Yesterday I attempted one of the most covered songs of all time, Wish You Were Here.

This is a song beloved by buskers everywhere, who, let’s face it, aren’t about to have a crack at Careful With That Axe Eugene or One Of These Days I’m Going To Cut You Into Little Pieces.

Pink Floyd were a big influence on me growing up. They definitely contributed to delaying my first kiss by at least two years, along with my other obsessions of the time, such as Star Trek and wearing all black but with white athletic socks.

The recent attempt by the establishment to paint The Wall as inherently anti-Semitic has been quite troubling to me.

Roger Waters has many faults and has said many stupid things. But if we’re at the point where people in power can performatively confuse an artist dressing up as a fascist as part of a character’s descent into madness and isolation with… the artist actually being a Nazi, without pushback, then we’ve entered an extremely dangerous time.

I reread V for Vendetta last night, and it rang alarm bells in a way that just didn’t register ten or twenty years ago. I don’t know if I was naive then or if we’ve truly backslides since. Perhaps a bit of both.

Anyway. How I wish you were here.