell. I found myself in a situation that suited perfectly every song of the album and I was obsessively playing it.
Eventually over time I got to discover all the other albums and singles and films and tours but now it’s all about Learning to fly. Today, 13 years later.
It was about damn time.
*photos taken at the Pink Floyd exhibition: Their mortal remains, @ Victoria&Albert Museum, London