Re: The Secret Diaries of Roger Waters

From: Alexey I. Fuchs (
Date: Thu 26 Nov 1998 - 12:25:57 IST

Dostatochno zlo, no smeshno.
Ya kogda-to chital nastoyaschiy dnevnik Frippa (vkladysh v box-set "The
Great Deceiver") - zdes' est' neskol'ko prikolov, vzyatyh ottuda,
naprimer, "ouiji board" (Frippu podarili kakie-to fany) i fat woman.
Ochen' sovetuyu pochitat'. Prikol'no, i napisano samim Frippom.

On Thu, 26 Nov 1998, Natanzon Ilya - Ryazansky wrote:

> Week One
> Monday
> Got up, had a bath. Thought that the water looked a dark colour
> - then realised I still had my aviator sunglasses on. Listened
> to the radio and felt a bit alienated. Wrote another concept
> album on video recorders as I realised I'd already done TV and
> radio. Had lunch and the postman turned up. A letter from mum
> reminding me that it's Uncle Bob's birthday next week. The
> power she still wields...will I never be free?? Beat my fists
> against the wall in anger and frustration for about 20 minutes.
> Decided to have a cup of tea. Milk had gone off. I detect the
> hand of David Gilmour in this.
> Tuesday
> Got up. Thought about the war and the market forces destroying
> the world for an hour or so. Felt a bit depressed so I
> decided to put on my black jeans, black T shirt, black casual
> jacket and aviators. Felt much better and decided to go out for
> some milk and card for Uncle Bob. Nearly got out the door before
> I realised I hadn't rolled up the sleeves of my casual
> jacket!! Narrow escape there.
> Wednesday
> Got up, suddenly realised that my father was dead and that
> no-one understood my alienation as a musical genius. Burnt down
> the new conservatory in an angst ridden rage. Man next door
> tried to engage me in conversation about someone called
> "Gazza" before I torched his too. He is a pleb and I am an
> artist. He was leaning on the fence watching me. I feel there might
> be a large scale concept piece in this about the gulf between
> the artsists and the philistine masses. Couldn't think of a physical
> symbol to hang the work around and snagged my casual jacket on a
> nail sticking out of the fence. Asked the pleb if he had
> seen a man answering David Gilmours description hammering the
> nail in but he'd obviously paid the pleb off.
> Thursday
> Got up, message from Dave on the ansaphone asking me to get back
> together with the band again. Rang Eric Clapton and
> asked him to send Dave's wife some flowers thanking her for the
> wonderful nights they spent together. That should fuck him
> up. Felt so good I came up with a great lateral thinking idea on
> the new album - The Fence!! I could stage it at the
> whitehouse, or even the moon!! Thought I should probably play
> myself, but who for Mum and Uncle Bob?? Sinead? Van?
> Madonna? Phoned Bob Geldof to see if he wanted to get involved.
> He told me to "fook off". Felt bad, nearly wrote another
> album but decided to forgive Bob and went round to join him and
> we both beat our fists against the wall for a couple of hours.
> Friday
> Got up, then went back to bed as I couldn't face the day - can't
> anyone else see our lives are revolving around TV?? For
> god's sake, it should be my musical genius it revolves around!!
> Mum rang at night tosee if I was OK. She came round with
> some chicken soup - I didn't eat it as it might have those mind
> controlling drugs in it but at least she got my other black casual
> jackets back from the dry cleaners. When will this woman stop
> controlling my life!!
> Saturday
> Rang Sinead. Apparently she has to tidy her room for the
> forseeable future. Van rang, but it was difficult to tell wether he was
> interested or not as there was so much background noise - all
> bottles clinking and horseracing. Madonna didn't ring back. I
> detect the hand of David Gilmour in this.
> Sunday
> Project in tatters. Postman came and the first letter was my
> royalties from Pink Floyds latest tour. I'm sure it's 1 short. Letter
> from mum - Uncle Bob was killed by a bus yesterday. I feel a
> large scale concept album about the perils of public transport in
> a monopolistic state coming on. Finished it in time to watch MTV
> before bed. Saw David Gilmour dancing with Madonna!!! I
> detect the hand of my mother in this!!
> Week Two
> Monday
> Got up. Had a bath. Doctor came round - said they would have to
> operate to remove my sunglasses. Decided to give it a
> miss - after all, I've never seen Dave Gilmour in shades.
> Postman arrived with my 55 volume box video set of the first world
> war. Couldn't see my dad in it, but there was a guy who looked
> like him. The bleeding hearts came round in the afternoon -
> apparently Snowy has started taking lessons from Dave himself.
> We jammed for a bit until someone pointed out I couldn't
> sing. Threw them all out in a huff.
> Tuesday
> Meeting with the guys at Sony. Apparently they are objecting to
> my new 3 CD concept album roughly entitled "Record
> companies screw the life out of creative geniuses worse than
> Maggie Thatcher did to the miners". Philistines. They calmed
> down a bit when they realised it wouldn't be out for another
> three years by which time the concept would have changed
> beyond all recognition anyway. Talked about poor album sales.
> This one had better be good they said, get some good
> guitarists. They suggested Dave Gilmour - I suggested they fuck
> off.
> Journalist phoend to ask when I would tour next. Told him as
> soon as Hades drops below 0 degrees and it's moisture
> crystalises in to a solid - or if more than a few hundred people
> buy tickets. He didn't understand the first part but I think he got
> the message.
> Wednesday
> Phoned Eric Clapton - but his mum said he can't come out to play
> with me anymore as I depress him. Talked to her about the
> war for a bit till she hung up. Mothers - they're all the same.
> Went in the studio and met some guy called Steve Vai -
> apparently he plays guitar. Asked him to put some stuff over my
> demos but he just warmed up for an hour, asked if it was
> OK and left. Dave and the guys were in the studio next door and
> sent through a demo they were working on to see if I would
> put some lyrics on it. I did, it went like this -
> Fuck off Dave Gilmour
> And the rest of you too
> Keep your sodding ferraris
> Your mums smell like poo
> You got the floyd name
> but I know your game
> It's all metaphysics
> And I write better lyrics
> Not my best work but I thougt it appropriate under the
> circumstances. Phoned my lawyer and asked him to phone Dave's
> lawyer and say that Dave was a wanker. And anyway, didn't I get
> a restraining order??
> Thursday
> New album going well - should be finished in about 40 odd
> remixes and several title changes. Did some more work on the
> opera. Finally found the kind of music for me - you don't need
> to sing!! You get a big fat woman to do it for you. At least it
> makes a change from Paul Carrack. Sinead came round for a while
> and we both moaned about how hard it was to be
> misunderstood artistic genuis's. She asked if she could do a bit
> for the new album - said we'd already got someone to make
> the sandwiches.
> Friday
> Dave phoned again. Apparently he wants to borow my casual
> jacket. Couldn't find one without the sleeves rolled up so I
> bought a brand new one. It was worth it after I'd sewn some
> prawns into the lining and filled the collar with itching powder.
> Saw Dave later wearing it on Top Of The Pops - he's not playing
> as well as he used to!! Mum came tound and asked me if I
> wanted to go to dinner with her and the wife. You mean I'm
> married??
> Saturday
> Phoned the Ministry Of Defence again and asked them why my dad
> had to die in the war. Got standard reply from snotty
> receptionist - "because he was shot through the head by a
> german, Mr Waters". Typical. Wrote a song about the snooty girl
> called "I send people off to die and I don't care (Potzdamer
> Mix)".
> Had lunch with my manager. Apparently the Floyd are to be
> honoured at some big awards and Dave and the boys are going.
> Said I would go for a laugh. Phoned the wife to see if she
> wanted to go but she said Dave had already invited her. Bugger.
> Sunday
> Drove by Daves house at 3.00 in the morning playing the Final
> Cut really loud - Dave came out and threw a guitar at me. Said
> it was the best thing he'd done with a guitar since The Wall.
> Drove off really quick after he threatened not to sing any more
> songs I had the rights to.
> Decided not to go to the awards - sent a Gerald Scarfe cartoon
> of myself instead. MTV vj said that they nearly didn't
> recognise me without the casual jacket & shades but I certainly
> has more charisma than usual. Got really depressed and
> decided to sell the pics of Dave shagging Kate Bush to the News
> Of The World. Now that's what I call a discovery!!
> Week Three
> Monday
> Got up, had a bath. Decided to have a cup of tea. Milk had gone
> off again. Made a mental note to shoot Dave Gilmour. Went
> for a walk in the park. It was a nice day, lot's of mothers with
> their children on the swings etc. No fathers around - maybe
> they all died in the war. Couldn't stay long - the police turned
> up and took me to the station. Got questioned for two hours on
> why a middle aged man dressed all in black with sunglasses on
> should hang around the playground. Talked to the officers
> about the war and how my father was killed. Got let off with a
> caution and a promise to see a shrink. On way home had a
> brilliant idea - a ouija board!! Went straight to the shop and
> bought one. On the way back I bought another thousand copies
> of ATD with my Floyd royalties - got to keep the boys at Sony
> happy and Snowy in guitar lessons.
> Tuesday
> Felt really bad this morning so stayed in bed making anonymous
> and abusive phone calls to Maggie Thatcher and Ronald
> Reagan. That will teach them to ruin peoples lives, start wars
> and promote a soap opera state. But how do they always know
> it's me?? Called Dave for a laugh - shame he wasn't in, put on
> my Kate Bush voice and left message saying I was pregnant
> and was sure the baby was his.
> Contact!!! After 3 hours I think I am in touch with my father!!
> Asked loads of questions with yes or no answers which he got
> right!! Eventually asked the BIG ONE, what should I do with my
> life... message came back:
> S..T..O..P....F..U..C..K..I.N..G....M..O..A..N..I..N..G!! Went
> to bed early with a cup of cocoa after beating my fists bloody
> against the wall.
> Wednesday
> BBC phoned up to ask if I would take part in a documentary -
> Daves doing it they said. Decided to do it after BBC man
> assured me we would be recorded on seperate days. Next door came
> round to ask me to stop beating on the wall - gave
> them a copy of the album so they could understand. They came
> back two hours later and asked me to sign it - I did and they
> left looking puzzled. Heard the man muttering "Shit...I thought
> he was Dave Gilmour...who IS Roger Waters anyway?" under
> his breath. Had a cup of black coffee and went to bed. Decided
> to give the beating my fists against the wall a miss tonight.
> Couldn't sleep, decided to make a list of things that keep me
> awake at night -
> 1.Thinking about the war.
> 2.Thinking about my father/mother/the war.
> 3.Going round Daves house at 3:00AM and singing "and when the
> band you're in starts playing different tunes" at the top
> of my voice.
> 4.Being repeatedly beaten over the head with a rubber
> chicken.
> 5.Thinking about market forces and the soap opera state.
> 6.Going round Daves at 4:00AM, running thru his garden and
> singing "the lunatic is on the grass" at the top of my voice.
> 7.Thinking some more about the war.
> 8.Wondering just what I'm going to do to Dave if he comes
> round and starts any of that rubber chicken shit tonight.
> 9.Lying awake writing lists.
> Fell asleep before I could do number 10.
> Thursday
> Got up late, must get more sleep in future. Decided to work on a
> new album but couldn't think of a good concept. Listened to
> all my albums (INCLUDING The Final Cut) in a row and decided to
> kill myself due to the sheer futility of it all. Couldn't go
> through with it without writing a new album about what it feels
> like to want to commit suicide. Finished it and felt a lot better.
> Sent it to Sony by local courier company - which is trangely
> called Fat Daves. I always get a kick out of calling and saying
> "Hello, Fat Daves?? Yeh Roger here, I need you to run an errand
> for me you fat talentless bastard". Went to BBC
> documentary and it turned out to be a tribute to Dave!! And he
> was there!! According to them one of his new business
> ventures is a courier company!! Said lots of uncomplimentary
> things about him on camera but he just ran around laughing
> behind me making finger gestures behind my head. Eventually he
> collapsed in a fat heap on the floor covered in sweat. Made
> a mental note to send him another 400 cream cakes and some of my
> Grecian 2000. Looks like he didn't like the wig I sent
> him either.
> Friday
> Got up late again, head still sore from the rubber chicken.
> Message from Sony on the ansaphone - apparently all the account
> execs killed themselves this morning. I detect the hand of...
> er... best not think about that one, Phoned and asked if they had a
> chance to listen to the album - receptionist hung up on me.
> Stormed round the garden for a couple of hours in an angst ridden
> torment. Pleb next door kept staring at me, told him I'd put my
> Paul Carrack CD on full blast if he didn't fuck off. He did.
> Continued storming for a bit till it got dark and I banged my
> shins on the bar-B-Q. Next time I do it in the dark I'll take the
> aviators off.
> Message on ansaphone from some anonymous woman telling me to
> stop being such a miserable nutcase and to pull myself
> together. Sounded like my mother. Recorded new ansaphone
> message:
> "Hi, this is Roger 'I'm outta my mind, me' Waters, I can't
> take your call as I am far too busy writing large scale
> concept albums with outrageous stage shows that will never
> be performed due to poor ticket sales. ALRIGHT,
> miserable bugger. Leave your message
> after the tone. Oh yeh, I said I would tour if ATD sold 2
> million copies and to date it's only sold 1.3 million, so
> get off my back about that one as well. Thanks."
> Saturday
> Got up early- it's my birthday!! Mum came round with presents -
> a pint of milk and a fridge. Uncle Bob didn't even send a
> card!! Dave sent some singing lesson vouchers - bastard!! Made
> mental note to send him my new book "Writing successful
> concept albums based around music and good lyrics rather than
> some crap with a couple of guitar solos in it" if I ever get the
> bugger published. For some reason all the publishers think it's
> a bit hypocritical. Had a tantrum as mum forgot the jelly and ice
> cream. Sat in my room in the dark for a bit and then called
> Snowy. Told me he couldn't come round to play as he's joined
> David as rythm guitarist on his solo album!! Phoned Jehovas
> Witnesses pretending to be in deep spiritual crisis and gave them
> Daves adress. Went to bed but had to get up 2 hours later as
> Dave had sent the Moonies round. Got rid of them by talking
> about the early years with Syd Barret and playing them
> Interstellar Overdrive.
> Sunday
> Decided to make it up with Dave - dropped by his house and
> offered to do some lyrics for his solo project, with no mention
> of the war/soap opera states/alienation etc. Wrote a great song
> called "The Bravery of being Ronald Reagan behind a big
> large thing almost like a Wall that shields your feelings at The
> Anzio Bridgehead whilst on TV". Dave didn't like it so promised
> to go home and write another one,
> Got home and decided I din't feel like being nice to him
> anymore. Sent him these lyrics instead:
> My dad went off to a great big battle
> The TV satellites watched from Seattle
> He fought the buggers left and right
> Then the cameras panned to a dreadful sight
> As some German Kraut
> Snuffed his life right out
> Bugger
> And a monkey sat on Daves old bones
> Buggered his ferraris and wrecked his homes
> And Billy chipped in with Radio Waves
> Shot right up the arse of fat old Dave
> For good lyrics he'll forever hunt
> 'Cause that Dave Gilmour, well
> He's just a cunt
> Yeah
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