Review Summary: An Ode to Narcissism
Pink Floyd presents: The Wall
The Prologue: Pink Floyd, with 10 albums already under its belt (three of which are recognized as classics by media and listeners alike), sets off once again to close the decade they have ruled over for nine years prior with a record so colossus that it will manage to overshadow all of their other albums, leaving a mark so grandeur that it will stand as a testament to not only the Progressive-Rock genre but also the music industry itself.
The Cast: Lead Vocals & Bass...........Mr. Roger Waters
Lead Guitar & Vocals........Mr. David Gilmour
Keyboards & Vocals..........Mr. Richard Wright
Drums & Percussion.........Mr. Nick Mason
A Review by Ian Ron Giant
November the 30th 1979
As I enter the Royal Hall, I immediately realize that it is much bigger than I had originally anticipated. Pictures never do quite capture the true essence of a place, after all. I glimpsed down at my ticket and found my seat accordingly. As I glanced around it seemed to me that not too many people were in the audience to see such a famous band perform its latest record. Another man was sitting a few seats down, stuffing his face with a tub of popcorn that glowed golden with butter, and I could hear another women gabbing to her friend about how she “couldn’t believe what was going on with President Carter and Iran and the hostages” but that this show was an escape for her and she “promised to tell her all about it when she got home later”.
The lights were pitch black when I sat down at approximately 7:52 pm and remained as such until 8:00. It was at that moment when the lights began to appear, as if in a gradient, first barely noticeable and then slowly building to a harsh and blinding white, signaling the start of the show.
The cast came out and the twenty or so of us in the audience clapped, our cheers muffled by Gilmour’s opening riff from “In the Flesh?” Gilmour, Wright, and Mason stand many feet behind Waters the whole show, looking down at the stage most of the time, only occasionally looking up to, what I can only speculate, verify that the audience is still there. Roger seems confident and plays his bass with vigor; speaking of which, the volume is turned so high up on his amplifier that I can barely hear the other instruments. The production is very thin and the riffs sound like they’re being played on glass strings, Gilmour gently strumming each one as if to make sure they don’t shatter.
During the 1 hour 21 minute run time, I barely notice any of the “real” songs. The cast plays through material that seems like filler, with pieces like “The Happiest Days of Our Lives”, “Another Brick in the Wall [Part 1]”, “Goodbye Blue Sky”, and “Empty Spaces” that seem to only exist in order to move the story along. The few highlights of the first half, the dual-guitar lull of “Mother” and the energetic “Young Lust”, prevent me from falling asleep in my seat completely, the latter of which’s solo causes me to jerk forward from a brief nod and stare at Gilmour reverently as he stabs the frets with his fingers and the guitar bleeds and weeps throughout the theater.
The brief intermission piece, “Goodbye Cruel World”, signals the end of the first half of the show and the beginning of the second, which kicks off with a bang (or more of a whimper really) with the angst of “Hey You”, with lyrics that are shallow at best and juvenile at worst. At least Gilmour gets a solo.
The second half immediately hits a rough patch however as the cast goes through “Is There Anybody Out There?”, “Nobody Home”, “Vera”, and “Bring the Boys Back Home”. Wright especially looks embarrassed during this portion of the show, most likely due to the blatant control Waters’ has been given over this project. He looks at me with big eyes, as if screaming to me, “Don’t blame me! I didn’t write this bloody rubbish!”
Finally, after what seems like hours, the cast finally strikes gold. “Comfortably Numb” hits all its marks lyrically and instrumentally. Gilmour tears through his solo with–… what’s this? A smile?! And why not? He and the whole cast should certainly be proud of this piece. I am instantly reminded of tracks like “Time”, “Wish You Were Here”, and “Dogs”, songs that were pure quality and a pleasure to listen to.
The band follows the apex of the show with a reprise of “In the Flesh”. I remember precisely looking at the playbill and wondering if there had been a typo. “Didn’t they already play that song in the beginning?” I asked the man with the tub of popcorn if he remembered. He said they did but in this one there didn’t appear to be a question mark which, to the man, makes it a new song altogether because, and I quote, “punctuation is everything”. I agreed somewhat indifferently and sat back as Waters began to seamlessly call out fellow members of the audience, derogatorily identifying one as a ‘coon’ and another a ‘Jew’, promptly suggesting that the whole lot of them be shot. I was extremely surprised of the play’s sudden vulgarity and, even though I wasn’t the one who said it, sank in my chair, hiding from being noticed by the others around me.
The band follows the social slip-up with “Run Like Hell”, another great song with an opening riff that seems to continue infinitely, as if sprinting on the linear line of time itself, ceasing to stop despite how tired you are out of fear of being eaten by the predator chasing behind.
The show ends with an extremely diluted song cycle that consists of “Waiting for the Worms”, “Stop”, “The Trial”, and “Outside the Wall”. The very last song doesn’t even really count as it was just playing over the speakers of the theater while the band packed up their gear and exited stage left.
The Epilogue: Overall, I can say I am not entirely too impressed with the band’s most recent output. Rather than the consistent value offered by nearly every one of their preceding 70s albums,
The Wall is satisfactory, merely good– nothing more, nothing less. Waters’ control is obvious throughout the whole production and the collaboration that was evident in spades on prior releases is toned down to a mere lyric, backing vocal accompaniment, or solo scattered throughout.
What is clear, however, is the schism that has formed within the band; what was once a group effort has, what seems to be at this point in time, dwindled down to Roger Waters sitting with a pen and acoustic guitar in the corner of a room for hours on end, writing pieces and showing them to the rest of the band later.
At the end of the day, despite all of its missteps,
The Wall is still a Pink Floyd album; the same four guys who made
Dark Side Of The Moon and
Animals are all still there, each playing his respective role. Let’s just hope the next album is a knock-out and that this was nothing more than a momentary lapse of reason.
Sincerely – I. Ron Giant, 1979
