I remeber camping once, I was probably 16, and we had a boom box that we hauled into the mountains. Had a cassette tape of Ummagumma that we played. One of the members of the trip had never heard it. “Careful with that axe” pretty much ruined his camping experience. Imagine hearing that late at night, under the stars, miles from the trailhead…

Might have to listen to that again, it’s been awhile.

(the 99% might want to listen to “Animals”)

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The first time I heard UMMAGUMMA I remember a thought flashing through my head, unbidden. “A thousand years from now, starship crews will listen to this, and they will enjoy it.”

A Night with the Floyd

Pink Floyd came to Tampa in the early 70s, during the UMMAGUMMA tour, and played at a small hall, the Armory, that held only about 5K fans. An intimate venue suitable for the band…
Even in those days, the Floyd put on a spectacular show, by the standards of the time. I was impressed by the competence and creativity of the production crew; pyrotechnics, lights, music and sound effects were coordinated by a small army of longhairs roaming around with clipboards and stopwatches and walky-talkies, cueing lights and so forth. It was choreographed like a commando operation, and the musicians did not drop a note or miss a beat. It was impressive.
But I’m getting ahead of myself, the show started with “Careful With That Axe, Eugene”, and you will recall that it begins very slowly and quietly, and only gradually builds up to the crescendo, punctuated by that hideous scream. The stage was in total darkness, but I could see from the monitor and amp lights and by the combined glow of 5000 glowing joints. As the music progressed, I could just make out a huge metal scaffolding studded with Kleig lights gradually rising behind the band, and a mirrored spinning disco ball was slowly being lowered from the ceiling on a cable.
The Tampa audience was completely unfamiliar with the band, but I had a friend who had gone to school at Columbia and was hip to the latest music and he had turned me on to the album; so I was prepared for what was coming. One freak sitting on the floor in front of me obviously wasn’t. He was sitting cross-legged in lotus position, middle fingers to thumbs, head bowed in profound meditation.
When the music reached the resolving note, that heart-stopping electronic scream blasted out, a dozen spots illuminated the ball, spraying the audience with multicolored phaser fire, the lights
on the scaffolding erupted into a blaze of chromatic beams, and rotating police lights scattered about the hall started flashing, again, in a variety of colors. Four pillars of fire and sparks erupted from the stage and sprayed like volcanoes to the ceiling. It was timed and coordinated to the microsecond. Simultaneously, the scream was unleashed on the audience by tall speakers, previously unused, placed like Stonehenge dolmens in a big circle around the hall.
Yoga Dude looked like he was hit by a cosmic hammer. His body, still rigidly in the seated position, fell backwards onto the floor, but his legs were still crossed, locked together, and his arms were still outstretched at his side, fingers still in small O’s. He was lying on his back on the floor, rigid, still in the exact body position he had held while seated. The only term that came to mind was “blown away”. The scream continued over and over and over. It was wonderful.
The boys put on a terrific show, and for an encore after a night of sophisticated acid rock, they came out and played the Blues, straight Delta Blues for about ten minutes straight. They did the material with respect and sensitivity and consummate musicianship.
Tampa’s program of rural electrification had gotten off to a great start.