Review of Pink Floyd's Ummagumma

Released 1969

"Lime and limpid green, a second scene
A fight between the blue you once knew.
Floating down, the sound resounds
Around the icy waters underground.
Jupiter and Saturn, Oberon, Miranda and Titania.
Neptune, Titan, Stars can frighten".

Ummagumma was my eight Pink Floyd album. Like many, I started with the well established seventies classics; The Dark Side Of The Moon, Wish You Were Here et al, before working backwards - pre- TDSOTM - through Meddle and Atom Heart Mother, until I reached Ummagumma. Thus, I was fairly confident before making this purchase, that I already owned all of their best works. Both Meddle and Atom Heart Mother had moments of genuine brilliance, charm and sufficient quality to warrant many, many repeated listens over the years, but I felt that they both paled when compared to TDSOTM, being obvious warm-ups as the band evolved to the peak.

I had heard several views regarding Ummagumma; not many of them good. Eccentric, odd, eclectic, experimental and really not very good at all were among the kindest of these views. Nevertheless, it was clear that I was destined to own the entire Pink Floyd catalogue, therefore experiencing Ummagumma was necessity, but never a duty.

I'd picked up second hand copies on numerous occasions and had loved Hipgnosis's work, the idea of the bands' tour instruments lain out on the runway and the general seventies 'vibe' as detailed by the greasy hair, loon pants and typography. Tremendous stuff which whetted my appetite greatly.

Fortunately, when it came to my first airing of Ummagumma, I choose the live record as my preferred opening option. I have since read that John Peel cited the gig where these tracks were recorded was one of his favourites. I could quickly see why.

Where I could see a common developmental thread running through Atom Heart, Meddle and The Dark Side Of The Moon, the linkage was not so immediately apparent with this more obviously psychedelic jamming.

It hadn't occurred to me that Syd Barrett's influence would cast such a substantial shadow across this work. In addition, the keyboard sound was fundamentally different to later works, really emphasising the hugely underrated part Rick Wright's playing had as the 'glue' which made the Floyd sound work. Of course, the largest contrast between the Pink Floyd which recorded Ummagumma and say, Wish You Were Here, is the paradigm shift that took place in the lyrical content, mostly, of course, with respect to Roger Waters. Lyrics are certainly of secondary importance on Ummagummma: on Astronomy Domine they are - and I mean this respectfully - no better than sixth form noodlings, which work within the context of the meandering space rock instrumentation, while on Careful With That Axe Eugene - other than the whispered words of the title - lyrics have no presence at all. I had heard and seen this latter track on the Pompeii video a year or two previously, but was still startled when I noticed the hair standing up on my arms as Roger's terrifyingly primal shrieking cut through my headphones. It came as no surprise to me to learn that they were greatly in demand for film scores around this time; incredible atmospherics.

I would loved to have witnessed a live performance of Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun, due to it's poetry and majesty; a perfect exercise in restraint and simplicity. The fourth and last live track, A Saucerful Of Secrets similarly is a model example of space rock at it's best. The careers of both Hawkwind and Nektar can surely be traced to this track: otherworldly and heavily influenced by narcotics and nonsensical repetitive rhythms wandering through the outer reaches.

So far, so good. Very different to later albums, but with some obvious strengths and demonstrating very clear prog credentials.

But then, to the studio album. What a strange, beguiling frustrating beast this is.

I was surprised to read quite recently that Ummagumma is the favourite album of Porcupine Tree's Steven Wilson. Perhaps my tastes are less cultured than Mr Wilsons: I can, from the very first listen hear brilliance and beauty through the complex structures of a Van Der Graaf Generator or Dream Theatre album, but I cannot, despite repeated attempts, hear much deserving of praise in any way shape or form within the studio tracks of Ummagumma. Sysyphus starts promisingly with epic chords and magisterial twinkling of the ivories, but descends, by the third part into what sounds uncannily like a rat being strangled inside a grand piano in the depths of a cold cavern. Amidst the peculiar percussion, there are many prog rock credentials , but, for each promising interlude, there is the death throes of a rodent and the sound of far too much freedom being given to each of the musicians to indulge themselves to an unparalleled degree.

Granchester Meadows - Roger Waters effort - continues the animal noise theme with far too prominent bird song effects played over his Cat Stevens / Leonard Cohen phrased pastoral folk tinged tune. Could this dirge really be written by the same man, who, just four years later wrote lyrics which, to this day, although I have heard them a thousand times, make me weep at the beauty and profundity of his timeless lyrics? How could this be possible? I was musing on this further as Several Species... began. This is literally five minutes of the sound of animals squeaking followed by the drunken ramblings of a Scottish person. This has to be the most awful rubbish ever committed to vinyl. Sorry Rog. Beyond repproach.

David Gilmour's The Narrow Way is almost bearable after Several Species... but not quite. Again, the first two parts are self indulgent bilge with little merit. There are glimpses of hope in the final part, with the band playing as one: the sum of the parts being so much more than the individual efforts.

The Grand Vizier's Garden Party could have been brilliant. After all, there was a great deal of focus on Nick Mason at Pompeii to which this is very contemporary, where he was very effective. But here, for the most part, he falls into the same trap as his cohorts: long, repetitive and ultimately pointless.

In subsequent years, I, like many others have spent many enjoyable hours replaying the live album, while the studio album is brought out for the occasional - 'can it really be that dreadful: surely there must be something I'm missing, it's Pink Floyd for goodness sake!!' - type airing. Sadly, for me at least, my opinion has yet to be shaken. I will persevere though. Although, as a rule, I don't include ratings as part of my reviews, on this occasion, I feel compelled to give the live tracks a commendable 8/10 and the studio tracks an execrable 3/10.

Review of Pink Floyd's Atom Heart Mother

Released 1970

"And if you sit don't make a sound
Pick your feet up off the ground
And if you hear as the warm night falls
The silver sound from a time so strange
Sing to me, sing to me"

That this is my forty fourth review and my seventh Pink Floyd album review, will probably not surprise most seasoned prog fans. Indeed, any prog fan gradually finding his or her feet as they are introduced to the genre will inevitably, I feel, lean heavily on Pink Floyd's catalogue as a Masterclass of prog.

I've pondered in previous Floyd reviews about the odd order in which I encountered their discography, and have mused often on how my perception of each them may have differed if I had followed the chronological path, instead of starting with The Dark Side Of The Moon. Say I had encountered Ummagumma before TDSOTM; I wonder if I would have made it much further than Atom Heart Mother? Although I'm sure ultimately my curiosity would have got the better of me, I'm eternally grateful that Atom Heart Mother was my seventh Floyd album; I was better prepared for it's eccentricity and ambition. and was able to contextualise it more appropriately against their later, better received and more commercially successful mega-sellers.

It is largely because of my well established appreciation of TDSOTM, Wish You Were Here etc at the time, that I now view Atom Heart Mother as the most underrated Pink Floyd album.

Actually buying my first vinyl copy of the album was a surreal experience. I remember handing the brand new cellophane wrapped album over the counter to the shop assistant. He looked at the cow. The cow possibly looked back. The shop assistant looked at me, shook his head and muttered something that sounded cryptically close to: "Bloody Hippy".

The sleeve was (and is) plainly bonkers and utterly prog (and is the first one taken from the banner on the front page of this blog) and simply owning it made me foolishly feel as though I was a mature, intelligent and impossibly hip cool cat. Anyway, I felt honoured.

Learning that this was the first side long suite committed to vinyl by Pink Floyd and that this was, in effect, the first real conceptual work, led me to the conclusion that Atom Heart Mother was arguably their first real prog album. I suppose, strictly speaking, that is not true as Ummagumma - which predated it - is nothing if not prog. It's just...It's just impossible to listen to all the way through without narcotics. Perhaps I should just state then, that Atom Heart Mother is their first prog album that 'works'. I wish I hadn't started this paragraph, but there you go.

The orchestral opening was a bit of a surprise, but its integration after less than a minute with the band proper was just genius. The Floyd stop for a moment, theres a catalogue of sound effects including explosions, horses and motorbikes before they come back in. This sets the course for the remainder of the twenty or so minutes: spells of unaccompanied orchestra interspersed with varying degrees of Floydian noodling. This noodling takes a variety of forms, from very familiar Rick Wright led keyboard themes, very much in keeping with later albums, gorgeous slow mellow passages with female vocal free-forming a la The Great Gig In The Sky and a full on choral passages with Nick Mason signature punctuating drumming, a great bass solo, a stunning bluesy guitar and Hammond organ duet. Then there is a few minutes sound effects with little or no obvious direction. This gives way to a lush string section before finally climaxing in pretty much all of the above. I haven't a clue what on earth it is all about, but I think it works superbly well.

First time around I wasn't overly taken with the second side, seeing it as something as an anti-climax. I now view almost all of the second side very differently. That Roger Water's was capable of a simple and touching love song such as If, I found remarkable to start with.

I'm now stunned that I overlooked Summer '68 as filler. The psychedelic chorus and spacey effects applied to Rick Wright's voice is very similar to one of my favourite (and formerly reviewed) album: Spirit's Twelve Dreams Of Dr Sardonicus. Rick's playing here is utterly inspired and now sadly missed. Listening to it now, I remain stunned that it is not more highly regarded.

Fat Old Sun has recently been resurrected by David Gilmour in his live shows. Every time I hear this track, I smile at the lyric lifted deliberately from The Doors. Very clever. A simple and beautiful track which culminates with a guitar solo which again improves with every listen.

Then, oh dear. Alan's Psychedelic Breakfast. Okay, it is amusing and quite clever, and yes it does flow very neatly from the end of the previous track, but it is ultimately infantile and makes you wonder what on earth they were thinking about. I suppose that it is very much of its time, it is unique and does afford the opportunity, when offered marmalade by an aged relative to state in a slightly stoned tone: "marmalade: I like marmalade", but other than that, it is a daft way to end an otherwise excellent album.

Despite the final track, I still maintain the view that it is a fine, fine album and deserved of a reappraisal.

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 Pink Floyd's The Final Cut

Released 1983

"Through the fish-eyed lens of tear stained eyes I can barely define the shape of this moment in time And far from flying high in clear blue skies I'm spiraling down to the hole in the ground where I hide."

Before I finally out grew Kerrang! magazine - our respective musical tastes were diverging rapidly - Geoff Barton's review of Pink Floyd's The Final Cut was one its last articles to influence my musical thinking. I was too young to appreciate Pink Floyd's best years as they happened, but because I was attuned and interested as their swansong (with Roger Waters at least) was released, I felt privileged.

It was only ten years since The Dark Side Of The Moon, but it was a different era; one which I revered and which was lent credence and a mystique by it's distant relative inaccessibility. I was at once delighted that I would have the opportunity to sample a new Pink Floyd album, and apprehensive that it's contemporary status might instantly negate it's qualification as a classic prog album.

Geoff Barton's review wasn't particularly complimentary, describing the album as 'obsessive', 'overbearing', 'depressing' and 'unnecessarily dark'. There were many references to the continuation of themes first present in The Wall, which unfortunately meant little to me at the time. I had a cassette copy of The Wall a few years earlier, but when the tape snapped after only a couple of listens, I found myself exchanging it for another album. It seemed angst ridden, lengthy and meandering, less 'muscial' and ultimately too complex for my young sensibilities. Now, with TDSOTM and Wish You Were Here under my belt, I felt more capable of appropriately appraising The Final Cut.

I noted the album was subtitled, ' A Requiem For The Post War Dream', and was credited in it's entirety to Roger Waters, and was dedicated to the memory of his father. Nick Mason was supplemented with another drummer, Andy Newmark; Rick Wright was omitted and a handful of other further musicians were credited. The black sleeve was in mourning, with poppies and war medals setting the scene for what appeared to be a memorial piece.

From the outset, the radio tuning effects and the vehicle sounds put in mind of the other two Pink Floyd albums in my collection, caused me to relax and temporarily put Geoff Barton's criticisms to one side. Instead of David Gilmour's (underrated) vocal, the awkward unlovely voice of Roger Waters took the lead, and was pitched somewhere between speaking and singing. Whilst the tone of TDSOTM and WYWH is, for the most part, an evolution from the laid back 'space rock' of their earlier years, here the feel was angular, angry, accusatory and confrontational, with lyrics being almost spat out in disgust at the post war mess Roger is attributing in no small measure to Margaret Thatcher's regime.

Where the subject matters of earlier albums focused on universal themes of greed, mortality and madness, The Final Cut is an inversion of these stances, being a one-man party political broadcast with very specific targets. These subject matters required a very different musical accompaniment: northern brass-bands funereal themes, sparse acoustic guitar and simple piano are all subservient to the main instrument, the vocal. Through headphones, every nuance of every word is startlingly clear. There are many layers of background vocals, more often than not being screamed versions of the lead. Sound effects are integrated to the point where they may perhaps be seen as a further instrument.

By the time I reached 'The Gunner's Dream', in which Roger recalls his mother's tears at his father's funeral, I was aghast at his willingness to expose himself so completely. The saxophone solo is designed to tear your heart apart, begging you to identify with the utter misery inflicted upon him by the misfortunes of war. It is easy to picture Roger alone in a darkened studio, eyes closed in agony, recording the vocal tortured with pain operating on the outer edges of his register, pleading for a time when 'no-one kills the children anymore'. I found myself looking towards the door of my bedroom, making sure no-one else could hear this. How could I explain the indulgence and angst I was listening to?

The signature guitar of David Gilmour is relegated to those few choice moments where, that Roger would 'allow' a contribution. Although used sparingly, the guitar solos mirror the agony of the lyric, bleeding forth.

The title track is the emotional peak, or, depending on how you choose to look at it, the trough of the album. I couldn't imagine how Roger 'sold' this to the rest of the band. When on a quest with such maniacal focus so intrinsically tied to your own identity, there could have been no room for compromise. This could never have been a collective creation and as such there would be causalities. The recording sessions must have been a horrible experience.

Despite the fact that the single-orientated pace of 'Not Now John' interrupts the tone of the album, to this day, no album has ever had such a profound effect on me upon the first listen. It may not be my favourite album, or indeed even my favourite Pink Floyd album, but it holds a unique place in my affections as the most compelling initial airing of any album to date. When Roger Waters entered the studios, I get the impression that he knew exactly what he wanted to achieve. Where most visions become compromised during the process of realisation, I felt that, on this occasion, the end product was exactly as Roger first envisioned it. This in itself is an incredible achievment.