I (Once) Hate(d) Pink Floyd

It’s been about 50 years since Johnny Rotten — the punk persona played by John Lydon, noted backstage grump and weird, confused conservative — wore a shirt that said “I HATE PINK FLOYD.”

It’s punk to talk shit about classic rock — or, at least, in the mid–70s, it was punk to talk shit about what eventually became classic rock. It wasn’t based on any artistic merit or taste but was instead a matter of image. Of being seen as a person who could slag on something so popular. It was part of the costume. It was part of the scene, and I know this to be true because I was there once.

Before I bought my first Revelation Records hat, I was a Pink Floyd fan. I was a Rush fan, and I was a grunge fan, but I was really a Pink Floyd fan. I have a slowly forming theory that anyone who thinks about music too much eventually forms a deep connection to a “pet” classic rock band — a “completionist” kind of connection that finds them in love with the deep cuts on early Fleetwood Mac or scouring the internet for bootlegs of Frank Zappa shows. For me, this was Pink Floyd, and I can tell you that I fell in deep. Not just Dark Side of the Moon and Wish You Were Here, but the weird stuff. Ummagumma. The soundtrack to More. Zabriskie Point. Weird psych that slowly turned into politically charged arena rock. I was the kid who knew more about Pink Floyd than any kid really should, really.

Then I heard Bad Religion, and then I started going to punk shows at the Pomp Room, and then I found that line that every kid finds as they look for clarity in their musical tastes: the line between what we like and what we should like.

Image is a weird thing to maintain — a delicate balance between being accepted as a part of a common scene and braving the edges and quirks of that scene. As kids, it’s easy to try to fit in where we can by smoothing out our tastes — by never admitting how much we still like certain childish things or how little we understand about the current scene. It’s easy to see how we fit into the acceptance model — “real punks don’t listen to Pink Floyd,” etc., etc. — and go against our better judgment. This is the power of community: it gives us a place to belong, but it also influences our taste in a way that can remove originality.

And so I took a cue from Johnny Rotten. I sold all of my Pink Floyd CDs. The entire collection, all at once — I brought my pet band to the humane society and hoped someone else would take care of it while I ordered more Snapcase albums. I thought I’d made my stand and grown out of my classic rock phase, just as I’d grown out of my “Weird” Al phase and my grunge phase. This was my line in the sand.

Only with maturity did I understand how silly the entire concept was. As any old punk kid learns, no one actually gives a shit what you listen to.

That takes time. Finding commonality isn’t just a matter of acceptance but a kind of protection. Species evolve through community, optimizing for survival and safety. Being a part of the larger group has its benefits, including not being weeded out as an outlier. Society still encourages this — stay safe, fall in line, and stick with the crowd, regardless of how counter-culture that crowd might be. But evolutionary theory doesn’t touch our own taste. As we age, we realize our urge to fit in with whatever group we try to fit in with is no longer necessary for survival.

Since selling those CDs, I’ve grown up. I’ve repurchased the “Weird” Al and some of the grunge. More importantly, I’ve repurchased the entirety of that Pink Floyd discography. The self-imposed agony of acceptance as a teenager gave way to a kind of freedom — of knowing that, in a way, it’s actually more punk to be true to yourself. To be unwavering in your taste, to be proud of your weird pet classic rock band, whatever version of that weird pet band you might have.

John Lydon grew up, too — he’s since admitted that it was all an act and that he’s actually very into the early Pink Floyd albums. It was part of the costume. It was part of the scene. “You’d have to be daft as a brush to say you didn’t like Pink Floyd, they’ve done great stuff,” he said in 2010. “Privately, I’d love to go into the studio and do something with the album with them.”

Lydon kind of sucks now. But good for him — it’s a lesson I’ve had to learn on my own and a lesson I try to impart to my kids. Own whatever it is you like because no one else REALLY cares. The costume is just the costume. The scene is just the scene. Your taste, though? That’s you.