In June of 1997, I was a meddlesome 16 year old growing up in the
Ottawa Valley. One wet and somber Saturday, I sat on my bed skimming through an
issue of Rolling Stone and found an article that
compared a band I recently infatuated, Radiohead, to some dinosaur band, Pink
Floyd. The article likened Radiohead’s
modish new album to a Floyd record I hadn’t heard, though the title, The
Dark Side of the Moon, immediately charmed me. It
sounded like a place I wanted to go.
The article explained that this was one of rock’s most progressive
albums and that it held some obscene record for longevity on the world
chart. I quickly became poised to
experience this acclaimed LP, so I did what any underage and inspired music
lover living offline would do: I jumped on my bike and dashed for the public
library in hopes that I’d find a copy for sampling. I also intended to “tape
it.”
The library in my hometown of Pembroke was (and remains) a curious
place with an angular, prairie-style physique. I spent a lot of time there in
1997, but only after discovering its impressive catalogue of CDs. That
Saturday, I learned that the catalogue included Dark
Side, and with my
bounty in tow, I cycled home and shoved the disc into my stereo. Wanting to instantly experience the album’s
potency, I skipped to the first hit song I read about, “Time”, pressed play, and
watched the counter commence. After several seconds of silence, I hastily
grabbed my stereo remote and held the ‘Volume Up’ button, thinking the speakers
were left at an inaudible level. Suddenly, a symphonic tidal wave of clock
alarms crashed in my ears; with that, my undivided attention was seized. Stunned and slightly annoyed, I collected my
thoughts and listened to the song slowly construct itself into a rock and roll opus
of strained voices, forceful electric piano and heralding guitar. I was in.
Days later, I caught word that Dark
Side could be
synchronized to The Wizard of Oz as some coincidental, surreal
soundtrack. Upon learning this, I
frantically (and predictably) peddled back to the library and borrowed a copy
of the film on a battered VHS cartridge. That weekend, I gathered up some
friends, and we set off for “The Dark Side of Oz.”
We came back, but we weren’t quite the same.
