Is there anything better than the raw, unpolished brilliance of an artist left unshackled by mainstream expectations? That's exactly what Syd Barrett's 'Opel' album offers to the world. Released in October 1988, this album showcases material from Barrett's implosion as the genius behind Pink Floyd to his unpredictable solo career. 'Opel' is an album stitched together from the scraps left discarded on the cutting room floor, featuring recordings from 1968 to 1970. Yet it remains a gem in its naked and honest form, serving as a telling rebuttal to today’s manufactured pop stars who are more interested in promoting activism than actual talent.
Barrett's descent into reclusion and his battle with mental health may have left him disconnected from the commercial success that Pink Floyd would later achieve, but 'Opel' shines a light on the lightning-in-a-bottle creativity that made him such a unique character. Tracks like 'Clowns and Jugglers' and 'Rats' are not just songs; they're bold expressions of a mind that dared to venture outside the confines of the norm, something that a focus-group-driven industry would rather erase or ignore. This is songwriting fuelled by raw emotion and intuition, something that is hard to find in the Auto-Tune era.
'Lanky (Part One)' gives a mind-bending journey into the avant-garde. It's space, jazz, and existentialism all stirred into one unpredictable concoction. On 'Wouldn't You Miss Me (Dark Globe)', Barrett asks the kind of existential questions that might make today’s listeners, who are busy tying themselves in knots over which celebrity said what about whom, wake up to the fact that life isn’t just an endless social media feed. Listening to Barrett’s work is a refreshing wake-up call in a world filled with repetitive beats and lyrics.
And let's talk about that album cover—a surreal depiction that stands out starkly from the uniformity of others stacked on store shelves. It doesn’t need to broadcast Barrett's political views or mob allegiance to make a statement—it just exists in its simple, artistic brilliance. This kind of art reaches into the depths of your imagination, teaching a real lesson about what it means to be astoundingly individual, a message much needed in a time where individuality plays second fiddle to groupthink and consensus.
While 'Opel' stood famously as an outcry of Barrett’s inner thoughts, it serves no agenda other than that of the artist himself. There's no attempt here to appeal to any demographic or agenda except the profound connection between the artist and his art. And isn't that what art should be about? Unlike today’s music industry that is continually pandering and bending over backwards to avoid offending anyone, 'Opel' challenges its listeners by simply existing, unapologetically.
Released posthumously from sessions that didn’t make it onto his previous albums, 'Opel' was a glimpse into what could have been had Barrett remained in the limelight longer. But maybe it’s best he didn’t; maybe his immortality is better served this way. Free from compromise, Barrett's wild imagination and his refusal to conform maintain his mystique as an innovative soul—with 'Opel' being a fitting tribute to that legacy.
Perhaps it is the free-spirited nature of the recordings, or maybe it's the knowledge that Barrett's talent was freed only in these brief moments, captured like fireflies in a jar. Regardless, 'Opel' stands as a reminder to stop encasing creativity in a politically correct straitjacket. It's a reminder of what happens when art is left to breathe and express the human condition unabashedly. Perhaps it's time we encouraged the mavericks like Barrett once again, to shake up the monotony that overstays its welcome in today’s culture. 'Opel' is an album for those who reject conformity and yearn for the unconventional. Barrett's work remains as vital, unexpected, and beautiful as ever.