Top 100 Albums - #9: The Division Bell (1994)

At number 9 on our chart is The Division Bell, the final album by art rockers Pink Floyd and their sixth of eight entries.

After the release of A Momentary Lapse Of Reason (1987, #62), the three surviving members of Pink Floyd went on a world tour to re-establish their reputation. This tour, the first since The Wall Tour in 1980-81, saw the band competing with Roger Waters for arena space, as Waters struggled to promote his second solo album, Radio K.A.O.S. (1987). Following the release of the live album Delicate Sound Of Thunder (1988), the Floyd took the remainder of the 1980s off, only regrouping to participate in the trans-America motor race La Carrera Panamericana, and to record instrumentals for the film of the same name. An accident during the race - which left both David Gilmour and manager Steve O'Rourke badly injured - helped to convince the band to record again. As Waters' third (and best) solo album, Amused To Death (1992), brought him back into the public eye, Messrs. Gilmour, Mason and Wright once more returned to the studio for what would be their last album.

The Division Bell begins with 'Cluster One', a 6-minute instrumental track. Like 'Sounds Of Life' off the previous album, this crackles and creeps its way into the mix, emerging from the musical equivalent of your peripheral vision. The mood, however, is very different. While 'Sounds Of Life' was ominous and brooding, and quite unsure of itself, the overwhelming mood of 'Cluster One' is contentment, being at peace with oneself without being self-satisfied. This sense of contentment is beautifully conveyed by a series of sweet and languid chords from Gilmour's guitar, complimented by Rick Wright's simple but effortless touches on the keyboards. While not being a masterpiece, it's the perfect scene-setter for the album as a whole, as well as standing entirely on its own two feet.

Having broken you in gently, the next track may come as a surprise. 'What Do You Want From Me' finds Gilmour in anger mode - or at least midly irate, for this is much closer to 'The Dogs Of War' off Momentary Lapse than 'Young Lust' from The Wall (1979, #14). This song is a double-edged sword, being on the one hand about a man's naive desire to make the impossible happen for his love, and on the other hand being an angry outburst at the demands of such a woman. The suppressed rage which simmers throughout this piece is matched elegantly by the great guitar parts, while the backing vocals of Sam Brown steadily build the tension before the title crests at the end of the chorus. It's a very well-proportioned track, with no part overstaying its welcome.

'Poles Apart', meanwhile, can best be described as a mild disappointment. It's not appalling by any possible stretch of the imagination - it just feels too downbeat and obvious to be a proper Floyd song. The subject matter, namely Syd and Roger - has been explored before in better and more subtle ways, the former on most of Wish You Were Here, the latter to a limited extent on Momentary Lapse. Gilmour's lyrics are drawn out and feel a bit lost amid the long, slow instrumental section in the middle of the track.

No matter, though, for 'Marooned' is on hand to restore both the album's balance and its quality. This is a gorgeous instrumental which encapsulates the mood of the album effortlessly. After a few teasing seconds, Gilmour's Stratocaster begins ringing out those long yearning chords that transport you to the shore of your own desert island. Gilmour's delicate, immaculate playing gives every note a bittersweet beauty which is hard to pin down into words but which is just to die for. Throughout Wright is on hand on keyboards, tying Gilmour's heartfelt wailings down through a series of chords which are both simple and sublime. And unlike on Echoes (2001, #31), where the track only runs to 2:03 before fading out, here this great track is presently completely unexpurgated, allowing you to bathe in its fragile beauty without a care in the world.

One work of genius is gently followed by another. 'A Great Day For Freedom' is the shortest track on the album, weighing in at only 4:18, but don't think it's a lightweight. The lyrics, as ever with the Floyd, are ambiguous: On the day the wall came down/ The ship of fools had finally run aground refers both to the fall of the Berlin Wall and to the band's relationship with Waters (through Gilmour has denied this interpretation, it's certainly a plausible way to read it).¹ Like much of the first half of the album, this track has a great sense of sadness and mourning at its centre, a feeling of doubt about the present coupled with some kind of contentment about the future. It's a strange combination of feelings, but Gilmour is not flustered, stretching his vocal range to bring out the most in the way of emotion. This is the ultimate Floyd grower.

'Wearing The Inside Out' is an interesting piece, being the first track on which Wright sings lead vocals since 'Time' from The Dark Side Of The Moon (1973, #23). The first thing that anyone will notice is that his voice hasn't aged nearly as well as Gilmour's; where Gilmour can still sail the high registers with an ethereal grace, Wright's is ragged and breaking. In a way, however, this helps the track and the album as a whole, bringing an understated grace into the mix to dismiss any accusations that the latter-day Floyd are all big sounds and no substance. Wright's voice whispers across the soundscape created by his keyboards, forcing you to listen intently but rewarding you at almost every turn.

Up until this point, one criticism which could be laid against this Pink Floyd record is the lack of a knock-out single. But these accusations are safely laid to rest with 'Take It Back'. While the term 'knock-out' is hardly appropriate for the long and graceful introduction, once Mason begins to pound the snare you're certain that you have a hit on your hands. Having previously addressed the Berlin Wall and a decaying relationship, Gilmour now turns his attention to the environment, delivering a great set of lyrics which depict a relationship between Man and Mother Nature, a relationship of abuse and neglect which will eventually lead Nature to take it back someday. Not only is Gilmour in fine voice, but his guitar work is superb, combining a jangly solo with a razor-sharp backing part. Mason also appears to have come out of his shell, providing some of his classic tom-tom fills which made the band's earlier records just that little bit more interesting. A great track if ever there was one.

'Coming Back To Life' interpolates out of the previous track, beginning with a graceful, shimmering C-chord from Wright. But once again the song belongs to Gilmour, as he provides yet another sweet solo which lifts the spirits and warms the heart. It's a song of redemption and renewal, in both the band's life and in Gilmour's, through his marriage to Polly Samson during the Pulse tour. Mason's drumming provides a steady, contemplative beat over which Gilmour can serenade and thank his lover, allowing you to simply sit back and enjoy the show.

Having jumped heavily into the personal on the previous track, 'Keep Talking' brings us back to the bigger picture and the album's central themes of communication and relationships. Once again it's a slow starter, taking its time to build through various interwoven riffs and tape loops. Eventually Stephen Hawking comes in and begins the 'lyrics' through segments culled from his BT adverts in the 1980s. But soon all product placement is pushed aside when Gilmour thunders into view. Having led us in slowly, his lyrics and delivery steadily become more heady and claustrophobic, dragging you back to the paranoid centre of the band under Waters. This is a fantastic piece, an honest and genuine song about the desperation of being alone and the human desire for contact (no wonder this album has been nicknamed the 'anti-Wall').² The band are playing meticulously tight but there is still plenty of room for flair, for both Mason and Wright. And at the end of the final desperate chorus, Gilmour straps on his talkbox and beats Peter Frampton at his own game (see my review of Frampton Comes Alive! (1976, #66). Great stuff.

Of all the songs on The Division Bell, 'Lost For Words' is the most obvious allegory to the band's relationship with Roger. For all Gilmour's denials and ambiguities, the lyrics are among the clearest on the album in terms of the parallels they draw. Musically, it begins liltingly, with Gilmour switching to a great-sounding acoustic, and Mason demonstrating that drumming can be an understated art as well as an overstated one. But the second the lyrics come in, the little grey cells click into action. No-one can fail to spot the clues in the final verses:

Can you see your days blighted by darkness?

Is it true you beat your fists on the floor?

Stuck in a world of isolation

While the ivy grows over the door

So I open the door to my enemies

And I ask could we wipe the slate clean

But they tell me to please go and fuck myself

You know you just can't win

Even if you don't buy the resemblance, this is still a charming song which once again finds the three remaining members in solid form and with little to prove.

The album concludes with 'High Hopes', which arrives to the sound of church bells and bees and signals the final departure of Pink Floyd. Wright's poignant piano perfectly counterpoints the tolling bell, creating a melancholy mood which descends over the whole experience. But rather than being a simple song of doom and gloom, this finds the Floyd reflecting on all that has passed in nearly 30 years in the music business. And while they may conclude that the grass was greener and the light was brighter, there is never any sign of them falling apart at the seams; they still sound as immaculate as they did all those years ago, an observation which is both a relief and a cause for sadness. Gilmour's delivery and playing are absolutely first-rate, infecting every note with a breathy wisdom and bittersweet weariness which encapsulate the band so well. It's the best possible eulogy to the greatest rock band of them all, and as the band retreat into the ether, one cannot help but miss them.

While popular with the fans, The Division Bell was slated upon its release, with critics describing it as tired and formulaic. Tom Graves of Rolling Stone remarked that "the album... gives off the uncomfortable whiff of middle-age... Gilmour... seems bored or dispirited."³ Once again, they couldn't be more wrong. This album sees the renewal of the spirit of Pink Floyd that was somewhat tarnished on the previous album. While Momentary Lapse had to compete with Waters and prove that the band could carry on, this is more laid-back, more content and more immaculate as a result. While Gilmour's lyrics will never match the savagery of Waters', here he has crafted some beautiful sets of verse, tackling subjects with a subtlety and artistic flair which is the very essence of his musicianship. The album achieves that rare thing of being both tightly focussed and relaxed with itself, allowing the songs' quality to come through without fear of being rushed. It's a beautiful, ethereal piece of work, requiring a great deal of patience on first listen, but thoroughly rewarding in the end.

4.18 out of 5

References

¹ G. Fuller, 'The Color of Floyd', http://www.pinkfloyd-co.com/band/interviews/djg/djg94.html. Accessed on July 6 2009.

² 'Pink Floyd: After Roger Waters', http://web.adminsites.com/4482U7T2/web/pinkfloyd/afterwaters.asp. Accessed on July 6 2009.

³ Tom Graves, 'Pink Floyd: The Division Bell' (June 16 1994), http://www.rollingstone.com/artists/pinkfloyd/albums/album/219753/review/5943409/the_division_bellAccessed on July 6 2009.

Top 100 Albums - #14: The Wall (1979)

Pink Floyd's fifth chart entry is The Wall, a double-concept album rock opera which resulted in one of the most elaborate tours in rock history.
Following the release of Wish You Were Here (1975), Roger Waters' influence over the musical direction of Pink Floyd began to grow. Following the tour, the band invested a large amount of money in the creation of Britannia Row Studios, described by Nick Mason as a place that "could take on the grim and claustrophobic qualities of a nuclear bunker".¹ It was in these (suitably) dark surroundings that Animals (1977) emerged, with Waters writing, co-writing and/ or singing all five tracks. The tour that followed saw the band playing huge stadiums, often filled with people who came not for the music but for the drugs and the buzz of the crowd. On July 6th 1977, at the Olympic Stadium in Montreal, Waters finally lost his temper and spat in the face of a fan trying to climb up the barricade. The band returned to Britain alienated and exhausted. While David Gilmour and Rick Wright busied themselves with solo albums - David Gilmour and Wet Dream (both 1978) - and Mason turned producer for The Damned, Waters set to work on the components for a masterpiece that would revive the Floyd's fortunes.

It is in these bleak surroundings that The Wall emerges. 'In The Flesh?' kicks off the first half in unusually subdued style. After the brief and as yet inexplicable snippet of dialogue - "... we came in?", there are a few seconds of calming harmonica. But don't be fooled. After about 18 seconds, the first guitar chord slashes through this sea of tranquility, hitting you right between the eyes without any warning. The chords are punchier and harder than anything on the previous album, and the whole feel of the song is so huge and expansive. It's a brilliant way to introduce the album, even before the explanatory lyrics come in.

'The Thin Ice' is much in the same vein, with a quiet beginning which slowly but surely mutates into an horrifically loud ending. At the start, where it is just Gilmour and Wright's piano, it all feels rather tender and soft. But the mood of the music is counterbalanced by the pathos-ridden words emanating from Waters' pen and Gilmour's mouth. Waters sings the more overtly dark second half, describing the sensation of being out of depth in the world. Then Gilmour lets rip with a series of amazing chords that make you feel like you are sliding down into the depths of an ocean filling with your own blood. This is a terrifying track, one which if listened to in a dark room will transport you closer towards the true meaning of fear.

Having come through this psychotic episode, 'Another Brick In The Wall (Part 1)' is, relatively speaking, a moment of light relief. Though he may have hinted at it on The Dark Side Of The Moon (1973, #23), this is the first instance of Waters writing openly about his father, killed at Anzio in World War II. While the first two tracks were more thematic, to get us in tune with the new Floyd sound, this introduces the character of Pink. Like Waters he has lost his father in war, feels neglected, and in response is beginning to erect a wall to protect him from the world outside. Musically it's very well structured, managing to sustain a repeating riff to create tension without sounding like filler.

Before long, though, the tea break is over and 'The Happiest Days Of Our Lives' comes hovvering into view. Quite literally in fact, since this track begins with the sound of a helicopter and the teacher's familiar yell: "You! Yes, you! Stand still, laddee!". Here Waters starts to get into his stride, railing against the education system of his childhood. Through the eyes of Pink he depicts the teachers as uncaring fiends, who take their aggression out on the children while being secretely beaten by their wives (one of many sick jokes in this piece, of which Waters seems to be a fan). Waters' bass playing has always been simplistic, but this is not a bad thing. Underneath his whispering and screaming, his simple chords slowly cut into you like a chisel while Mason's hi-hat buzzes around your head like a wasp stuck in a jar.

'Another Brick In The Wall (Part 2)' is almost too famous to require much more being said. Of course, it is famous for the wrong reason, being known as the Floyd's only hit single rather than as an amazing piece of rock craftmanship. As I said in my review of Echoes (2001, #31), the true genius of this track is that it sounds more complicated that it actually is. Taken in its component parts, we have a decent (but not brilliant) set of lyrics, a nice (but not brilliant) guitar solo, a good-ish bass line and a fairly mundane drum part. But put these pieces together, and the whole becomes greater than the sum of its parts. Like 'Money' on Dark Side, this is written and produced so that each instrument and section comes in at just the right time and for just long enough. No aspect, from the drums to the children's choir, is allowed to overstay its welcome or be cut short by the intrusion of something else. This has everything you could possibly want from a Floyd track: a powerful message, strong lyrics and amazing sound, all tied down to a hummable melody and played by brilliant musicians.

'Mother', meanwhile, is more subtle. Waters and Gilmour again share lyrics, only this time they take on the characters. Waters plays some simple but sweet acoustic on the verses, while relaying Pink's fears to Gilmour's overprotective mother. This is similar to both parts of 'Pigs On The Wing' from Animals in that the individual lines are spaced out, given room to breathe so that they stand alone as powerful statements. Gilmour is ideally suited to the part of the Mother, singing Momma's gonna make all of your nightmares come true in his usual bright, ethereal voice, thus achieving maximum irony.

'Goodbye Blue Sky' is probably one of the best anti-war songs ever written. From the childish cry at the start ("Look Mummy, there's an aeroplane up in the sky" - more irony) to the descending bass line at the end, it never fails to make your heart feel heavier. Unlike Waters' subsequent anti-war efforts, like on The Final Cut (1983, #49), this doesn't tell you directly what is wrong or what is to opposed. All we get in the lyrics are vague glimpses into human tragedy, which our minds then multiply until we picture a horror too unspeakable for words. Lines like The flames are all long gone/ But the pain lingers on are perfect for this purpose, and the images they convey is amazing, depicting war as some kind of loss of innocence. Gilmour's vocals meld beautifully with the acoustic to create a truly sensational piece of work - not just in its quality, but the way that it makes you feel.

Like 'Goodbye Blue Sky', 'Empty Spaces' only gives you glimpses. But here the glimpses come much later, and only after considerable build-up. For a song that only has four lines, it is surprising and a rare joy because it doesn't feel even remotely padded out. The repeated sound effects maintain the beat, while the distant wail of the guitar puts more pictures in your head. This song sees Pink wondering how he will fill the final places to complete the wall. The first note of the guitar is flung into the centre of the mix like a spotlight being turned on, showing the face of a demented Pink scouring his new concrete landscape. In the show this piece was much longer, incorporating a rant about humans' frenzied desire to not stand still; it was edited for the LP to make the music fit on the vinyl. But that doesn't matter, because like the edited version of 'Marooned' on Echoes, you still get plenty of majestic music that leaves you wanting more.

Having run out of bad experiences, Pink decides to become a rock star in 'Young Lust'. Gilmour takes the lead in this one, with his voice sounding rougher and his guitar playing just exuding menace. He shouts the opening line, which comes as a bit of a jump if you've had your ears pressed close to the speakers to hear what Waters is saying. But then that's appropriate, not just because Waters and Gilmour are completely different kinds of singers, but also because we are seeing a different side of Pink: the openly destructive, hedonistic side rather than the dark, self-pitying one. The simple macho chorus is punchy, as is Mason's drumming, while Wright re-emerges on the organ as a form of musical counterweight.

'One Of My Turns' sees the union of both Pinks, the old introvert and the new rockstar, in what turns out to be a lethal combination. Pink leads a groupie into his hotel room, only to take no notice of her advances and then proceeding to smash everything around him, scaring her to death. After the television flickers into the background, the keyboard enters the fray and the song begins properly. The first half is incredibly sinister: the lyrics drip from Waters' mouth like wax from a burning candle; Day after day/ My love turns grey/ Like the skin on a dying man is a fabulous opening line. Eventually, Pink explodes in a fury of drums and guitar, and Waters moves from a whisper to full-on screaming and shouting, so that it feels like he is attacking YOU.

'Don't Leave Me Now' is the first track to fall short of the mark. It finds Pink alone, having collapsed out of his fury with the news that his girlfriend has been cheating on him. He goes from angry to despairing, desperate, and even fearful. The main problem with this is that it feels lazily written. There is no sense of discipline over where the words and music join up, as if the band recorded a rather uneventful ambient track and then Waters improvised over it. While such techniques would serve him well on Amused To Death (1992), here they compromise the result.

'Another Brick In The Wall (Part 3)' refocuses the plot and the listeners, albeit a little unsubtly. Amid glass smasing, Pink completes the wall and realises his dream of perfect isolation from the rest of the world. The lyrics are more basic, and the music is familiar, but the pace feels more frenzied, as if Pink is moving a knife through his hand and then sealing his creation in his own blood. At 1:15, it's shorter than the other parts, but this doesn't matter because it successfully conveys all that needs to be said. All of which makes 'Goodbye Cruel World' pretty much superfluous. It's shorter, the title is hackneyed, the lyrics are obvious and musically it's flat, with a two-note bassline nicked from 'Careful With That Axe, Eugene'. This worked in the show, serving as a means to place the last brick. On record, this isn't needed, so it doesn't work at all.

The second half kicks off with 'Hey You', and finds the first pangs of regret beginning to take hold of Pink. Here his slow descent into madness begins with his desire for human contact, the very thing he has shut out in creating the wall. The verses chronicle this progress, with Pink first asking for feeling, then for contact, and finally for help, each time directed at a force he knows is there but that he cannot quite comprehend. In another sense, this is a song of two halves. The first half is Gilmour's, beginning with a sweet turn on vocals and a maelstrom of a guitar solo, while the second half belongs to Waters, melding together his bitterness and his empathy in one powerful cocktail.

'Is There Anybody Out There?' is a look spookier, with the mood changing drastically. Where 'Hey You' genuinely sought contact and the comfort which that brings, this is more suspicious. Waters' whispered lyrics echo across the mix like whispered yells over no-mans'-land. You feel with this song like you are a soldier crouched in a shell-hole, or perhaps a PoW dodging the searchlights in his bid for freedom. And all the while, at the centre of this suspicion and trepidation, the mood is haltingly and cleverly juxtaposed by the acoustic, faintly reminisent of John Williams' 'Cavatina' from The Deer Hunter (1973).

'Nobody Home' is quite simply astonishing. Continuing on from the previous track's sampling of film audio clips, we are taken back to the hotel room where a washed-up, burned-out Pink is listing his earthly possessions. It doesn't sound thrilling, but the execution of this 'list song' is superb. This in indicative of Waters' later solo work, like 'It's A Miracle' from Amused To Death. He starts with simple background music, and then the lyrics tumble forth in a sequence which, though random in real life, seems to flow perfectly and compliment everything. Everything about this little gem is wonderful. Waters sings/ speaks the lyrics with gravitas, leaving room for every impressive syllable. The strings and brass that are added later on create a wonderful mood that is tragic and nostalgic, with a military touch to it. And the inclusion of odd clips ("Surprise, surprise, surprise!") add humour in order to bring out the darkness. This is Waters at his finest.

Both 'Vera' and 'Bring The Boys Back Home' are too short and one-dimensional to serve any great purpose. They are at heart segues, designed to carry the plot rather than stand as songs 'Vera' is a mini-ode to Dame Vera Lynn, the famed wartime singer who was all but forgotten after 1945. Waters seems to be using this as a metaphor for how the ideals of 'the post-war dream' have slipped from memory, but he doesn't develop this in nearly enough detail. 'Bring The Boys Back Home' is just bizarre; the grouping of the screechy Waters with a deep male voice choir never really works. This does have one plus point, however. After the singing ends, a sound montage is slowly built up, which serves as a very good lead-in to 'Comfortably Numb'. Like 'Speak To Me' on Dark Side, it combines little motifs and snippets from most of the other songs, finally culminating in the echoey "Is there anybody out there?".

'Comfortably Numb' itself is one of the album's centrepieces. It is indeed one of the centrepieces of the band's repertoir, solidified by its performance on both the Pulse tour in 1994 and at Live 8 in 2005. So far all the songs of the second half have hinted at Pink's descent into madness, but this is the starting point for that actual descent. Rather than demonise Pink straight away, the band are very clever, presenting him as being pleasantly aware of the events going on around him. His body and brain are 'comfortably numb', swimming in drugs designed to keep him going through the show. The lyrics switch between the doctor (Waters) assisting the patient, and Pink (Gilmour) describing this new-found numbness in graphic and beautiful detail. Gilmour sings dreamily, guiding the audience into Pink's head so that they feel an organic part of the mix. Thus, when that award-winning guitar solo rears its head at the end, it feels like the soul of Pink himself is singing and thrashing around, taking the listeners with it. What a rock masterpiece this is.

'The Show Must Go On' is more segue, and therefore deserves little attention from us. Its purpose is to link the hotel room to Pink's arrival at the concert, something achieved without music in the film but difficult to do on an album. It's not completely superfluous, but it's hardly essential either. 'In The Flesh', meanwhile, is completely essential. Not simply a reprise of the first track, it is the unveiling of the new Pink. The rockstar has died a violent death, and in his place, amongst the organ and guitars, strides a blackshirted fascist dictator, ready to unleash himself upon an unsuspecting crowd, brimming with admiration. By employing female voices and selective echoes, the Floyd succeed in turning the rock concert into a gigantic rally in which no-one is safe and the adrenaline levels begin to rise.

'Run Like Hell' takes things ever further, both in consolidating the fascist landscape and raising the bar for Floyd songs to a whole new level. This is undoubtedly the best song on the entire album. Where previously you could be but a spectator, idly looking in, on 'Run Like Hell' you are thrust right into the mêlée with no means of escape. The mass experience dominates everything, with the heavy drums and loud bass taking you to the front row of a eardrum-bursting arena. The narrative is sustained magically, with Waters doubletracking and pushing his range to its uppermost limits. His voice is absolutely hypnotic as he snarls through the verses and screams magnificent lines like If they catch you in the back seat, trying to pick her locks/ They're gonna send ya back to Mother in a cardboard box. This is a frenzied and psychotic piece, which truly demonstrates the power of the Floyd's music. Not only will this send shivers down your spine, it will openly scare you, and yet thrill you at the same time.

'Waiting For The Worms' is just as good, although its role is very different. Pink is now in the grip of madness, and enjoying every minute of it. With the aid of a well-recorded megaphone, he barks out orders to his minions, directing them to follow the worms and bring about their destruction. A lot of this is an allegory of the Nazis' genocide, hence the references to Jews and the line (Waiting)/ To turn on the showers/ And fire the ovens. These must be taken with a pinch of salt, for Waters is clearly being ironic, setting up Pink as being an accurate but extreme representation of evil, so that people may not repeat it. The best part of this truly frightening track is the final speech. As it plays you can picture Pink smiling, then the smile turning to a forced grin, then a rictus, then gaping horror and finally the epic scream of 'STOP!'.

The actual song 'Stop' is the shortest on the album, at only 30 seconds long. It's the last so-called segue, being extremely brief and not especially deep; its only purpose is to start Pink's process of self-trial and coming to terms with what he has done. This is dealt with much better in 'The Trial'. Even if you haven't seen the film, which features the nightmarish animations of Gerald Scarfe, you can't help but be terrified by this track. Waters takes on all the voices, playing the various characters who are called to testify against Pink - the schoolmaster, his girlfriend, and his mother. While the lyrics are characteristically dark and sinister, their structure is unusual for a Pink Floyd song. It's less of a rigid pop song than a dark take on a libretto by Gilbert and Sullivan: the characters sing as they speak, and the song sounds more staged as a result. This is not a problem, however, since the content and production are still enough to make you jump out of your skin. The climax, where judgement is passed and Pink has to tear down his wall, is one of the finest conclusions to any rock song. If you listen to this in the dark first time round, be sure to have a defibrillator close to hand - because this is heart-stoppingly good.

As the dust settles, we end pretty much where we began. 'Outside The Wall' trundles merrily along on its harmonica and children's choir, appearing to neatly wrap up any loose ends so that we can all go home. But in fact, very little is left answered. Is Pink still alive, or did the process of destroying the wall kill him? If the latter, who is singing at the end? And is this really the end? The final question is addressed with the closing words, "Isn't this where...": the continuation of the opening words, "... we came in?" hint that this may be a continual process, to which Pink and ourselves are irreparably bound. It's certainly enough to get the little grey cells going.

The Wall may not be the finest album the Floyd ever made, but it still contains everything that made this band so great. From the dark, ambiguous lyrics to the complex yet hummable melodies, and all the conceptual touches, this extend and build on the previous three albums. Where Dark Side dealt with the human condition as an expression of empathy, Wish You Were Here looked at absence and the feeling of loss, and Animals explored the notion of class and the powers that be, The Wall is a deep and involving journey into the darkest reaches of the human subconscious, albeit a journey skewed by Waters' own experiences. It's not perfect: the jazzy touches of Dark Side have all but disappeared, and the second half can seem inconsistent. But when listened to as a whole, you will struggle to notice this, because the whole is so overpoweringly brilliant. This album will shock you, scare you, terrify you and thrill you in ways that you cannot possibly imagine. It will take you to the very brink of insanity and then blow your mind. It is essential listening for anyone who loves Pink Floyd, or anyone who wishes to go a little deeper into the darkest corners of the human mind.

4.04 out of 5

References
¹ Nick Mason, Inside Out: A Personal History of Pink Floyd, ed. Philip Dodd (London: Phoenix, 2005), p. 218.

Top 100 Albums - #23: The Dark Side Of The Moon (1973)

Pink Floyd's fourth entry on the chart is The Dark Side Of The Moon, their critical and commercial breakthrough which has so far sold in excess of 40 million copies.¹
Following the departure of Syd Barrett in April 1968, the Floyd entered a period of experimentation and extended pieces, as they struggled to find a new sound. The first post-Barrett album, A Saucerful Of Secrets (1968), contained only one of his compositions ('Jugband Blues') and was poorly received compared to its predecessor. Now settling into life as a fourpiece, the band spent 1969 creating the soundtrack to Barbet Schroeder's More and touring in support of their double album Ummagumma. This and the follow-up, Atom Heart Mother (1970), kept the band in the limelight, the latter being an ornate and overambitious recording employing a full orchestra and conceptual composer Ron Geesin. It became their first No. 1 album in Britain, but has since savaged by the band. Finally, on Meddle (1971), the Pink Floyd sound began to coalesce together, and the fans agreed, heralding the 23-minute 'Echoes' as a masterpiece. After the release of Obscured By Clouds (1972) - another Barbet Schroeder commission - the band were poised to take the world by storm.

Anyone who is even faintly familiar with this album, or the mythology surrounding it, cannot help but feel a strange sensation upon starting it. After a few seconds of agonising, despairing silence, the famous 'heartbeats' kick in and we creep slowly forwards into 'Speak To Me/ Breathe'. The first minute is a sound montage, sampling all the sounds which would become motifs of the album, including the first of the famous 'voices' (I've been mad for fucking years and all that). When 'Breathe' eventually begins, we are exploded out of this madness into a calming, reassuring groove which sees all four instruments working in harmony. Nick Mason keeps the beat simply and solidly, while Roger Waters' bass strums appositely, providing the harmony part for David Gilmour's wailing lap steel. The lyrics serve to delicately introduce the album's purpose, as "an expression of political, philosphical and humanitarian empathy that was desperate to get out".²

With 'On The Run', our pulses are send racing as the mood shifts from one of philosopical balm to deeply seated fear. The song is anchored by the throbbing, distorted synthesiser beat, sampled and sped up. It pulses through the mix like some strange being, whom you are always aware of but is always just out of sight. The voice of a female announcer mumbles around you as footsteps resound and vehicles doppler shift their way across your subconscious. The song was inspired by the band's fear of flying, caused by relentless touring. And sure enough, by the time the aeroplane crashes at the end of the track, your own heartbeat has quickened, you feel frightened, and you begin to understand the album's message - that it's okay, it's natural, it's human to feel this way.

'Time' begins ominously. If you allow yourself to drift into a state of rest, having escaped your fate, your bliss is brutally shattered by the chiming of the clocks. It may have been shamefully parodied on 'One Slip' later in the Floyd's career (see my review of A Momentary Lapse Of Reason (1987, #62), but here it serves its purpose beautifully, creating a delicate, edgy feeling in the listener into which the band can express their feelings. Once Mason has had his minute-and-a-half of freedom, the whole pieces takes on a life of its own. Waters' lyrics about the passage of time and the feeling of being lost in life are beautifully delivered; Gilmour takes the stricken verses, while Rick Wright blends beautifully with the female singers, delivering the killer line Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way with all its inate English charm.

We stick with Wright for the next track, 'The Great Gig In The Sky'. It is a testimony to his abilities that, in a piece packed with beautiful lap steel and that vocal solo from Clare Torry, for the first minute at least you only want to listen to him. He doesn't play the grand piano, so much as stroke it with a series of feathers, ending up with something bittersweet, something graceful - something wonderful. When Torry finally comes in, your concentration does shift, but you are always aware of Wright's organs underneath her. It is as though you are drowning in a sea of sound, and she is the siren mourning your loss. No-one has ever matched her performance live, and on record it remains frighteningly beautiful.

'Money' probably ranks as one of the greatest songs of the 1970s. It is certainly one of the most original and unusual hits, with its unwieldy 7/8 time signature and equally unwieldy length. The opening, with the cash register, tape loops and fabulous bass line, is of course well-known and loved. But there is so much more to it than that. The band sound tight and together across this album, but this takes unity to a new level. There is no excess fat here at all - no drawn-out guitar solos, no overly clever drum fills, no John Entwistle-style bass noodling. Instead, what we get is four musicians playing off each other tone-perfectly, coming and going at the right time without a second's argument or hesitation. Even a seasoned stoic cannot help but be enslaved by the rhythm Waters creates and Mason exemplifies. The saxaphone solo is brilliant, the change in time signature is the very definition of seamless, and the lyrics are simple but sensationally clever, conveying so much by saying so little:

Money, it's a crime
Share it fairly
But don't take a slice of my pie
Money, so they say
Is the root of all evil today
But if you ask for a rise
It's no surprise
That they're giving none away

This is not just the best track on the album; it's arguably one of the greatest tracks of all time.

After railing against materialism, Waters turns his attention to war, as he would often do in his career. 'Us And Them' is more jazzy and nuanced than 'Money', which isn't really suprising when we discover that Wright is behind this one as well. Like so much of the group's compositions for the album, the finished result was almost an accident. Wright composed a similar piece for the film Zabriskie Point (1970), but it was rejected, shelved and then rediscovered during the recording. The piece rolls along gently, creating a summery feel which lulls you into a false sense of security wherein the lyrics can pounce. Mason's drums serve more as a garnish than an anchor, as Wright delivers that magical 'third chord' - a DmM7 - which sets the piece apart. Waters' lyrics are again deceptively simple, but they get the grey cells going so that everyone can find something different in lines like With, without/ And who'll deny it's what the fighting's all about?.

Out of all the tracks on the album, 'Any Colour You Like' is easily the hardest to like. It's not terrible in the traditional sense, and in many ways it's very listenable. But it has the feeling of the band treading water, taking their foot off the pedals and freewheeling while Waters was thinking of something else to say. This has the feel of 'The Travel Sequence', a jam from their live shows which was eventually replaced with 'On The Run'. Like the jam, this feels aimless - there are no lyrics (which is not a problem in itself) but there is little in the way of melody even to reflect the title (a reference to the erroneous words of Henry Ford, "you can have it any colour you like, as long as it's black").

'Brain Damage' is a return to form, or at least to some kind of unified message. As with so much of Pink Floyd's work, the spectre of Syd is hovering over this: the opening lines, The lunatic is on the grass, are both a chilling reminder of his fate and a tirade against conformity. Waters sings for the first time on the album, and his unique voice suits this piece better than Gilmour's or Wright's. Although he had sung on previous Floyd songs - like 'Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun' - he sounds more professional here. More confident as well. This song begins to tie up the themes of the album, returning to some form of empathy and reassurance after ranting against the 'virtues' of the world - and of course, introducing the mystical image of the dark side of the moon as a place of refuge for those who don't quite fit in with what the world expects of them.

'Eclipse' serves as a natural, favourably formed coda to close the album. The lyrics are one long list of reassurances from Waters about the human condition, again seeming to say: It's okay to feel this way. Musically, it sees the climax and coming together of all the ingredients for one last assault on the senses. It rises and rises more and more, becoming richer and brighter all the time until the final shimmering organ chord from Wright brings things slowly to an end. Soon the heartbeats start up again, the music fades out, and we are left with the immortal words of Abbey Road doorman Gerry O'Driscoll: "There is no dark side of the moon, really. Matter of fact it's all dark".

Writing about The Dark Side Of The Moon is a frustrating experience. There is almost nothing which can be said about it which is new, interesting or enlightening. Many claims made about it are becoming less and less contentious: it is one of the greatest albums of all time, in terms of sales and critical reception. It is a hugely significant cultural and musical milestone. It is a masterpiece of production. It is, in many ways, the epitome of Pink Floyd, with all four members working together and coming through with the goods. But one thing it is not is the greatest Floyd album. All the components of a great record are here, and the end result is a sumptuous delight, a thought-provoking, soul-searching three-quarters of an hour wrapped up in the language of arty pop songs. But as we shall soon discover, subsequent Floyd efforts took this formula further, consolidating and developing it into something equally memorable. Hence the best way to view The Dark Side Of The Moon is both as a milestone in its own right, and - more importantly - the foundation for every single one of the Floyd's subsequent creations.

4.00 out of 5

References
¹ Bill Werde, 'Floyd's 'Dark Side' Celebrates Chart Milestone' (May 5 2006), http://www.billboard.com/bbcom/news/article_display.jsp?vnu_content_id=1002463719. Accessed on August 20 2008.
² 'The Making of The Dark Side Of The Moon Part 1', http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jtj8she1mgg. Accessed on September 21 2008.

Top 100 Albums - #31: Echoes - The Best of Pink Floyd (2001)

The Floyd make their third of eight chart entries with Echoes, a double-album compilation compiled by all four members.
Following the release of The Division Bell in March 1994, the three remaining members of Pink Floyd embarked on their largest ever tour. The tour, which took up the rest of the year, was captured on the live album Pulse (1995) and the film shot at Earls Court in October 1994. All three members agree in retrospect that the band were in their prime¹, but after the tour David Gilmour announced that he had no desire to continue and put the band on 'semi-permanent hiatus'.² The next five years were unmarked, save for Rick Wright's second solo album Broken China (1996) and the birth of Gilmour's four children with Polly Samson, whom he married during the tour. In 2000 fans were greeted with Is There Anybody Out There? The Wall Live 1980-1981, a live cut of their groundbreaking shows at Earls Court twenty years before. Though it met with lukewarm reception from the critics, it left the fans eagerly wanting more.

Predictably, we start at the beginning, with two tracks from the Syd Barrett era. The first, 'Astronomy Domine', is the opening track of The Piper At The Gates At Dawn (1967). With its distinctive opening, it is a fitting way to kick off, as we beat, bleep and jaggedly riff our way in. It is tempting in hindsight to tar all pyschedelic rock with the same scornful brush, but this still sounds fresh and left-field forty-one years on. Rick Wright's keyboard and organ chords swirl through the mix to perfectly compliment Barrett's aggressive guitar, and it is all underscored with great, sharp drumming from Nick Mason.

'See Emily Play', meanwhile, is a non-album single and no different in quality. The lyrics may be more accessible - not that that is saying a lot - but they remain quintessentially English, as does Barrett's delivery of them. With this you realise how much Wright is an essential part of the band throughout its lifespan. Here his cascading piano work lifts the chorus out of all accusations of tweeness, kicking the whole piece up its floury, Kenneth Grahame'd backside.

So far, so predictable. But now, the compilation takes an unusual twist. No sooner have we reached the closing Plaaay-aaay-aaay, than we notice the simple but broading bassline of a later work. A few second later, the whirr of a helicopter and the angry cry of a Glaswegian teacher fling us forward 12 years and into the paranoid darkness of The Wall (1979). 'The Happiest Days Of Our Lives' and 'Another Brick In The Wall (Part 2)' together form a bitter, personal salvo against the repressive education system through which Roger Waters passed. The former track has a bass line which chisels its way into your skill, with Mason's hi-hat pulsating like an angry wasp. Waters darkly spits out the lyrics, moving from his throaty whisper to the fearsome higher registers with gusto and fright.

The latter is well known for being Pink Floyd's only hit single, becoming the UK Christmas No. 1 of 1979. It's widely seen as a classic, and it isn't hard to see why. From the end of the blood-curdling scream, the simple beat is stuck in your beat. Gilmour's guitar work is subtle and yet very clever, rearing its head at just the right moments in the verses and choruses. The lyrics are wisely shared, which is odd considering Waters' megalomaniacal control of the album (and the band). But the cleverest thing about this song is that it appears to be more complicated than it actually is. Taken outside of the Floyd's image as over-serious and conceptual, the individual parts are all quite straightforward, and the lyrics could almost be called conventional. But together, these simple parts create something which is holistically very intricate, absolutely meticulous - and thoroughly rewarding.

Having gone so well, we segue seamlessly into rather an odd choice. 'Echoes' is undoubtedly significant as a piece within the Floyd catalogue. Gilmour has often gone on record as saying that Meddle (1971), from which this is taken, was the album which focussed the Floyd and decided the direction of all their great work. Be that as it may, the quality never really comes. You get hints of future brilliance, but that's all they are, hints. For example, in the second verse, we get the first inclination of Waters' empathetic lyrics:

Strangers passing in the street
By chance two separate glances meet
And I am you, and what I see is me
And do I take you by the hand
And lead you through the land
And help you understand the best I can?

All the ingredients for classic Floyd are lurking somewhere in this primordial pea-souper, whether it be Gilmour's singing and guitar work, Wright's delicate keyboards or Mason's underated drumming. But all you ever get are frustrating flashes from the abyss, and you come away feeling that your 16-and-a-half minutes could have been better spent.

Listening to the next track, for instance. 'Hey You' is nowhere near as frustrating, confusing or drawn out. This track opens the second half of The Wall, and finds Pink feeling regret for shutting out the world, to protect himself and spite those who made his life a misery. Even in his most bitter and vitriolic compositions - which The Wall definitely is - Waters still expresses empathy, crying out in his lyrics for contact, for help, for something to save him. Gilmour's guitar solo halfway through ensures that this flows musically as well as lyrically, getting us back on track.

'Marooned' is the first track from The Division Bell, and has been abridged to 2:03 to allow enough space for the other tracks. But even if you only get a third of the song, it's worth it, because this is simply gorgeous. This composition, which won Pink Floyd their only Grammy (for
Best Rock Instrumental Performance, in 1994), is a beautifally laid-out guitar piece. The second the first long, yearning chord rings out of Gilmour's Stratocaster, you find yourself on a desert island, surrounded by clear blue water and completely alone. While Gilmour lets rip in the foreground, Wright grounds the piece in some simple but perfectly timed chords. Unlike the guitar instrumentals of say, Joe Satriani, this does not sound too clever for its own good, or like Gilmour is showing off. It's just... sublime.

Sooner or later, we have to come to The Dark Side Of The Moon (1973), so it's just as well we start with a good cut from it. 'The Great Gig In The Sky' is a trademark Rick Wright piece. He strokes the grand piano with such grace and sadness that you are ignorant of Gilmour's pedal steel and the voices echoing around - you just want to listen to him. That is, until Clare Torry comes in. Her famous vocal performance, completely improvised in one take, still sounds as original and as frightening as it did back in 1973. As you listen to it, you feel like you are being sucked down by an unseen current, drowning in a whirlpool of sound. No-one has ever emulated it, and no-one ever will.

Following all this talk of death (so to speak), we step back in time to 'Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun'. Taken from A Saucerful Of Secrets (1968), it's one of the first songs which features Waters on lead vocals. It's a shame, then, that you can't really hear what he's saying - the production places the lyrics right at the back of the mix, behind the drums, bass and hammond organ. It's not a complete disaster, though, because while such practice would be inexcusible among today's producers, here it gives the piece a mysterious texture. Waters has always been an intimidating figure, and this is the first glimpse we get of that.

The last four tracks of the first half are all thoroughbred Floyd magic. First, we have 'Money', undoubtedly one of the greatest songs of the 1970s. Written in 7/8 time, it begins with the famous cash register and tape loops, before giving way to the instantly recognisable bass line. Everything about this track is absolutely tone-perfect. The instruments gel together perfectly, each coming in at the right stage and having a bigger say when the time is right. The rhythm is catchy beyond the point of madness; nobody can resist the beat. The saxophone solo from Dick Parry is elegant, and the jump in time signature (from 7/8 to 4/4) is, quite simply, exceptional; it frees up Mason to go just that little bad more wild, as he wrestles with Gilmour's wailing Strat. Lyrically, it's a playful, ironic and tasteful one-in-the-eye for the fat cats of the day and materialism in general. It is a true work of genius.

'Keep Talking' is also genius, but in an entirely different way. This segues in from 'Money' with no sign of any join, so that we suddenly jump from 1970s materialism to 1990s isolation and sadness. The track gets going with the cameo of Stephen Hawking, culled from the series of adverts he did for BT in the mid-1980s. Backed by his bristling Fender, Gilmour launches into his vocals, in a delivery which crosses the sinister whisper of Waters with the sadness and sense of loss which he has personally mastered. The band feels incredibly tight, with Mason being allowed plenty to room to experiment without going mad. And all the time, Wright keeps things in check, being rewarded with a fleeting solo. The best thing about this track, though, is its sense of honesty. With earlier Floyd tracks - on the previous album, for instance - you could get away with criticising them for pandering to popular feeling and not being genuine. But not with this.

'Sheep' is the only track on here from Animals (1977), a concept album which draws inspiration from George Orwell's Animal Farm (1945). Wright's keyboard part in the opening minute is dark, forbidding and distant, like a singing child in a horror film. Soon he is joined by the menacing burble of Waters' bass, as it slowly scrapes its way into the darkest corners of your mind. The lyrics are Waters in his prime, a bizarre but compelling mix of empathy, vitriol and socialism. He paints the 'sheep', the ignorant masses who are blind to the dark fate which awaits them, as if he is one of them - I've looked over Jordan and I've seen/ Things are not what they seem. Aside from the excellent lyrics, this song is hugely energetic. For the first seven minutes, we get verses like carefully-timed machine-gun volleys. But then, at 8:07, it all kicks off, Mason goes mental and the whole band explode with an energy which had not been seen from since the days of 'Careful With That Axe Eugene'. It's absolutely stunning.

We end the first half with a fourth stonker, in the shape of 'Sorrow'. This is the first track from A Momentary Lapse Of Reason (1987, #62), and it's not hard to spot the difference in sound, let alone tempo. But the darkness, the sadness, the loss and the regret are still there. The guitar part, played on a Steinberger GL ('headless guitar'), cuts in over the fading rampage of 'Sheep', and is deeper, more metallic - more Tangerine Dream than English art rock. The lyrics borrow from John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath (1939); the yearning for a fairer world is still there, but here the pain and anguish is turned inward, so that you are looking at a personal devastation without the blinkers of class war. This is a great arena rock song - it's heavy, it's determined, and as with the best music the Floyd produced, it reflects both the situation of the band and of the world around them, without coming across as simpering or self-obsessed along the way.

The second half begins with the longest track on the compilation. 'Shine On You Crazy Diamond' (Parts I-VII)' clocks in at an almighty 17:32, and for that we don't even get the whole suite. What do we do get is all three verses - split between songs on Wish You Were Here (1975) - and a choice pick of the stuff in between. Purists and sound geeks will scoff at the absence of certain little sections, but for the the rest of us it doesn't really matter. The mood is still one of absence, the subject matter - Syd - is still in the foreground, and it still sounds pretty damn good.

'Time' takes us back two years and plants us back into everyman territory. The opening, parodied in later Floyd records, remains familiar and captivating, with its superb combination of deep clicks, heady guitars and teasing drumming. Waters' lyrics flow perfectly between the chords, especially on the choruses: Wright sings Tired of lying in the sunshine/ Stay and home to watch for rain backed by a glorious foursome of female singers who glide up and down the scales. Despite its philosophical themes - the passage of time and the feeling of being lost in life - it retains an essential Englishness, captured astutely in the line Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way.

Following these genteel musings, we flash forward ten years to more serious times. 'The Fletcher Memorial Home' is the only morsel on here from The Final Cut (1983, #49), and it comes across as a big jump. Where 'Time' was reassuring and titillating, this is direct, angry and despairing. It is a quietly savage attack on the failure of 'the post-war dream'. Waters snarls through the lyrics with this precise thing in mind: his critique is reigned in by the grief he feels for his lost father. It may not be all that easy on the ears, but after a few listens you become fully aware of its power.

'Comfortably Numb' is a classic, easily one of the best known and most-loved Pink Floyd songs. Taken from The Wall, it's also one of the few occassions where Waters and Gilmour collaborated on songwriting. Waters takes the verses, playing the doctor examining Pink and recommending a series of drugs to get the rock star back on his feet:

Okay
Just a little pin-prick
They're be no more AAAAAAAAAA-AAAA-AAAH!
But you may feel a little sick

Gilmour meanwhile takes the chorus, singing as a dreamy, lethargic Pink on the brink of turning into a fascist monster. The song is majestic, with its guitar solo that was recently voted the greatest ever - and it's not hard to see why.³ Gilmour soars throughout the song, making his Strat sing and whine and cry in distress like the soul of Pink himself. It is one of their great compositions, better than anything the band threw up in the 1980s, and an art rock anthem which stands the test of time better than anything else of its kind.

Sticking with The Wall, sort of, we now come to 'When The Tigers Broke Free', a track conceived purely for the film version and only released as a seperate entity on the 2004 remaster of The Final Cut. A misfit, lyrically it sticks to the themes of The Wall - in this case the loss of the main character's father in war - but they follow the more sprawling pattern of Waters' solo work. Which is appropriate, really, since this is him atoning for his father's death, in full voice, while swiping at the authorities with his usual vim and venom.

'One Of These Days', meanwhile, is proper old-school Floyd. The duelling basses power their way through the mix as Gilmour doubles up. Wright dashes back and forth, fading in and out organ chords which cut through like scimatars. When the guitars finally arrive, the song erupts, slowly at first, but then everything boils over. This track, from Meddle, is Mason's chance to shine, and he does, taking a simple, repetitive drum part and turning into a wondefully astute solo (N.B. For an even larrier version, see his performance in the film Live At Pompeii (1972)).

As with so many of the choices on this album, 'Us And Them' follows the tried-and-tested method of ordering songs: a loud one, followed by a quiet one. Like a lot of things on The Dark Side Of The Moon, this piano-led, jazzy piece fell into place simply as a result of chords tumbling out of fingers, in this case Wright's. His four chord verse - complete with that magic third chord - creates a lilting, rolling soundscape over which Waters can calmly decry the futility of war. With these two ingredients in place, you slip into a state of summery relaxation, interrupted only by the 'musings' of roadie Roger "The Hat" Manifold.

If, on the off-chance, this has sent you to sleep, then the next track will wake you up like nothing else. 'Learning To Fly' bursts forth, breaking free from its mountings and hurling you head first into the 1980s. Essentially a Floyd take on arena rock, the lyrics speak of starting anew with little certainty of what lies ahead - A Momentary Lapse Of Reason, indeed. Like the aeroplane in the lyrics, Gilmour soars in his delivery, gracing any difficult notes which he encounters with an air of expectant disaffection. Mason, meanwhile, creates another great drum beat to lock into Gilmour, with its quirky tambourine and off-set beats in the third quarter of the phrase. It's another Floyd classic, and one of the highlights of the later years.

'Arnold Layne', as good as it is, cannot compete with the likes of 'Learning To Fly'. The band's first single, sung of course by Syd, is still as quaint, as English and as psychedelic as the date it was conceived. But after such high-quality, spacious production and deep, serious and meaningful subject matter, somehow a playful song about a transvestite seems jarring. No matter, because 'Wish You Were Here' is here to rescue the mood. With its deliberately garbled and muffled opening, you could be forgiven for thinking we have a duffer on our hands. But once the acoustic comes through at 0:53, all your fears are allayed and you settle back into this graceful, earthy tribute to the band's lost singer. The lyrics, well-known and much-parodied, pay tribute without seeming trite, are conceptual without being ridiculous and flow beautifully.

Syd persists, however, as if these last songs were a battle, seeing him reassert his influence in the band's back catalogue. Indeed, the opening lines of 'Jugband Blues' add weight to that theory: It's awfully considerate of you to think of me here/ And I'm most obliged to you for making it clear/ That I'm not here! This was written as Syd was slipping deep into LSD abuse. As a result it's unhinged, honest and incredibly mad. It's a marmite song - if you love it, it's a bizarre gem written as the 1960s began to turn on its children; if you hate it, it's a case study of a druggie losing his mind and wasting our time (cf. Peter Green's The End Of The Game (1970)).

Soon the church bells begin to chime and we come to 'High Hopes', the final song on the Floyd's final album. Once again, Wright's piano creates a mood of melancholy, sadness and regret, while Gilmour's lyrics and delivery are absolutely magnificent. His voice is so perfectly suited to this song that it can barely be put into words. Even at the end of their career, there is no sense of decline or wear to tarnish the result. In many ways, this song is an allegory for the Floyd as they were then, looking back on a long and illustrious life of joys and regrets, before finally deciding that this is the time to retreat into the shadows. This is a fabulous eulogy to their fans and an extraordinary piece of music in its own right, which, like The Division Bell itself, deserves pride of place.

But that isn't the end of proceedings. The spirit of Syd is conjured up once more, in the form of 'Bike', as an impish reminder to later fans that without him, stuff like 'High Hopes' would never have happened. The song, lifted from The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn, is a punchy 3-minute single. It plays with your senses, winding down on the chorus before clattering atonally into the next verse. It's a very strange choice for the closer, and the squawking birds at the end don't help.

Any attempt to make a definitive Pink Floyd compilation was always destined to come up short. Not only is the band's material best viewed in terms of albums rather than individual songs, but the task was made harder by getting all four members to agree on the songs and their order. If nothing else, we have here something which is a great deal more thought out, more comprehensive and more purposeful than previous compilations, like Relics (1971) and Works (1983). All the well-known stuff is here so that new and casual listeners can find their way into the band; and to satisfy established ears, we get the odd surprise inclusion and little-known classics. But this is still not a definitive collection - there is nothing from Ummagumma (1969) and Atom Heart Mother (1970), nor is there anything from the band's soundtrack work; while there are relatively esoteric and acquired tastes, without them it is not complete. And yet, Echoes is worthwhile because of the way it is produced. James Guthrie's segueing of the tracks into one another, coupled with their unconventional ordering, gives it a unique sound. As you drift back and forth in time, you chance upon each track in turn, like exploring the rooms of a huge old house, or having a very long, very strange dream. You will need patience (and an open mind) to get through Echoes in one sitting, but if you do you will be rewarded with glimpses of some of the greatest music ever written.

3.92 out of 5

References
¹ 'P*U*L*S*E Podcast - Part 1', Brain Damage Podcasts, available at http://www.brain-damage.co.uk/. Accessed on July 29 2008.
² Nick Mason, Inside Out: A Personal History of Pink Floyd, ed. Philip Dodd (London: Phoenix, 2005), p.333.
³ 'Pink Floyd guitar solo sits comfortably at first place', The Guardian, August 28 2006, http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2006/aug/28/arts.artsnews. Accessed on August 15 2008.

Top 100 Albums - #49: The Final Cut (1983)

Pink Floyd's second of eight entries is The Final Cut, the unofficial sequel to The Wall (1979) and Roger Waters' last effort with the band.
The Wall tour of 1980-81 had taken a serious toll on Pink Floyd. But it wasn't physical exhaustion - the cumbersome nature of the show had meant only 32 performances over two years. Financially, the tour had made a huge loss which was footed by the three remaining band members (Rick Wright, fired during recording, ironically made a profit after being hired back as a session player). The group spent the remainder of 1981 and most of 1982 working on the film version of The Wall, directed by Alan Parker and starring Bob Geldof as Pink. Pink Floyd The Wall went on general release in July 1982 to the bemusement of many in the film industry; to this day it remains as divisive as the album which spawned it. Throughout all this the feud between Roger Waters and David Gilmour grew, and as clamour for a new record grew, the situation did not look promising.

'The Post War Dream' opens the album, and already we are encountered by one of the fixtures of Floyd albums - the sampling of voices and noises from the real world. Opening with the döpplered sound of a car whizzing past and then ever-more-bleak radio snippets, the track then dovetails into Waters lyrics. As usual these are dark, but there is a deep sense of mourning in them - instead of just paying lip service to his father (killed in WWII), he turns it around into an attack on the modern world. His voice shifts from creepy to a scream as only he can. It's a very emotive start to this controversial album.

'Your Possible Pasts' is more melodic, backed as it is with some thoughtful distortion from David Gilmour. Waters delivery is always caustic, but it shifts from a sarcastic whisper to a full-blown rant. The chorus - Do you remember me,/ How we used to be?/ Do you think we should be closer? - works because of this. Sonically this is like 'Mother' from The Wall, except louder and more in-your-face. As a result it's as good as 'Mother', being as it is hewn from the same block of sulphur. 'One Of The Few', meanwhile, falls short if nothing else because it goes against the positive example of the last two tracks. It's Waters on his own with an acoustic and a ticking clock, and it feels lazxy and self-indulgent. Being only 1:11 long, it's the shortest track, and it has the feeling of being inserted between songs as if to continue the narrative.

Now we come to 'When The Tigers Broke Free'. Written especially for Pink Floyd The Wall, it was included in the 2004 remaster and slots in nicely. Here Waters is atoning with his father's passing at Anzio, by making a barbed pass at the establishment which sent him to his death: the very way that he sings the phrase And kind old King George send Mother a note, when he heard that Father was gone conveys all the pain and hatred that sprang from that loss and has since permeated into his music. It's a very moving song, backed with a very good male voice choir, and Waters is reigning himself in from endlessly and pointlessly screaming, as he would do on The Pros & Cons Of Hitch Hiking (1984). It is not just a good song because it's so personal, it's also honest and a fantastic indictment of war.

Soon the whispers fade, replaced by the wailing of Gilmour's guitar on full angry setting. On 'The Hero's Return', Waters is back in rage mode, only this time he is decrying the younger generation, railing against the punks and politicians who have neglected all the war fought for. Look at the opening verse: Jesus, Jesus, what's it all about?/ Trying to clout these little ingrates into shape/ When I was their age, all the lights went out/ There was no time to whine and mope about. Waters in turning into his parents, in a manner of speaking, and without good grace - much to our delight.

The next track, 'The Gunner's Dream', is one of the most indicative songs on the album. It begins with an explosion, then gives way to a tragic-sounding piano - like the album as a whole, it oscillates between being a expression of regret and sorrow and an horrific indictment of modern Britain. Waters again takes lead vocals as both Gilmour and Nick Mason are pushed to the sidelines - this is without doubt Waters' album. Lyrically this is splendid. To some lines about dreams seem sentimental; here they serve as a desperate plea from Waters, for us to hang on to our humanity and the desire for a better world. It's not the greatest track on the album, as we shall see, but there are many nice touches, like the saxophone part, something which vanished from Pink Floyd after Wish You Were Here (1975).

Having expressed the sentiments of the older generation on 'The Hero's Return', Waters then turns it on its head in 'Paranoid Eyes'. This slow-mover zeroes in on the veterans who survive conflicts and are left with their lives hollow, revolving entirely around the past. Gilmour's acoustic work is very subtle and intelligent, but once again Waters is the centre of intention. This is no bad thing, though, when he is writing verses as good as this: You believed in their stories of fame, fortune and glory/ Now you're lost in a haze of alcohol, soft middle-age/ The pie-in-the-sky turned out to miles to high/ And you hide, hide, hide/ Behind brown and mild eyes.

So far, then, The Final Cut could easily have passed off as a sterling Pink Floyd album, despite Waters' megalomania. Sadly for him, and for the band, the next track are seriously below-par. 'Get Your Filthy Hands Off My Desert' is but an excuse to play around with the effects controls in the studio, create explosions and unnecessary echoes. And there is little substance to the lyrics, which are an attack on Margaret Thatcher as obvious (and thereby as useless) as Green Day's snipes against George Bush.

'The Fletcher Memorial Home' has often been derided by critics as proof of, amongst other things, Waters' total inability to sing. All such comments are ridiculous. True, Waters not have the vocal range of someone like Roy Orbison or Jon Anderson, but both of these are anodyne pop singers with an inability to convey feeling in what they do. Waters' voice is not pure, but it's snarling, raspy, brimming with irony and perfect for the Floyd's lyrics. To return to the song itself, again it's very good quality, one reason being that Nick Mason comes out of his shell and in the instrumental section duels a blinder with Gilmour. His drums are as heavy, as potent and as angry as Waters' lyrics are acrid in their criticism of the war leaders.

'Southampton Dock', on the other hand, sees Waters trying to sound romantic, crooning the lines. As we have just established, neither his voice nor his songwriting is suited to this style. As a result, his delivery is flat and quite slurry - like a lot of stuff on the album, there is no visible hook to drag you in - you have to give it your undivided attention to find something good. This song is actually closer to Pros & Cons in its use of double-tracking - having Waters sing the low part with his high part on echo above it features a lot. Perhaps it belongs there more.

Having sifted through all this acrid smoke and bitterness, we come to the title track. This is absolutely mind-blowing. In his vocal performance Waters concentrates all the bitterness, the malice, the fear and the regret that his subject has heaped upon him. He then channels it into the lyrics, which are completely from the heart (and yes, contrary to popular belief he has one). There are hints of Pink's fate in here - it is unclear whether Pink died at the end of The Wall, but here there are signs that he is still there, and still mad. Lines like Can anybody love you/ Or is it just a crazy dream? are utterly inspired, like something out of the pages of Nietzsche; equally, Would you sell your story to Rolling Stone?/ Would you take the children away/ And leave me alone? are beautiful in conveying the singer's loneliness - Thom Yorke aside, no-one does it better. Add in an equisite solo from Gilmour, and you have one of the best Floyd tracks, certainly in the later era.

If 'The Final Cut' was a song for the death of hope which left you weeping for all that was lost, then 'Not Now John' is a potent, bombastic number, inciting you to go out fighting. It's unusual on the album in that it's sung, for the most part, by Gilmour. He makes a great job of it on the choruses, while Waters creeps you out on the 'verses'. What this lacks in McCartney-style structure it makes up for in sheer power. Waters' bass lines are thundery and atmospheric, Mason has an understated field day and Gilmour, having been given his chance, shines. In the final chorus, Waters steals the limelight and makes a fascinating indictment about realpolitik and Thatcher, whom Waters sees as responsible for the betrayal of the post-war dream.

Against the run of play, the album closes with a slow-moving, almost calming number in the shape of 'Two Suns In The Sunset'. Waters may have quietened down, but there is still a sting in the tail - this song expresses his fear of a future nuclear holocaust, which he wraps in his socialist rhetoric in the closing lines: Ashes and diamonds/ Foe and friend/ We were all equal in the end. The drumming is distinctingly different, because it is not Nick Mason - not feeling confident in his abilities, Waters replaced him with session drummer Andy Newmark, who would later drum on Pros & Cons. Be that as it may, it's a good closer to a reasonable album.

The Final Cut is shot from the same gun barrel as The Wall, both in its genesis and its working title of Spare Bricks. All the material is from the original demoes, with the anti-Falklands vibes sewn over the top. Many Floyd fans who hate this record have a point: compared to The Wall, and its predecessors, it is a poor relation, in part because of the absence of Rick Wright. However, when taken outside of the Floyd context, it holds together very well, with a clear message and some lovely touches, if you choose to give it enough attention. Rolling Stone went as far as calling it "art rock's crowning masterpiece... Not since Bob Dylan's 'Masters of War'... has a popular artist unleashed upon the world political order a moral contempt so corrosively convincing, or a life-loving hatred so bracing and brilliantly sustained."¹ In all, then, The Final Cut is a very thorough effort from the Floyd, not their best album by any standards but a damn good effort. And when you consider that the band was tearing itself apart almost as the album was being recorded, you realise that's really saying something.

3.85 out of 5

References

¹ Kurt Loder, 'The Final Cut', http://www.rollingstone.com/artists/pinkfloyd/albums/album/107472/review/5943392/the_final_cut. Accessed on December 22 2007.

Top 100 Albums - #62: A Momentary Lapse Of Reason (1987)

Pink Floyd make their first appearance on the chart with A Momentary Lapse Of Reason, the band's first album following the departure of bassist, lyricist and vocalist Roger Waters.After the release of The Final Cut in March 1983, Pink Floyd slowly tore itself apart. Chief among the reasons was the feud between Waters and guitarist and vocalist David Gilmour. Gilmour was aggrieved by the creative control Waters had laid/ lay claim to, which over the course of their last three albums had shifted the emphasis too much towards the lyrics and the concepts over the music. He also resented Waters' decision to fire keyboardist Rick Wright during the recording of The Wall (1979) on the ground of being unco-operative. Waters responded that Gilmour had all but shut him out of the creative process before Meddle (1971), and that his lyrics were the reason for their commercial and critical success throughout the 1970s. After devoting time off to solo projects - Waters' The Pros And Cons Of Hitch Hiking, Gilmour's About Face, Wright's Identity (as part of Zee) (all 1984) and Nick Mason's Profiles (1985) - in 1985 Waters announced that Pink Floyd was over and left. After a year's hiatus, the surviving members regrouped and, amid a flurry of legal threats from Waters, attempted to record another album.

The album opens with 'Signs Of Life', an instrumental piece. It opens with the sound of a rowing boat and then slowly morphs into a synthesiser-heavy exercise. The keyboard tones Wright creates set the tone for the album, both in the simplicity of the phrases - signifying a retreat from the complexity of Waters - and the forbidding sounds they create, reflecting the general theme of unknown territory and losing control of the senses. Aside from the confusing and garbled vocal contributions from Nick Mason - allegedly a poem about both Waters and Syd Barrett¹ - this is a good introductory piece, reminiscent of earlier Pink Floyd work.

For all its assets, however, it cannot compete with 'Learning To Fly'. Written about Gilmour's (and Mason's) love of flying, this is a rip-roaring 1980s rocker with an art-rock twist. Like a lot of stuff on The Division Bell (1994), the lyrics reflect the sense of beginning afresh and dealing with the departure of Waters; although there are no direct references, you can sense what the song is really about (even if stringently denied by the band). Gilmour's angelic delivery perfectly counterpoints Mason's simple and effective drumming, while the guitar solo is a textbook classic. And, for the second time in as many songs, Mason appears in a vocal capacity, this time describing pre-flight checks. This is a great song right out of the top drawer from the band.

'The Dogs Of War' is a darker, more aggressive piece. While it lacks the sinister and brooding feel of the earlier 'Dogs' - taken from Animals (1977) -, it shares both the political and anti-war themes which sustained the band at its lyrical peak. Here, Gilmour attempts to write tough lyrics, perhaps as an affront to Waters' efforts both with the band and in his solo work (the band were touring the album at the same time as Waters toured his second solo album, Radio K.A.O.S. (1987) - suffice to say the two parties took great pains to avoid each other). This doesn't really come close on that level, but it hardly forgetable, thanks to the atmosphere created by the drums and Gilmour's snarling delivery.

'One Slip' begins with an obvious rip-off of 'Time' in the form of alarm bells ringing. From then on in, it's a fairly straightforward song about lust and regret. This is the fastest song on the album, and the chorus is quite good at summing up the message of the song:

One slip, and down the hole we fall
It seems to take no time at all
A momentary lapse of reason
That binds a life to a life
A small regret, you won't forget
There'll be no sleeping here tonight

The track relies on some heavy guitars and bass, creating an almost hard-rock feel. As a result both Gilmour's signature guitars and Wright's keyboards are undermined, albeit by not enough to damage the track.

'On The Turning Away' is another very decent effort by the Floyd, not least because it is a much better showcase for Gilmour's voice, still very much in its prime. From a cynical view, this song is another attempt at relevancy, this time tackling the tendency of people to ignore or 'turn away' from issues likes global poverty. Speaking less cynically, it is a very well-executed song on a subject which is so often the resting place of rubbish ballads and charity singles (compare to Waters' 'The Tide Is Turning' to see what I mean). This is a power ballad which eventually comes into its own as Gilmour finally unleases his cleverly controlled hell through his guitar.

So far, so palpable. Unfortunately, from here on in the album turns a bit sour. 'Yet Another Movie/ Round And Around' begins with some strange noise effects which will no doubt serve to drive many the casual listener away. For those that stay, we encounter some snails'-pace ramblings about the film industry through the medium of tedious lyrics, of which the only discernable thing is a vision of an empty bed - which explaisn the cover art (this involved dragging 700 NHS beds onto a Devon beach.)² After the (unexplained) excerpt from Casablanca (1942) - at roughly 5:57 the mix gives way to Gilmour is full majestic mode, providing the bridge into the rotating instrumental. The point with this is that, although this short phrase is enough to make you listen all the way through, you leave wishing the rest of the song had been like that.

'A New Machine (Part 1)' is complete filler, featuring Gilmour reciting into a synthesiser to vaguely alter his voice. In this brief discourse about mortality, he addresses the listener in terms already well-worn. Equally off-putting is the high note with permeates throughout - until you realise that it provides the segeuing intro into 'Terminal Frost', another instrumental. This, on the other hand, is splendid. Although like 'Round And Around' it is essentially a repeating phrase played an tweaked slightly differently each time, unlike its predecessor it develops into a thought-out piece. The instrumental side of things was always Gilmour and Wright's forte, and this proves it undoubtedly.

'A New Machine (Part 2)' needs little saying about it save that it's thankfully short enough to pass the listener by without sufficient irritation. Now we are at the closer, and the other truly great song on the album. 'Sorrow' is one of Gilmour's strongest efforts lyrically by his own admission, and even if it does borrow heavily from John Steinbeck, it is still gripping. The drumming and use of a Steinberger GL 'headless' guitar add to the feeling of melancholy and depression which surround this song. It's a proper arena rocker with the sombre sense of loss reflected in the band - and the Floyd were at their best when their music reflected not just the world around them, but their own situation. It's a great way to close the album after such a rocky middle section.

Often called 'a David Gilmour solo album in all-but-name', A Momentary Lapse Of Reason has suffered heavily at the hands of the public since its release. Fans, especially Waters devotees, mourn the lack of lyrical depth and direction, while critics attacked both the album for its stereotypical production and the reforming of Pin Floyd as a neo-oldies act, only continuing to earn money from touring. Look past the politics and emotion surrounding the album and actually there are glimpse of brilliance here, both of the kind that the Floyd exhibited in their prime and of the like which was showcased years later on The Division Bell. True, this is not the most well-directed Floyd effort; and true, we have to sit through a lot to get to the good stuff. But considering the circumstances that Gilmour and Mason were in in 1987 (Wright was legally not allowed to return as a member), this is a damn-fine effort. Now that the dust has settled 20 years on, maybe the time has come for revision.

3.80 out of 5

References
¹ 'Signs of Life (Pink Floyd song)', http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Signs_of_Life_(Pink_Floyd_song). Accessed on October 22 2007.

² 'A Momentary Lapse of Reason', http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Momentary_Lapse_of_Reason. Accessed on October 22 2007.