Clare Torry ????
17/12/2025
You were only
twenty-five years old,
with choirs and jingles
you barely
paid the rent.
London
was freezing cold,
too much chaos,
too much wind,
too many protests
in the square
against joining
the EEC.
They were calling
the Prime Minister
Edward Heath
a traitor.
It was January,
it was 1973.
Alan called you
that evening
telling you:
“I’m at the Studios,
come over:
Pink Floyd
are looking
for a voice”.
You didn’t
even know
who they were,
but Abbey Road
was Abbey Road
and thirty pounds
came in
handy.
“Your voice
must be
an instrument!
Improvise
without words.
Screaming
at death
will be your
only task!”
That’s what they told you.
It was then
that the track
of “The Great Gig in the Sky”
started
and like a prayer
it got under your skin.
You closed
your eyes
and for two
and a half minutes
your voice
cried
with highs and lows
in a state
of perfect
grace.
Like a
vibrant reaper
of ancient
souls.
The archetype
sound,
beginning
and end
of everything.
Continue….
