Long live Pink Floyd and nostalgia!

This week we celebrate the 50th anniversary of the launch of The Dark Side of the Moon de Pink Floyd.

How many hundreds of hours have I spent on my bed, lights off, headphones on, listening to it?

I don’t know much more moving than Clare Torrey’s voice taking off in The Great Gig in the Sky.

Fabulous

I crawled to the turntable to put Selling England by the Pound de Genesis, Led Zeppelin IV, ELP, Bowie, Yes, The Who, les Stones, Neil Young, Harmonium, Mike Oldfield, Beau Dommage, Offenbach, Gentle Giant, Tangerine Dream, Zappa, Octobre, Charlebois, Plume, etc.

How not to be nostalgic for the 70s, the best era to be young?

Quebec was poorer, but it was driven by tremendous idealism, energy and creativity.

I open Michel Rabagliati’s comics, I look CRAZ.Y. and I see my youth again.

The banana seats on the bikes, the pie-crust cap from the Expos, the hours spent examining vinyl covers, the friends we found in the alley, the little neighbor who had changed so much since last summer, our stockings pants, our shirt tips, our bowl haircuts, the arches with change in our pockets, the mustard and cabbage hot dogs.

I close my eyes and hear Fernand Lapierre’s organ, in Jarry Park, during Expos games.

It was $3.50 along the lines of the 1s^is et 3^e goals. The big deluxe, behind home plate, was $5.00.

Our favorite shows were watched religiously because TV was not pay-per-view.

The Canadian was French-speaking and won. Dryden, an Anglo who spoke French, had leggings, a mitten, a leather-brown colored biscuit, as he should.

In soccer, in hockey, there were clashes of style. Today, everyone copies each other.

The food in the school cafeteria tasted something.

With Lévesque, Parizeau, Trudeau senior, Drapeau, we had the feeling of being governed by adults.

The guy who was insulting you had to say it to your face. He couldn’t hide and call himself Avenger77.

When Pink Floyd’s Animals tour stopped at Olympic Stadium on July 6, 1977, the ticket cost me $10.

There were reasonably priced European films around the corner. We talked for hours around Taxi Driver and D’Apocalypse Now.

Oui

A few years ago, a relative asked me what birthday present I would be happy with.

I said to him: buy me an old black rotary telephone. It sits proudly on the corner of my desk.

Last month, coming out of the Pink Floyd exhibit at the Arsenal in Montreal, my daughter, who loves Janis Joplin, who rummages through my old records that I’ve all kept, said to me: “Dad , I was born at the wrong time musically.

With lip service, I said yes.