Songwriters David Gilmour & Roger Waters
Produced by Pink Floyd

It’s amazing how the human mind wanders. A few days ago, I watched SUGA: Road to D-Day, a music documentary exploring the creative process of the BTS rapper and producer as he navigates his solo artistry—one of my favourite themes. I’ve always been drawn to how artists craft their work, the struggles they face, and the moments of inspiration that shape them. More often than not, I see myself reflected in those experiences.

After writing about the documentary, I found myself returning to the thoughts I had while putting those words down, lingering on one question: What is it that I feel about music? And why have BTS and its members captivated me so deeply?

As I sat with that question, I realized something unsettling—something I hadn’t fully admitted to myself. For a while now—probably years—I’ve been listening to music, but I haven’t really been feeling it. That thought sent me down a path of musical memory, retracing the songs that once moved me. The ones that stirred something deep inside.

U2’s lyrics alone could take me hours to unpack—The Joshua Tree album especially would lead me down that road. But the first song that surfaced was Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd—a song steeped in absence, alienation, disillusionment, and the search for something real, whether in relationships or in the broader human experience.

It’s incredible to think that Wish You Were Here was released in 1975. Half a century later, and its message still resonates. I don’t even know exactly why my thoughts led me here, but maybe that’s just the nature of music—it threads itself through memory and emotion, surfacing when we least expect it. I’m no music expert, just someone who follows those threads, unable to let them go.

Now that I think about it, the shift from BTS and SUGA to Pink Floyd is an interesting one. It’s a reminder that music, across different eras and styles, connects us in ways we don’t always understand. Wish You Were Here is often seen as a critique of the music industry, and the line “Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?” questions whether people are pressured into abandoning their ideals and passions in exchange for something hollow. How many artists have lost their original vision, forced to conform to what their labels demand?

I can’t help but think about the recent legal battle between a major label and NewJeans. I don’t want to wade into controversies—especially since that’s not the focus of my blog—but it’s hard to ignore the parallels. These struggles are still happening, even in 2025.

And then there’s this line:

“We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl, year after year.”

It’s a feeling of being trapped in a cycle—running over the same old ground, finding the same old fears, longing for something real but unable to grasp it. And somehow, after fifty years, those words still speak to us. Maybe that’s why this song surfaced in my mind. Maybe it was trying to remind me of something I’d lost—what it means to truly hear music, not just let it pass through me.

So to that, and to BTS—thank you.

Image courtesy of Wikimedia