Review of Pink Floyd's The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn

Released 1967

"Across the stream with wooden shoes
With bells to tell the king the news
A thousand misty riders climb up
Higher once upon a time."

After being desparately disappointed with Ummagumma, I spent a long time neglecting the pre The Dark Side Of The Moon albums, focussing an unhealthy amount of time on The Wall in particular. Given that I spent an inordinate amount of time under my headphones, I swear for a while that I could hear Roger Water's manical screams as I went to sleep most nights. Not good.

I had read so much about Pink Floyd's first album, and was geniunely intrigued to see if all the fuss about Syd Barrett was warranted, but I was loathe to be let down once more. Everywhere I turned it was clear that it was considered to be a pivotal album. The fact that it was recorded at Abbey Road studios at the same time as Sgt. Pepper only added to the intrigue. But, and it was a big but; I hated the cover. I hated the cover because it was both a world away from the classic Hipgnosis styled seventies sleeves and because it was so 'fake' and mainstream. Where  the sleeve for The Dark Side Of The Moon was as sophisticated and cultured as the music within, I imagined that The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn would be annodine and uninspired. I knew that the photo session which produced the final sleeve image was shot on the same day the band appeared on Top Of The Pops, which in itself made me sneer in derision.

Being a cheapskate, I eventually succumbed due to the fact that I was able to snap up a new copy on Woolworth's 'Nice Price' label, complete with the yellow and black label which impossible to remove in it's entirety. Being a bargain reissue, this was a very glossy version knocked our as cheaply as possible by EMI with a plain white inner sleeve, no lyrics and no frills.

As well as being a cheapskate, I was a miserable pessimist who fully expected to be unimpressed, much as I was with Ummagumma. What I got instead was a real surprise. The spacemen sound effects at the beginning of Astronomy Domine rooted the album to the time of it's release which was at the height of the space race, capturing the zeitgeist instantaneously. I was delighted that the use of sound effects which were on later albums used as integrally as any instrument, were present at the onset of their recording career. Sound effects aside, this didn't have too much in common with anything else I had heard by the band thus far. Given my extensive reading about their early performances, I was quickly able to imagine this track being played live at The Roundhouse: along with wobbly light shows, yellow tinted glasses, velvet jackets and prolonged jangly bass driven solos. Gorgeous. I quickly felt foolish that I had somehow disregarded my obsession with the peiod over a terrible album cover and a poor reaction to Several Species Of Small Furry Animals.....

Lucifer Sam again was clearly a product of the age, showing a very different bass style from Roger. I love tthe phasing of the special effects tapes appearing seemingly at random. This was so obviously the product of a band that was - at the time, at least - in its element on stage.

Matilda Mother was in a similar vein, with added manic backing vocal and classi,c almost spoken lyric which was a common theme amongst their peers. Three tracks in and it was clear that Rick Wright's keyboard parts were as much a part of the signature early Floyd sound as Syd's lyrical and vocal styling. I couldn't distinguish Syd's vocal delivery from a dozen other singers of the age. That's not to say that I didn't appreciate it; more to point out that his real influence was in a creative sense: the central instrumental part of Flaming, for example was more prog than psychedelic space rock, and I couldn't help but think that Syd was steering them down this explorative path.

I loved Rick's jazzy keyboard and Nick's lazy drumming intro to Pow R, Torch H. When combined with Roger Water's trademark screams and some free form guitar work from Syd, this is, for me a real highlight; incredibly atmospheric, slightly scary and indoubtably extraordinarily innovative at the time.

I saw Take Up Thy Stethoscope and Walk as having a large Byrds influence in the guitar playing. Roger's bass playing is tremendous here also.

Interstellar Overdrive became a firm favourite of mine from the very first time I played it. It felt to me as though it was improvised in the studio, with Syd meandering over the huge filthy bass line. I used to regularily turn the volume up throughout this track to potentially dangerous levels whilst studying. It has thus become almost imprinted upon me note for note.

To be frank, The Gnome has always left me uninterested; I struggle to associate this as being a Pink Floyd track in any real sense. Again the whimsical nature of Chapter 24 is barely redeemed by the variety of keyboard styles (and a cowbell!) This was so utterly dominated by Syd's weirdness, which, to this day, I suppose I've never fully understood.

It's strange that 'Englishness' is often celebrated as a key feature of much of the best of prog. Where I will concur on this front with respect to bands like Genesis and Traffic, where the music is absolutely enhanced by the clear identity given by the band's origins, in the case of Syd Barrett era Pink Floyd, for me, it actively detracts from the appeal. However, I'm sure that I am in the minority in this regard.

That said, it is impossible not to like Bike for the very same reasons. The English eccentricity which infuses every aspect of this track makes it a fascinatingly odd and endearing piece.

Overall, this is one my of least played Floyd albums, but one I have a great affection for and wouldn't be without.
 

Review of Pink Floyd's Meddle

Released 1971

"And no one sings me lullabyes
And no one makes me close my eyes
So I throw the windows wide
And call to you across the sky...."

One night in 1985, good old reliable BBC showed Pink Floyd Live at Pompeii. I'm pretty certain it's never enjoyed a terrestrial airing since, which is sad.

That was the first time I'd seen Pink Floyd perform any of their material, anywhere, so I was instantly fascinated and relieved that a band for which I'd built such a substantial pedestal didn't disappoint in the flesh, as it were.

The performances at Pompeii were so dramatically different in terms of the music itself, the visual presentation and the staging that any self respecting prog fan couldn't help but be impressed. When I learned that a number of the tracks performed that night were from Meddle, I wasted no time in setting out to find it.

Previously I had been reticent to go back beyond The Dark Side Of The Moon. I was aware of the success of The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn and had some idea of the music, which didn't yet appeal to me, and, obviously wrongly I assumed all the band's earlier work would be of this ilk.

I loved the abstract nature of the sleeve: having no clear 'meaning', but yet it felt somehow linked to Echoes. The four greasy gangly sour faced youths peering out from the inner spread of the gate fold sleeve made me smile; the contrast between these scruffy urchins and the big-haired, mascara-laden pretty boys in the the charts at the time in the eighties, really was amusing.

One of These Days was a wonderful way to start the album, building from a howling wind sound-effect and sinister bass line, it gathered momentum like an avalanche, culminating in Nick Mason's one spoken line, furious guitar rushes and relentless drumming. I found myself with a stupid grin on my face, so pleased that this was at least as good as any of the other later albums.

Things settled down a bit for A Pillow of Winds. David Gilmour's lilting vocal, slide and acoustic guitar producing an overall effect not unlike the general mood of Wish You Were Here. The key difference though was - and this was true for the album as a whole - there was no concept or theme as such, underpinning the lyrics. This was a collection of individual songs, penned by individual band members show-casing their musical talents, without any recourse to an over-riding focus. The lyrics were simple, uncomplicated and untainted by the mania of Roger Waters.

Fearless maintained the mellow mood, although tinged with slightly psychedelic motifs, a hypnotically slow rhythm, all capped with the gradual introduction and eventual complete takeover by a rendition of Rodgers & Hammerstein's You'll Never Walk Alone, as sung by Liverpool FC's Kop. Mad, but it worked.

San Tropez caused a literal turning of the head. What was this? Roger Waters singing a warm and friendly ditty? Surely not. Could this be the same man who would scream with truly frightening existential angst into the microphone less than a decade later. The jazzy piano and brushes on the drums was so upbeat, that I could hardly believe this was a Pink Floyd song. On the first listen, I really wasn't sure what to make of it.

Having seen Seamus performed at Pompeii, I was prepared - just about - it's unfathomable nuttiness. Yet another musical style was employed; this time a blues track accompanied by a howling dog. Yes, it was a varied album, but was it smacked of a lack of direction.

Echoes of course will be the main reason that anyone would buy Meddle. A side long epic with the most significant contribution on the record by Rick Wright. Along with numerous and more obviously Floydian keyboard stylings, his shared vocal with David Gilmour on this track is one of prog rock's greatest moments.

Because I was so familiar with TDSOTM, I was thrilled to hear strong connections with the later album.

I was struck by how clearly this was a genuine team effort. All four members appeared to work as a cohesive unit with almost equal emphasis afforded to each of their respective contributions. Whereas Roger Waters would later dominate all aspects of the bands sound and finally allow David Gilmour but three brief solos on The Final Cut, here was a band sparking off each other, producing a space-rock jam, allowing each other vast areas of space in which to experiment.

As a headphones experience, Echoes is hard to match. I'm sure I wrecked my long term hearing by exposing myself to the repeating high pitched reverberating piano note played at unhealthy volumes over and over again several times over the years.

For me, the greatest part of the track is from about sixteen and a half minutes in with the dueting between Rick Wright and Nick Mason sounding at times not unlike Tubular Bells, climaxing with David Gilmours magnificently distorted guitar.

Over the years, like most Floyd fans, I've probably skipped from One of These Days to Echoes more times than I've played the album straight through. However, in recent years, I've come to appreciate the other tracks and therefore see the album as a whole in a stronger light. Okay, maybe not Seamus.

Review of Pink Floyd's Animals

Released 1977

"Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending
That everyone's expendable and no-one had a real friend
And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner
And you believe at heart, everyone's a killer."

Animals was a requested for Christmas present along with the 12" single of The Power Of Love. I was young, I was confused.

I sometimes wish that I'd had the sense to purchase Pink Floyd's albums in the order that they'd been released. As it was, I had leaped backwards and forwards through their discography with the consequence certain albums suffered. I'm sure that if I had bought The Wall before The Final Cut I'd have appreciated the former much more. Likewise, with the benefit of hindsight I feel that Animals would now rank higher in my estimation, if it had been the next Floyd album I had bought after Wish You Were Here.

Therefore, reading between the lines, it's fair to conclude that Animals is one of my least played Pink Floyd albums. Only Ummagumma ranks lower I'm afraid.

I really can't put my finger on why it has never had the same appeal for me as it I know it has for countless others. Indeed I know many, many others who would place it firmly in their top three Floyd albums.

Due to it's high regard amongst my contemporaries, on Christmas day 1984, I was positively moist with anticipation when we returned from the lunch time Christmas pint and I had an hour to kill before dinner.

I was aware of the infamous tale of the escaping flying inflatable pig during the photo-shoot for the album cover. Holding the 12" sleeve up close I wondered why they'd bothered of going to the trouble in the first place. Neither the outside photo or those inside the gate fold sleeve held any of the mystique of the packaging of, say, Wish You Were Here. I didn't get it.

The concept behind the album was plain enough, and obviously 'borrowed' in no small measure from George Orwell. This in itself was disappointing to me, as it remains the only instance of Roger Waters' creativity being reliant on the forethought of others.

Like Wish you Were Here and The Wall, Animals is effectively bookended by a prologue and epilogue, in this case Roger solo with an acoustic guitar.

The strongest part of Animals is the dark humour of Roger's lyrics. I think he remains hugely underrated as a lyricist and a political commentator. He is plainly someone you'd avoid if you were inclined to call the Samaritans, but there are, dare I say it, flashes of Dylanesque wordsmithery which, in years to come, will no doubt be integral to a University degree course.

As I have said previously in my review of The Wall, the juxtaposition of the voices of David Gilmour and Roger Waters is an undervalued aspect of the appeal of Pink Floyd. This is evident here, with the contrast between Roger's scathing spitting of the lyrics of Pigs On The Wing and David's lush and more melodic vocal in Dogs. It is impossible to imagine Roger singing Dogs: it just wouldn't work. That for me shows that, although subsequent events may appear to contradict this fact, Roger must have, at one time had enormous faith in the talent of his colleague, in that he could write specifically for him, knowing he couldn't possibly impart the same required emotion.

Contrast this with Pigs (Three Different Ones). This song needs Roger's angst to work. On my first listen in 1984, it was this song that made me frown and think that the balance between lyric / subject matter and instrumentation was all wrong. It was the first time that it was obvious that this was becoming Rogers band. It wasn't that the instrumentation was poor; obviously it wasn't, but it was subservient to the lyric. Yes, there were still some great guitar work: the solo in this song being the best on the album, but something was missing. I can see now that Richard Wright's influence on the album was minimal and the album suffered massively for it. Go back to The Dark Side Of The Moon or Wish You Were Here and remove Richard Wright's influence and you suddenly realise that, to a large extent, he was the glue that held the whole band together. He was, in effect, the soul of the band. And therein lies my continuing problem with Animals; it has no soul.

Sheep is, in my opinion, the strongest song on the album, being much more a band effort, cleverly constructed, using innovative technology on the vocals and is not half bad. So, why do I still sound negative? One; it's all too bitter and pointless and two; I felt cheated when I later recognised the guitar motif on the run out of the song being almost entirely replicated on David Gilmour's first solo album a year later.

Reading this back, I'm struck that, overall it appears that I have very little good to say about the album. This does bother me as it currently ranks eighth on the greatest prog album chart on Prog Archives. If other like minded individuals rank it so highly, I will continue to reconsider it and, who knows, one day I might see the light. Then again.

Review of Pink Floyd's The Wall

Released1979

"Alright, I'll take care of them part of the time, but there's somebody else that needs taking care of in Washington"
"Who's that?"
"Rose Pilchitt!"
"Rose Pilchitt? Who's that?"
[Kid screams in background. Foreground: "Shut Up!"]
"36-24-36 [laughter] does that answer your question?"
[foreground: "Oi! I've got a little black book with me poems in!"]
"Who's she?"
"She was 'Miss Armoured Division' in 1961 ... "

I was thirteen when Another Brick In The Wall Part II was Christmas No.1. Like many others, I bought the album on the back of that song. This was my introduction to Pink Floyd and unfortunately, due to my tender years, I just couldn't fathom the album at all. The cassette quickly became 'accidentally' broken and I exchanged it for something else; Queen's A Day At The Races, I think.

Five years later and with The Dark Side Of The Moon, Wish You Were Here and The Final Cut all occupying my turntable on a very regular basis, I felt brave enough to spend £20+ on a new vinyl copy of The Wall. Having immersed myself to quite an obsessive degree in all things Floyd, I had a more informed view of what to expect from the album, especially in light of my particular fondness for The Final Cut. I think it's safe to say that most Floyd fans will have purchased The Wall before The Final Cut and, as a consequence, view the later as a poor relation of the former. Thus I reasoned that there was a good chance that coming to The Wall second, it should be that I would also see it as the superior of the two.

The niw iconic packaging does a sterling job of setting the scene; Gerald Scarfe's angular scrawl signifying a strong sense of mental dislocation against a stark cold background.

Whilst the mood of The Final Cut is predominantly funereal with minimal guitar, the prologue to The Wall surprised me greatly by kicking off much more aggressively with guitar riffing and drums to the fore. It was difficult to see any connection at the outset with The Final Cut in terms of either mood or subject matter.

Like each of the Pink Floyd albums already in my possession, the production values for The Wall were again in a class of their own, making this an absolutely superb headphone experience; a World War II fighter plane swoops through the left ear and crashes in the right, excerpts from TV channels, bird song, are just some of the huge library of sound effects employed in a way only Roger Waters can achieve. The whole first side was a superbly realised concept which greatly exceeded my expectations albeit that it was entirely different to style to The Final Cut.

I felt somewhat let down by the second side, which, with the exception of two highlights; the clever contrast between the humour and aggression of Young Lust and the astonishing four note guitar solo of Don't Leave Me Now - David Gilmour holds each note with superhuman sustain which is just achingly wonderful; put on the headphones and turn the volume to as high as you can bear. Gorgeous - just doesn't have the focus of the first side.

The third side has become, in time, one of my favourite most perfectly complete sides of vinyl in my whole collection. I don't think Pink Floyd ever understood and fully exploited the contrast between Waters and Gilmour's voices. On Hey You and Comfortably Numb both voices are employed to to achieve contrasting emotions in different passages within each song; in a band so renowned for it's in-fighting (especially around this album) the switches between voices within the same song is a highly successful technique which sadly was never seen again. The lyrical brilliance of The Final Cut is equalled in Nobody Home, with Waters bitter and twisted humour again on top form. Go back and listen to the range of instrumentation on this side of vinyl: along with the usual array of (electric) guitar, bass guitar, drum and keyboards, violin, acoustic guitar, a grand piano, a full orchestra, a choir and a northern brass band are engaged to create a highly cohesive side of vinyl.

As an eighteen year old hearing the album for the first time in detail, I really struggled with the fourth side, especially The Trial. Oddly, watching the film a year later actually enhanced my appreciation of what Roger Waters was trying to achieve and it became a highlight of the whole concept.

While both The Wall and it's cousin, The Final Cut, are undoubtedly Roger Waters' children, there is still a great sense of collaboration on The Wall that lends it a greater musical depth. If this collaboration could have continued on The Final Cut, I truly think that it would have been Pink Floyd's greatest achievement.

I don't listen to The Wall as much as other Floyd albums, but when I do, it's invariably through my headphones, and despite the fact that I've heard it hundreds of times, I still, all these years later, hear new things each and every time.

Review of Barclay James Harvest's Everyone is Everybody Else

Released 1974

"I didn't ask to be born and I don't ask to die
I'm an endless dream, a gene machine
That cannot reason why".

I didn't actually purchase a copy of this album until a couple of years ago, but I have known every nuance of it for over twenty five years, as this was a favourite album of my Fathers. Why my Father, whose music collection was restricted to a handful of cassettes which were kept in the car, would have been attracted to a Barclay James Harvest album remains a mystery to me.

I had probably heard the album dozens of times before it clicked that it was by BJH. A constant musical reference point for me in the early eighties was a long lost copy of the Rolling Stone Encyclopedia of Rock and Roll; an excellent compendium of band histories and discographies covering the period from the 1950's to the time at which it was published in 1983. I would often mentally refer back to entries in this book when thumbing through the bins in second hand record shops.

One day, whilst waiting for my Father to fill up the car, I absentmindedly dug into the passenger door recess to look at the cassette boxes contained therein. Seeing that one of the cassettes was by a band listed in the aforementioned book was a genuine surprise. I had seen the box many times, but couldn't get past the fact that it had (and has) one of the worst covers of all time, firmly rooted to its year of release: bum-fluff moustaches, stripey jumpers and orange bomber jackets rendering the band logo all but invisible in the cassette format.

When the engine was started the cassette started once more and I listened to it properly for the first time. Why had I not heard the clear and obvious similarity to Pink Floyd before? The plaintive keyboard sound and guitar in particular were very similar, as was the overall stoned melancholy that pervaded the whole album. I was stunned that this had passed me by me many, many time before.

However, I knew that my Father was a Moody Blues fan, and I had read that BJH were often referred to as a poor man's Moody Blues; indeed they embraced the label and released a song of that name. I still thought that they more closely resembled Pink Floyd.

That night I sneaked the tape into my bedroom and listened to it through my headphones.

While John Lees and Les Holroyd's lyrics were trying to be a 'deep' and 'significant' as Roger Waters, they weren't quite succeeding. However, in terms of the melancholy I mentioned earlier, they certainly gave him a run for his money. This was hardly uplifting music.

The lyrics may not have been particularly inspiring, but the musicianship was a joy to behold: the last third of the opening track, Child of The Universe has a wonderfully lush mellotron and Floydian slow dreamy doom laden guitar, equal to anything I heard up to that point.

With the benefit of the twenty something intervening years, I can now see that the production on this album is superlative, having been rarely equalled: the bridge of Paper Wings which starts 56 seconds in, is still revealing layers to me now after countless listens, and the piano at the beginning of The Great 1974 Mining Disaster is just gorgeously executed.

Huddled in a dark corner of my bedroom, with a red light bulb and the volume as loud as I could bear, I was delighted to have found another exquisite example of prog rock from the most unexpected source. Swathes of fluid guitar, throbbing keyboards, precise poised drumming and cleverly orchestrated harmonies washed though me, pulling deeper into the genre.

I listened to the final track, For No One, over and over that evening. The huge mellotron resounded around the headphones, beautifully interplayed with the joint lead vocals over the chorus, perfectly concluding with one of my favourite ever guitar solos. BJH; a guilty pleasure to this day.