Like many UK teenagers in the early 1970s, my musical diet was pure Pop and Glam Rock—Slade, T. Rex, The Sweet—all devoured through the flicker of Top of the Pops. The big kids at school whispered about Black Sabbath and Deep Purple, but it wasn’t until 1973 that a late‑night TV show cracked my world wide open.
The Old Grey Whistle Test Epiphany
It was an Old Grey Whistle Test Christmas special: no band in the studio, just a surreal animated clip—humanoid figures sprinting down an endless corridor—set to a piece of music unlike anything I’d heard. A disembodied voice threatened, “One of these days I’m going to cut you into little pieces,” before a tsunami of slide‑guitar distortion kicked in. I had just met Pink Floyd.
Next morning I raided W H Smith’s singles rack and found an Italian import of One of These Days backed with Fearless. At 14, that 7‑inch became my fourth ever purchase—right after Ringo’s Back Off Boogaloo and Alex Harvey’s The Faith Healer. The B‑side’s terrace‑chant fade‑out left me baffled and intrigued in equal measure.
Albums were expensive, but Woolworth’s in Sheldon had a bargain bin treasure: Relics on the budget Starline label for under a quid. I brought it home expecting variations on One of These Days—instead I got Arnold Layne, Interstellar Overdrive and the gothic whimsy of Julia Dream. Side Two’s sequence—Julia Dream, Careful With That Axe, Eugene, Cirrus Minor—still gives me shivers. I didn’t understand Floyd yet, but I was hooked.
A Nice Pair, Then a Sudden Farewell
By 1974 my pockets were deeper (just), and A Nice Pair—a two‑for‑one reissue of The Piper at the Gates of Dawn and A Saucerful of Secrets—seemed like the perfect upgrade. Piper’s day‑glo psychedelia confused the heck out of this Slade‑loving teenager, but I adored Let There Be More Light. Then Deep Purple dropped Stormbringer; I traded A Nice Pair plus £1.50 and watched Floyd walk out of my life—for the moment.
Consolation Vinyl: Dark Side of the Moon
Fate intervened. I sprained my ankle, and my sympathetic parents offered a “cheer‑up” LP. I chose Dark Side of the Moon— Its cautionary lyrics (“Ten years have got behind you…”) taught me to live in the moment. I’ve since bought every deluxe remaster, marbles included, and I still play it front to back.
The Album That Made Me Cry
My definitive Floyd record is Wish You Were Here. A friend brought home the single edit of Shine On You Crazy Diamond. In a rock era obsessed with fretboard speed, David Gilmour’s glacial, emotional bends felt almost spiritual. I was 15 and borderline tearful—peace in the middle of the teenage storm. Wish You Were Here remains one of my desert‑island disc.
Watch the video for the full story especially the almost Indiana Jones tale of hoe I found Ummagumma!
Phil Aston | Now Spinning Magazine
