R.I.P. Richard Wright

I was introduced to the music of Pink Floyd on a Saturday morning sometime in 1977. My brother Kevin and I were sleeping in the Little Falls, NJ condo my mom shared with the man who would become her second husband. Without warning, a horrific cacophony of bells and gongs struck with the immediacy of a natural disaster. Jolted from sleep, we rubbed our eyes while the noise dissolved into a heartbeat of percussion, menacing guitar and gumdrop keyboards. 'Time', from Pink Floyd's epic 1973 album The Dark Side of the Moon, would remain our rock 'n' roll alarm clock for years to come.

This and other Floyd-related memories sprung to mind with the news that Richard Wright, Pink Floyd's low-key piano and synthesizer player, died of cancer on Monday. He was only 65.

More Floyd flashbacks:

• Sitting in my darkened bedroom listening through giant headphones to Dark Side's sonic transcendence, Animals' pallid beauty and The Wall's operatic bombast.
  
• Having marathon discussions with my peroxide-blonde 8th grade English teacher about The Wall's hidden meanings.
  
• Hearing pre-commercial-success-era Floyd albums like Ummagumma, Atom Heart Mother and Meddle playing in Kevin's bedroom. Like Wright, my brother's musicianship is as keen as it is soft-spoken.
  
• Seeing David Gilmour at a half-empty Garden State Arts Center in 1984 during his About Face tour and being thunderstruck at witnessing, with my own eyes and ears, Gilmour's guitar solo during 'Comfortably Numb'.
  
• Seeing Roger Waters at Radio City Music Hall in 1985 during his creepy Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking tour. The concert was forgettable, but I loved the tour's sleeveless t-shirt.
  
• Seeing the re-formed, Waters-less Floyd during their A Momentary Lapse of Reason tour in 1987. Third row at what was then the Brendan Byrne Arena in the Meadowlands. A breathtaking experience which I detailed in a concert review for The Setonian, my college newspaper.

There is no dark side of the moon, really. As a matter of fact it's all dark.