Pink Floyd’s Dark Side Of The Moon

 

Christmas time in my junior year of high school was kind of drab.  Okay, that’s a lie.  That was the year I got my first electric guitar.  Other than that, though, most of my presents sucked*.  However, my sister was confused as to what to get me, so she just went ahead and bought a tape of an old band, figuring that I would at least appreciate it.  By some band called Pink Floyd, it was a fairly simple looking cover, and I figured it would be all right.  I listened to it once or twice, then left it by my stereo.

 

About eight or nine months went by.  During this time, I listened to really melodic and intelligent music, like Korn, and Godsmack, and. . . you get the idea.

 

It was in the first portion of my senior year, and I needed some music to bring to school for third period (it’s always nice to have a screw-off period. . . err. . . teacher’s assistant period. . .).  I looked at the options I had, and just grabbed the tape.  I noticed that there was absolutely no dust where the tape was.  The case, obviously, was filthy.  When third period rolled around, we popped in the tape at the strong request of a friend/screw-off-mate of mine.

 

There have been a select few periods where music has affected me in a way I would deem “profound.”  The first one was when I was five years old, and I heard Johann Sebastian Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue In d minor”.  The next came at twelve or thirteen, and I suddenly realized that this thing called a trumpet was actually something I was good at.  And the last one I can really remember is when I really listened to that tape for the first time.

 

And I’m going to end it here.  I’ll leave you hanging.  Just listen to the tape yourself, and see what I mean.

 

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*Yes, I know, that is a very materialistic thing to say.  But that was my sentiment at the time.  Plus, getting nothing else besides some socks and underwear (for the most part) would depress you, too.