Pink Floyd’s keyboard player Richard Wright died today, age 65. Suddenly, I feel just bit older. His death was from cancer; not really a rock-and-roll way of dying. Other musicians from bands I grew up with have died early; heck, Jerry Garcia went way ahead of time back in 1995, and that hit me too. But he was an accident just waiting to happen. It’s not like I have ever been the biggest Pink Floyd fan (I did buy, a few months ago, all their studio albums from the iTunes Store), but their music, especially Dark Side of the Moon, Wish You Were Here and Meddle, was part of the soundtrack of my teenage years. I was able to see them perform only once: during the tour for The Wall, at the Nassau Colliseum, in February 1980. I had tried to get tickets for the Animals tour, but they were sold by lottery and I wasn’t lucky enough.

So even though I’m more than 15 years younger than Wright was, his death is one of the many to come in the next few years as the musicians I listened to back in the 70s – all older than me – will hit their slots in the actuarial tables. Shine on, you crazy diamond! I’m playing your music in memory.

And no one sings me lulabyes
And no one makes me close my eyes
So I throw the windows wide
And call to you across the sky….