Takes Two To Know

taken from Escimo Chain

When it comes to debut records, there are very few in the same league as Pink Floyd's 'Arnold Layne'. Think of the Beatles: 'Love Me Do' is hardly earth-shatteringly original, nor the Rolling Stones' 'Come On'. Neither has the panache, originality, or sheer perve appeal of the Floyd's opening shot.

It has been said that the very Englishness of the disc was a pop first. But surely that's not where the real quality lay. After all, the Kinks had been exploring similar terrain for some years before. Instead, it was the creepy, otherworldly sound that really made it register, both in the song's harmonic structure and in the band's performance. For 'Arnold Layne' provided the definitive early Floyd statement, compressing all their legendary weirdness into a crisp 3 minute cut you could buy in Woolworths.

On first listen, the most noticeable instrument is Rick Wright's wailing Farfisa organ, particularly on his soaring solo, memorably described in Rick Sanders' Pink Floyd biog as:

'...raga-like modal improvisations with a keening bagpipe quality - a Scottish Martian in a Persian market in a church by a moor in the Crab Nebula, briefly, with shades of Cecil Taylor, Rachmaninov and Dave Brubeck.'

I would settle for the modal-raga bit myself, but there's no denying that the sound is distinctly exotic, doing for the organ what the Byrds had done for the 12-string Rickenbacker on their '5th Dimension' album.

Underpinning it all, is a throbbing, almost punky bass part from Waters, his lack of sophisticated technique adding to the punch of the sound, and Nick Mason's drums, loose and exuberant, a thousand miles away from the stadium plod he has favoured in recent years. Barrett's barre chord riffing is almost lost in the rush of sound, but there's no mistaking his ghostly vocals, strangely distant and detached already, soaring above the others.

However, Syd's main contribution is of course in the songwriting department. His verse structure is short and pithy, using chromatic runs to suggest an edgy compulsion, before lengthy builds give way to tuneful chorus parts that wouldn't be out of place in a contemporary Beatles hit. All climaxing with a coda section that provides the perfect musical punchline.

But the music is only half the story. Barrett's score comes with a fine set of well-observed lyrics that economically suggest the whole seedy saga of Arnold's underwear snatching habits, before delivering the denoument. Hardly a word is wasted, with strong images such as 'the tall mirror' and 'moonshine, washing line' lingering in the mind.

The 'takes two to know' line in the chorus also seems to imply that the writer is in on the act. We know Syd dressed extravagantly even by the standards of 1967, wore make-up and appeared publicly in drag on occasion, but it seems unlikely that he enjoyed the dubious delights of clothes line snatching too. I think we can reasonably assume that the line is either a joke on himself, or intended to suggest that either the jurors who sentence Arnold, or we the listeners, are as pervy as him in our voyeuristic excitement.

According to Roger Waters, the story was based on real life from their youth in Cambridge:

'Both my mother and Syd's had students as lodgers because there was a girl's college up the road, so there were constantly great lines of bras and knickers on our washing lines. Arnold or whoever he was, took bits and pieces off the washing lines.'

Syd gave his version in a contemporary interview with the Melody Maker:

'I was in Cambridge at the time I started writing the song. I pinched the line about 'moonshine washing line' from Rog, our bass guitarist - because he has an enormous washing line in the back garden of his house. Then I thought Arnold must have a hobby, and it went from there.'

True life or not, the track was recorded at the Sound Techniques Studio in Chelsea early in 1967, with Joe Boyd in the producer's chair and John Wood engineering. At the same sessions, an equally psychedelic B-side, 'Candy & A Currant Bun' (originally entitled 'Let's Roll Another One'), was also recorded.

According to Nick Mason, the original idea had been to record the best six songs they had at the time, but as it turned out, 'Arnold Layne' and a B-side, 'Candy & A Currant Bun' were so good, it was decided to tout them around as a single, with the intention of getting a record deal.

It worked. EMI signed them for an advance of �5,000, a record sum at the time. The single was released on March 11th and a reception was held on April Fool's day at EMI House in Manchester Square to launch the band. Rigorous hyping pushed it into the charts, despite it being banned by Radio London, yet strangely, not the BBC. It reached No. 20. Reaction was mixed, but the NME got it right with their snappy review:

'Off-beat weird lyric and blockbusting sound. Great organ work, twangs and spine chilling build. With all their publicity this could well be a hit.'

To accompany the record, an excellent black and white promotional film was made, showing the group larking about by the seaside with a tailor's dummy dressed up in a suit. It was due for broadcast on Top Of The Pops on the 6th of April, but sadly, it was never shown, as by this time the single was sliding in the charts. It was however shown on French TV at the time and was recently exhumed for the 'Omnibus' documentary on BBC 2 last November.

'Arnold Layne' was later included on the 'Relics' compilation (in a ghastly mono reprocessed for stereo mix) and the European 'Masters Of Rock' set. On CD, it is available on the freebie disc in the Pink Floyd box set, the 'Pink Floyd/1967' EP and the recent 'Echoes' compilation.

There is also an abbreviated acetate version available on bootleg. Allegedly, this is the version that got the Floyd their deal with EMI, the thinking being that A & R men wouldn't bother to listen to a middle-8. It also seems to be slightly faster and punkier than the single, though clearly mixed from the same original tapes.

One other version exists, recorded live at the Star Club, Copenhagen on the 10th of September 1967. The performance is much slower, indeed almost clumsy compared to the record and the crisp delivery of the original is dragged out with a 'freak-out' section in the middle that doesn't really fit. Worst of all, the vocal is lost completely, either due to poor recording quality or the weakness of Barrett's voice by this stage.

There may also be a recording somewhere of the version that was broadcast on BBC Radio in April 1967. However, this has never appeared on bootleg to my knowledge.

None of these alternative cuts could be better than the original though. Almost thirty years on, it still remains one of Syd Barrett's and Pink Floyd's finest moments.

Iain Smith