And explosive conclusions
are Barrett’s forte. When he hits a true note there is nothing
like it. The best song of his solo canon, “Opel,” balances
itself so precariously between the realms of incomprehensibility and
the safer waters of pure artistic genius that listening to it is a
truly frightening experience. It’s a fascinating exercise in
irreproducible rhythms until it arrives at its coda, in which Barrett
draws out his notes’ lengths while simultaneously shortening
his phrases, making for one
of rock’s all-time ghostliest moments. It’s also the
best bit of evidence I know of in the case against claiming that an
artist’s sanity or lack thereof matters a whit in estimating
that artist’s final worth. Unlike most of the other songs on
“Wouldn’t You Miss Me,” “Opel” was not embellished
by other musicians; it’s just Syd Barrett and his electric guitar,
his stilted rhythms left to find their own pathways to the end of
the song, his lyrics immune to interpretation:
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