No. 165 – The Great Gig in the Sky

Performer: Pink Floyd

Songwriters: Rick Wright, Clare Torry

Original Release: The Dark Side of the Moon

Year: 1973

Definitive Version: P.U.L.S.E., 1995.

When Pink Floyd swung around for the second leg of their Momentary Lapse of Reason tour, I asked Jin and Scott whether they wanted to go when the band played the Rosemont Horizon again in May 1988. They said they did even though they already had tickets to see Pink Floyd play the first concert at Ohio Stadium a week later.

(I wished I could have been around for that. Apparently, it was a bit of a big deal as well as a circus, including—and I could not make this up—Ohio State fans outraged that drunk, stoned rowdy kids would be on the same field where, sniff, sniff, Saint Woody once trod.)

So I said I’d get them tickets, along with one for my new paramour, Melanie. I knew tickets were going to go fast. Fortunately, I had an ace in the hole—an inside connection.

Darlene, who worked in advertising at the News-Dispatch (and with whom I had, as I noted, a series of rather unfortunate events), also worked every Saturday in the Ticketron outlet at the Carson’s at Marquette Mall. (Yes, for those of you too young to recall, Ticketbastard once had competition.) I asked for a huge favor: When Pink Floyd tickets go on sale, would you pop in four for me? She said she would.

Darlene lied. When I went in to pay her that afternoon, she told me she didn’t put in for the four tickets when tickets went on sale. Instead she did it BEFORE they went on sale. As soon as the sale went live, my tickets spit out, followed by tickets bought for one of the Harbor Country News sales reps. My tickets were on the floor!

The day of the show, Scott and Jin drove from Columbus and Melanie from Detroit. Melanie arrived first, which meant we had a little alone time—pending surgery kept it to PG-rated activity, however—before the others arrived. I then drove from New Buffalo to Rosemont.

We arrived early enough to grab dinner at the Italian place nearby that I found when I saw Genesis at the Horizon a couple years earlier. I recall that it was pretty good, although it was no Dave’s.

When we arrived at the Horizon, we entered at the opposite end of the stage. I handed the usher the tickets, and all he said was go down these steps and keeping walking.

We did as we were told, and as we kept walking, the stage, the light rigging and huge projection screen kept getting closer and closer. I saw the Harbor Country salesperson. We kept walking. Oh … sweet. We were center section, 12 rows from the stage.

I said that the best seats I ever had at a concert were front row for Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. You can’t beat front row, but really the seats for Pink Floyd in 1988 were unbeatable, too. Any closer would’ve been too close. Scott in particular was beside himself. Who do you know? Yeah, Scott, me and Dave Gilmour … we’re tight …

The show was almost a carbon copy of the one the previous year with a few exceptions. First, the flying pig and crashing airplane for whatever reason were on opposite sides of the stage from 1987. Second, Pink Floyd played one more song than the last time—this one, right after Time and On the Run (reversed from Dark Side).

It was about at this time that Scott, who was seated to my left—Melanie was to my right between me and Jin—told me to check out the guy next to him. He was having some coke—the powder kind.

That was a new one for me, not to mention—but I’ll mention it anyway—the mark of someone who’s either an idiot or a junkie or both. I might not have been as keen on the drug knowledge as others, but even I knew that cocaine was a terrible choice for Pink Floyd. I mean, when are you gonna dance, during Run Like Hell? Great, what about the other two hours?

Well, I’ll tell what this knucklehead did: He just sat and twitched uncontrollably in his seat during The Great Gig in the Sky. My vote was for idiot.

Everyone had a great time—except the guy doing the blow. As we sat in our seats basking in the glory of Pink the Floyd, as 3-year-old Matt dubbed them in Columbus, a fight broke out a couple rows in front of us. (No, the cokehead wasn’t involved.) OK, it’s time to leave.

We drove back to New Buffalo where Scott and Jin crashed on the floor and Melanie joined me in my bedroom. It was the start of an incredible summer where Pink Floyd dominated my musical choices like few other bands ever have.

No wonder, right?