Whenever I get to travel between Prague and Sydney, I stop in London for a little while to meet Gabriel. The original idea behind these visits was to see each other at least once a year and lately we even get to see each other much more than that. Last year, I came to London two or three times, plus Gabriel enjoyed his holiday with me in Australia, so we had about three weeks together. Obviously, one would expect a flood of new songs and ideas and our website crashing under new quality content and legions of anxious visitors.

Well, it is not the case.

The truth is that when we meet, we don’t work too hard. It’s understandable, having these meetings quite apart, we have to discuss what’s new, run through each other’s iTunes and go out! And when we come back, we’re either ready to pass out, or ready to watch some must-see classic. And then pass out. And then eat, and watch more movies, and go out again, and eat, and meet people, etc., etc.

However, it’s not totally pointless to catch up. When I stopped in London few days before last Christmas, we took the obvious path the night I arrived, yet, surprisingly, we finished a song the next day! Sadly, it wasn’t much of a new material, as it was a song we penned eight months earlier in Sydney. Honestly, quietly ignoring Gabriel’s email appeals for a revision, I though the song was ready from day one. Nevertheless, Gabriel insisted that there was line that was repeated and needed a change. Yes, I’m talking about a song called She has a soul, a tune I discussed ages ago (and which nobody heard so far but two of us).

After exercising different techniques to argue his truth, Gabriel finally got me to change the incriminated line. Sigh. Sigh. It took me about twenty seconds — and I have to admit that my admiration for a certain famous band played a role in writing such a line.

I changed the following:

she has a soul
she hardly bares to her men
she has a soul
that’s too hard to understand

to

she has a soul
she hardly bares to her men
the inner light
that’s too hard to understand

And that was it. I’ve never heard Gabriel whinging about this one anymore.

One day in March Gabriel landed in Sydney. After shaking hands, we made it to the city, lunched together, hanged out for a while, had a dinner in a local Czech restaurant and after couple of beers, we started making music the very same night.

I appreciated Gabriel’s visit ‘cos not only brought he eight-year-old Bacardi waiting to be terminated by two displaced Slovaks, he also tuned my guitar. Thank you, brother. Would you have three weeks on your hands plus dosh to burn, pop in anytime, it needs tuning again. And please don’t forget the bottle!

As it happened, Gabriel also unintentionally brought the vibe with him. So much for the chances.

That night we penned She has a soul, a subtle piece about a girl searching for Mr Right. As it’s widely known and I’m happy to discuss it over and over would the need arise, there’s no Mr Right — but Gabriel and/or myself.

However, our heroine overlooks Gabriel and has never heard of me. She might be sort of drowning, instinctively searching for meaning of life and love. For the record, I’m quite aware that meaning of life is 42, though I’m not sure if our dear audience knows that meaning of love starts with Gabriel’s or my telephone number. (For these who are about to call: Gabriel handles northern hemisphere, I do the southern one.)

Without knowing the reason, composing was a piece of cake. Straightforward. Summer breeze. It wasn’t until Gabriel returned to U.K. that he realised what was behind the breeze and consequent ease. It was a girl. A genuine babe somewhere out there, radiant, peachy, vibey, relaying waves of desire and motivation over the oceans.

Indeed.

However, by the time we realised who the lucky one was, she was gone. Never mind. Her long distance vibe inspired a tune. That is what most struggling songwriters long for. Including lousy pretenders like Gabriel & me.

Steve Jobs in his thoughts on music wrote that Apple would embrace DRM-free music in a heartbeat. On the other hand, as it appears to me, he doesn’t see current course as a big problem for customers either:

It’s hard to believe that just 3% of the music on the average iPod is enough to lock users into buying only iPods in the future. And since 97% of the music on the average iPod was not purchased from the iTunes store, iPod users are clearly not locked into the iTunes store to acquire their music.

Well, this is all nice, but somehow, I just can’t buy this argument. Those 3% (or whatever number that really is) are most likely favorite music one has and wants to listen to right now (i.e. on an iPod).

On the whole, I honestly don’t know what to think of his essay.

It was late summer of 1994, or let’s rather admit it was early September of that year and I was hanging around in Prague with no particular agenda after holiday work nearby. Being recently introduced to new indulgences and a legendary (and now extinct) underground joint TAZ, I was feeling incredible. And I was incredibly stupid.

David Gilmour and company, minus Roger Waters, were in town. They were playing the Strahov stadium, the largest concert venue in the world. And I thought to myself: well, they’ve been around for such years, they’re gonna be around for some more. I don’t have to go. I’ll see them next time.

Well, as hippie as I was, I didn’t foresee there wouldn’t be any next time. The tour of 1994 turned out to be their very last. As a matter of fact, they only made it back to England and by the end of October, there was no more Pink Floyd. Finito. Until, of course, all of them, meaning incl. Roger Waters (minus the Crazy Diamond Syd Barret) stormed Hyde Park during Live8. While I was in Prague again at the time, I couldn’t make it to London. I felt so sorry!

But I was given one last chance. It was sort of a consolation prize, however it was still worth it. Roger Waters (minus the others) came over and knocked on the door in Sydney. It was the opening gig of his 2007 summer tour appropriately named The Dark Side of the Moon. Meaning he was to deliver the album in its entirety.

Roger, who’s gonna turn mccartneyan sixty-four this year, is dividing his shows into two parts, first consisting of Pink Floyd essentials and some of his own work (like Leaving Beirut with anti-Bush rhetoric) and the second including complete DSOTM and few encores. Sydney was no exception, he even played the same list he’s carrying around since last year.

The show was carefully scripted, visually stunning and sophisticated, one could see direction of “the creative genius of Pink Floyd” behind it. However, there was something a bit unexpected (at least for these who didn’t bother to read reviews of previous gigs) - Roger didn’t sing many of the Dark Side songs! He left former Dave Gilmour’s vocal parts to guitarist Dave Kilminster, meaning that he could play bass and bludge for a larger part of the second act. Audience was surprised but understanding and rewarded the new Dave with their goodwill and sincere applause.

Though everything was more or less prepared, Sydney got a revised version of Roger’s flying pig with a new graffiti, asking for yet another David, David Hicks, Australian held in Guantanamo for five years to be sent home. It’s about time, I guess.

It all finished as planned: after Comfortably Numb, the group was gone in a flash. Lights went on and some twenty-thousand Floyd-hungry fans with different degree of greying hair dispersed to their homes, reliving a dream come true. Walking down the stairs I could feel tranquillity filling the space.

Wish there were more experiences like this one.

So the Godfather of Soul is not with us anymore. Sex machine’s gone at the age of 73. Surprisingly, he didn’t die of heart attack but of pneumonia.

Hope he went straight to hell, where he belongs with all other legends. They’re gonna have some more fun, no doubt. Let the jam begin!