In 1978, Pink Floyd was one of the biggest music acts in the world. They were on a roll after three commercial and critical concept albums had been extremely successful, Dark Side of the Moon, Wish You Were Here, and Animals. And like Led Zeppelin, the band with whom they shared a portion of the hallowed 70s rock throne, their awesome mystique was built upon the fact that they were untouchable gods, and the audiences who worshiped them were behind an impenetrable wall, separating fans from the band. Which, in many respects, is how punk rock was born, but that is a different story for a different time, and in 2010, as ex-Pink Floyd de facto leader, conceptualist, chief songwriter, bassist, and co-lead vocalist Roger Waters tours the world with his masterpiece of self-absorbed alienation and isolation, The Wall, Jambands.com takes a look back at the 1979 double album’s origins within that tumultuous 70s decade, and the work’s life outside the wall, and, indeed, outside those heady times and beyond.
After the Floyd shot original leader Syd Barrett from stardom to oblivion post-mental breakdown fueled by acid and alleged psychosis, his replacement, childhood friend and guitarist/vocalist David Gilmour helped the band immerse itself in improvisation. In other words, the Floyd was buying time before trying to find its way out of the haze of the late 60s and early 70s as space rock pioneers. A key element in this artistic transformation was the unique ambient keyboard stylings of Richard Wright who brought a haunting yet humane texture to the band’s music. Coupled with the underrated drumming of Nick Mason, the two were often overshadowed by the twin towers standing next to them. David Gilmour began to develop his own individual guitar and vocal styles that would become central to the band’s image, brand, and melodic structure, but it would be Roger Waters who found the key conceptual ideas rooted in timeless Everyman lyrics that took root in the collective consciousness of many generations to come. Finally, they hit gold.
But by 1977, Waters was burned out—burned out by stardom, success, the band, fans, and humanity in general. If artistic recognition had been a goal for the musician, it had not been enough to sustain his happiness. Because at his core, Waters was an unhappy man weighed down by the baggage of his past, and, like Barrett, success, even on his own terms, wasn’t going to wash away all of his problems that had been left unresolved. Unlike Barrett, however, Waters found a rather interesting and popular way to subdue some of his demons without going completely insane. Yes, he would become a dictator, lording over the rest of his band mates with his energy, ideas, and conviction, but that was arguably a result of the work itself, rather than any explicit issues with Waters.
And I can write that because in 1978, Pink Floyd, on top of the rock world, along with their British countrymen, Led Zeppelin, were, unlike the Mighty Blimp, flat broke. Their ill-advised investments had been handled by the usual team of nouveau riche “financial experts” and had been, well…mishandled. Without a long and tedious review of the books (something this writer could do, but why bog down our little tale with accounting, right?), we focus instead on the fact that the Floyd needed a hit album, not just a hit single, but an entire album to resurrect their fortunes.
Which was all pretty much unknown to most stoned-out fans in the 70s. To the legions, the Floyd was living lives of earned privilege. And why not? Hell, they had created three great albums in a row, without even counting the earlier sublime Meddle from 1971. But, the band was in debt, and they were seemingly out of ideas. Too consumed by riches, and the leisurely activity that accompanied such wealth, the members of Pink Floyd were entering a deep financial crisis without any way to earn back their fortune. Yes, today, one could look at their back catalogue and see the revenue that could be generated, but that was unknown in 1978. So Roger Waters, again, took it upon himself to reach deep inside to forge an album that could speak to the masses and sell millions. He offered two complete album demos to the band— The Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking and The Wall.
The other three members wisely chose The Wall as it offered a solid, consistent theme, and had musical motifs that appeared quite recordable. And they were. Waters had written a musical and lyrical autobiography of his life stretching back to the fact that his father was killed in Anzio in World War II, his mother was a loving but domineering single parent, he had issues with the totalitarian British educational system, and his early relationships with people were often tinged by betrayal and regret. On top of that, he had become a hugely successful musician, and, because Pink Floyd was so popular that they toured in giant stadiums, he not only could no longer connect with himself, but he had zero connection with his audiences. They were out there—the unwashed and teeming disposable-income masses—and Waters couldn’t do anything but, literally, spit on them, as he did in an infamous incident in Montreal on the 1977 Animals tour.
Alas, The Wall was built and if it wasn’t enough pressure to attempt to record its four sides of unified music and lyrics, the double platter needed to be handed in on time by November 1979 to meet a key contractual deadline, or else lose millions in potential revenue. So Waters, along with Gilmour, gathered all of the troops, which, for the first time, had to include session musicians to get all the various bits of music and sound effects completed in time to meet the deadline. Gilmour, less aggressive than Waters (like most of humanity, for that matter), could not keep up with Waters, and often the two battled over creative direction. In the end, for the most part, Waters won, and his vision was brought to fruition with the ample help of noted producer Bob Ezrin, who, along with Waters and Gilmour, produced the artistic tour de force.
Gilmour, temporarily, survived the Waters onslaught of dictatorship and determination. However, Wright would not, as he was going through drug problems at the time, and was not as quick to provide ideas or work, and Mason’s chops were also not up to Waters’ exacting needs. Ezrin, post-album release, would also not survive the Waters’ wrath as he spoke openly about The Wall’s production and subsequent live show ideas without the expressed permission from the notoriously private and press-antagonistic (at that time) Waters. Wright was fired, but allowed to play on The Wall tours, and Mason was tolerated. Gilmour put up with Waters until the bassist left the Floyd, seemingly for dead, after The Final Cut —another album where Waters used the Floyd to tell his story.
However, we are shortchanging the live presentation in 1981-82 of The Wall while discussing the motivations which led Waters to create his ultimate masterpiece. At the time, and, as evidenced in 2010, the double album offered a chance to be as theatrically audacious as a band could hope for without completely pissing off the audience. In a sense, as was once offered, the band could construct a wall and just have tapes playing. The audience would never know that the group wasn’t even there. How perfectly symbolic that scenario would have been, echoing the earlier suggested sentiment that punk rock was built upon the fact that top-tier bands had lost touch with their audiences.
Instead, on the ’81-’82 tour, which because of its size and expense, only hit Los Angeles, New York, London and Germany, the wall was built during the first half of the show, concluding at the end of side two of the album, and huge dangling puppets and airplanes flew overheard, while animated films were projected on its blocks. During the second part of the show, covering sides three and four, the Floyd and other musicians played from behind the wall, with the notable exception of David Gilmour who played the “Comfortably Numb” solo while standing on top of the wall. In the end, despite Waters’ aggressive determination to explore his vision his way, it was Gilmour who, artistically and symbolically, may have served as the central point in that moment, towering above the band and audiences with a solo that continues to create goosebumps to this day.
But it was and is Roger Waters’ WALL, and he proved that once again after the band’s nasty little transformation period in the mid-1980s when the rest of the group continued on without the band’s mastermind, and chose to explore the rich ambient nature of the Floyd sound. And they did, and they did it rather successfully until the early 90s when Pink Floyd was finally put to rest after over 25 years of spectacular sonic duty. In December 1989, the wall dividing East and West Germany in Berlin was finally taken down, effectively ending the communist regime in Germany, and solidifying that fractured country. Eight months later, Waters, along with a team of famous and obscure musicians, performed The Wall in front of 250,000 people, and the work was finally seen for what it really is—a chance for one to address those inner demons which plague us all; ultimately, allowing one to tear down the wall between hope and defeat.
On July 2 2005, the four original members of the Floyd lineup, Roger Waters, David Gilmour, Nick Mason, and Richard Wright reunited at the bequest of Bob Geldof (ironically, the very musician who played Pink in the subdued and flawed version of Pink Floyd: The Wall helmed by Alan Parker in 1982) to perform at Live 8. At their reunion at London’s Hyde Park in front of millions watching worldwide, the four members finally tore down the proverbial wall that had divided them from each other since the creation of Waters’ masterpiece; a work, in the end, which was created to save the band from financial ruin, and did just that, but also cost most of them two decades of relationships. In the end, Waters’ work speaks to an audience because he is humbly admitting that isolating oneself from others is never the answer. And that is certainly a sobering trait that speaks to both rock’s perpetually teenaged audiences and its aging fans, as well.
