Ranked and Rated: Pink Floyd
In the same way as a great piece of art etches itself into the fabric of society, the iconography and imagery of Pink Floyd have endured in such a way that many recognise their hallmarks of glass fracturing light, a flying pig, a pale brick wall, even if they can’t ascribe them to any particular album or musician. The act fronted by Roger Waters, David Gilmour, and for a short while Syd Barrett, have allowed many to find solace in the ideas of rebellion, addiction, and madness. The first Floyd songs I ever recognised were the quirkily meaningless Bike and the affable Another Brick in the Wall Part II. Admittedly, it wasn’t until I immersed myself in music that the quirky nature of those anthems presented themselves to me as something far more meaningful and pertinent. I’m nervous if excited. After I’m done analysing every last morsel, those familiar images may present themselves to me in adversely different ways, altering my perceptions of music, or even the world. I feel that’s the intention though. Even at their worst, Floyd never resolved to take the easy route, as elucidated by their turgid, often volatile existence. By being prepared to make themselves and indeed their audience feel estranged, they became one of the most distinctive and imperative acts in music.
15. The Endless River (2014)
Written as a tribute to the late keyboardist, Richard Wright, who appears posthumously on the album and described by Gilmour as the ‘final album’, The Endless River is an inoffensive addition to the legacy of Pink Floyd. However, it's also a completely needless one. Comprising almost entirely of instrumental ambiance, leftover from the recording sessions of the Division Bell, the effect is not one of ease and gratitude, yet of dull, superfluous tedium. While the recognisable hallmarks of Floyd are visible, the meandering sound of Gilmour and co trying to elicit every last hint of creativity from the project creates a sensation of aching emptiness.
14. Ummagumma (1969)
A strange beast in the work of Floyd, Ummagumma is the sound of the band trying to find their footing in the post-Barret era - clumsily and maladroitly. The first half consists of live recordings. Fascinating as they may be, however, I’m focussing solely on the studio album output. So, to the second half of the album, comprising of the brainchildren of each of the four members, and oh how they demonstrate the sum being greater than the parts. Wright’s Sisyphus tries to conjure a neoclassical vibe, yet becomes caught up in its own pretentiousness. Waters Grantchester Meadows is pleasant, yet is immediately undercut by the perplexingly irritating, Several Species of Furry Animals Gathered Together in a Cave and Grooving with a Pict. Gilmour’s The Narrow Way is probably the most redeemable moment, encompassing semblances of grooves and hooks, albeit mashed together into a chaotic mess. Mason gets the inane task of closing the album and does so with a piece that consists of nothing other than looping instrumental passages, that exemplifies why you should never give musicians still in the learning stages of their career, cutting edge technology. Despite any hidden significance that the album may have to the band's ambitions, the members didn’t seem pleased in hindsight, describing the piece as a failed experiment, with Waters adding ‘Ummagumma…what a disaster!’
13. More (1969)
To criticize a soundtrack for being scattered and inconsequential feels a little pointless, not least since contrast gave Floyd so much of their signature charm in later years. More certainly has standout moments, notably the aggressive and biting Nile Song, which sees Gilmour roaring his vocals, while distorted guitar passages buzz and reverberate in the background. Cirrus Minor serves as a bone-chilling opener and there are blissful acoustic-led moments in the vein of Crying Song and Cymbaline. Sadly, the second half of the album lacks any sense of tension or cohesiveness, becoming background music, devoid of relevance. A lot of the ‘theme’ music isn’t exactly anything that anyone would wilfully indulge in, while the long burn of Quicksilver wouldn’t feel out of place on the illogical ramblings of Ummagumma. More is firmly for the devotees.
12. The Division Bell (1994)
Before half my audience abandons me, I must make clear that I do not despise the Gilmour’s influence by any means. How could I as a Floyd fan? Still, the final two albums are far from him at his zenith. Assumed to be the last album for many years, the aptly titled Division Bell sees these musicians at the end of their tether, exhausting the shards of their creativity and becoming bloated on the clichés of their own inventions. While our frontman’s guitar stylings are still very distinctive and soaring, from the bluesy Cluster One to the funk-laden What Do You Want from Me, the experience becomes laborious and offers nothing in terms of invigorating, innovative material. The caustic social commentary is sucked out by soulless sentimentality on A Great Day For Freedom and Poles Apart, the theatricality utterly absent from Coming Back to Life and High Hopes. The only progressive tendency here is the tedious length. Needless by nature, The Division Bell is pleasant enough for the hour and six minutes which the piece elapses, yet leaves absolutely no impression on me in the time following.
11. Obscured By Clouds (1972)
Ever wondered how Pink Floyd would have sounded had they decided to move into the pop songcrafting trade? No? Well, here you are anyway. A needless, albeit decent album. Written as another soundtrack, it’s hardly surprising that these songs sound the way they do. Still, if you played any song off Obscured by Clouds to me and told me I was listening to an unreleased cut from the Kinks or early Beatles, I’d nearly believe you. That’s precisely how Burning Bridges and Wots….Uh The Deal sound, admittedly with significantly less charm and pizazz. Free Four and The Gold feel mod-infused, with fuzzy distortion and uncharacteristic riffing. Hell, I was relieved when five minutes of ambient keyboards close the record, reminding me who I’m listening to. To apply perspective though, 1972 was the year of Harvest, Exile on Main Street and Ziggy Stardust. Lennon and co. had only disbanded two years previously. The world did not need these revered psychedelic rockers, to show everyone how to write a pop song. Still, while Obscured by Clouds might not be a significant album, I will concede it had an impact on their direction. Floyd would never create anything as commercially aimed again, yet would adapt their writing to emphasise hooks and melodies. A small legacy, yet not an insignificant one.
10. A Saucerful Of Secrets (1968)
Despite being the only album to feature the complete lineup of Pink Floyd, A Saucerful of Secrets is a strange and often disquieting reminder of Syd Barret’s deteriorating mental state. ‘I’m most obliged to you for making it clear that I’m not here’ he croons on Jugband blues, the admission proving unnerving. The title tracks steady descent into a maddened ambiance, makes for an enchanting yet ominous quality. Remember a Day plays out like a twisted reminiscence, with the sudden changes and recitals of ‘why can’t we reach the sun, why can’t we blow the years away’, taking on an eerie aspect. Almost the entirety of Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun is whispered while eccentric effects whir and loop, providing the perfect soundtrack to our frontman’s mysterious musings. For sure, there are some beguiling moments here. Let there be More Light commands with an incredible bassline and clever accompanying percussion. Wright, Waters, and Gilmour lead the track excellently, lending a sense of cosmic prowess. Whatsmore, despite the questionable production on Corporal Clegg, the track comes close to capturing some of that signature quirkiness which always lent Floyd so much of their charm. Make no mistake, record no. 2 is far from terrible and has standout sections. Still, considering the circumstances embroiling these songs, they will forever remain a painful reminder of the tragedy befalling one of the greatest frontmen and lyricists in musical memory.
9. A Momentary Lapse of Reason (1987)
The first Floyd album not to feature Waters, A Momentary Lapse Of Reason is distinct, yet bears far more personality, than the final two records. Mired in legal battles brought by their former frontman over rights to the name Pink Floyd, and presenting a fresh new chapter for these musicians, there’s a lot of passion at play here. Learning to Fly imparts in vivid detail the enormity of the task facing them, the vibrant instrumentation and melodies lending to that sense of scale. The Dogs of War meanwhile divulges itself in anger, the seething, splicing tone turning a political statement into a strikingly personal one. One Slip makes intriguing use of colourful synth textures – distinctly 80s though insatiably optimistic. Once more embracing darkness, Yet Another Movie becomes haunting through steady, introspective development. Despite being entirely instrumental, Terminal Frost takes cues from Jazz, Classical and blues, once more proving the capabilities of these musicians, even without an indisputably influential member at the helm. Far from flawless, On the Turning Away and Sorrow are weaker moments, lent far more weight by the distinguishable guitar styling than they would otherwise deserve. And much as I hate to belabour a point, without that sense of cynicism and theatricality that their former member brought to the fold, a crucial aspect feels lost.
8. The Final Cut (1983)
Never let it be said that I am anything if not fair. If The Division Bell was tantamount to Gilmour operating the name as a carrier for his solo material, then the same must be made of Waters domination over The Final Cut. Ironic, perhaps that the acts disdain for tyranny and bureaucracy, would be manifested in a battle for the soul of Floyd. A desperately sombre though biting reflection on the inhumanity of war, these songs bring to mind images of memorials and cities spoiled by battle. Make no mistake, this is a hard piece to listen to, sometimes for the genuinely heartfelt and emotional nature, other times for the bleak, bruised and dour qualities. Which is which may well depend on your mood, or your forbearance for guilelessness as Waters leaves little space for subtlety across these thirteen songs. A piece like The Arthur Fletcher Memorial Home may leave you feeling anguished, sympathetic of the deep passion our narrator has for the subject matter. I know it has reduced me to tears, several times. Still, you may not feel the need to return to the experience often, telling of the albums' powerful yet not remarkable nature.
7. The Piper At The Gates of Dawn (1967)
Revolutionary in the world of psychedelic rock, the debut may not be everyone’s favourite Floyd album- although some will defend it till the ends of the earth. No one though, and mean no one can cast doubt on the significance of the piece. Of course, The Piper… rejoices in zigzagging oddities such as the elusive opener Astronomy Domine, the impressively performed Pow R. Toc. H, and the changeable epic of Interstellar Overdrive. A point of a surprise to me was the memorability many of these songs left in my mind afterword. Lucifer Sam stacks tension with smirking, villainous guitar and percussion textures, paving the way towards that delicious one-line chorus, and strong instrumental passages. With Barret’s wonderful wordplay and Wright’s mysterious key textures, Matilda Mother becomes spellbinding. Take up Your Stethoscope and Walk makes an impression from the opening shouts of ‘tick, tick, tick, tock’, and keeps you enticed through every snaky trail. Moments like The Gnome and Scarecrow tread the line between chaos and calm, proving that even in their earliest days, they could command contrast. Indeed, this is not a million miles detached from the Floyd of The Trial or Brain Damage, and the seeds of magnificence were already being sowed. We end on Bike which is actually the first Floyd song I heard, though my journey with them wouldn’t start until later. It’s a fine song, reminding us that some of the greatest art is also the strangest.
6. Atom Heart Mother (1970)
Here’s where the magic begins to flourish. Don’t get me wrong until now Floyd had been an oftentimes great psychedelic rock act. Atom Heart Mother was the start of them becoming more. Storm Thorgerson’s design of a cow standing in a pasture speaks of a desire to explore beyond confines, thus they requested seemingly unremarkable artwork. A twenty-three-minute instrumental suite opens, its majesty unfurling as each member is given a chance to contribute to the gentle aura. Horns create an imperious sense of bombast while Wright’s Keyboards’ intersect and loop around Gilmour’s gentle guitar musings. Mason’s drumming, despite being reserved, excels in underpinning the changeable tone. If acts as a beautiful acoustic piece, where Waters contemplates how life would be in multiple pathways, his confessions growing ever more earnest and heartfelt. Meanwhile, summer ’68 proves a jovial piece led by Wright, the summery melodies, and big-band elements eliciting a cheerful mood. Fat Old Sun tips a hat to the dazed out hallucinatory feel of their early work, the tender performance making for a strange yet saddening experience. Closing on Allen’s Psychedelic Breakfast the piece brings the unique, enthralling concepts of each of the members together in a variable if weirdly fascinating number. Profoundly, with each player showing their talent, Atom Heart Mother appears close to Ummagumma, except executed with infinitely more thought, care, and ambition for the future.
5. Meddle (1971)
Debatably, numerous artists in today’s experimental music, be that electronic or avant-garde, partly owe their ideas of tension, unexpectedness, and cohesiveness to Meddle. There are certainly no albums comparable in the Floyd canon and I’m struggling to consider many pieces directly comparable in sound or composition. A piercing, salient bassline cuts through the static which begins One of These Days. Everchanging synth textures create a sense of continuity, aided by the swirling effects, which in themselves make the precociously altered guitars and striking percussive elements feel carried on the wind of a capricious storm. Providing a countering calm and bliss is A Pillow of Winds. Soon After, Fearless and San Tropez ape the skills already learned by these musicians, now focussed and refined by years of investigation, risk, exploration and, yes, misadventure. Finally, Echoes reverberates and resounds the opening notes, like raindrops on a windowsill, granting passage to the sense of graceful grandiosity that waltzes throughout the epic, all the way to the surreal and dreamlike crescendo. With jazz-infused composition and sinuous, twisting progressions the closer is in many ways, just as influential as the opener. With the sense of shrouded spirit and pernicious playfulness they present, the name Meddle would prove timely for everything observed here, and everything that would come next.
4. Animals (1977)
‘If you didn't care what happened to me, and I didn't care for you, we would zigzag our way through the boredom and pain, occasionally glancing up through the rain, wondering which of the buggers to blame, and watching for pigs on the wing’. A humble line about a deteriorating relationship that sets the entire tone of Animals. Often characterised as the most political of the Floyd albums, the piece rests its politics inside human stories. Dogs is a sprawling, progressive anthem, the macabre soundscapes, and dystopian melodies giving rise to images of city streets observed from the tallest factory turret, sprawling with the suspicion and apathy of people too caught up in drudgery to notice the pigs that hover above. By contrast, with its sneering and cynical take on the blues, and the ire that gently oozes from those elements, Pigs (Three Different Ones), becomes a quietly devastating critique of inequality. ‘That’s what you get for pretending the dangers not real’ Waters howls, against the ectopy of stirring effects on Sheep, which coalesce in a poignant march towards the galloping closing riff. I write these words alone in an empty room, amongst deserted streets, the hum and buzz of city life chased away by the coarse and lifeblood of a virus – the observations feel oddly relevant against a background of an epidemic, just as they do against one of economic and inner turmoil. We end where we started, the same notes, likened melody and words that exemplify why the album's message of trust in a time of disaster, has endured: ‘You know that I care what happens to you, and I know that you care for me too. So I don't feel alone or the weight of the stone. Now that I've found somewhere safe to bury my bones. Any fool knows a dog needs a home. A shelter…from pigs on the wing’
3. Dark Side Of The Moon (1973)
One oft-touted theory is that Floyd albums resonate with you differently at different stages of your life. I would add that your circumstances determine how you see these compositions and that so universal are their nature that they carry multiple meanings. Beginning and ending with a solitary heartbeat, Dark Side of the Moon has readings that span politics, age, and madness – all of which are divulged beautifully, regardless of their ‘true’ intention. ‘I’ve always been mad, I know I’m mad, like most of us’ speaks a voice, in a humble ode to their memories of Barret. Breath (In the air) proves a blissful opener, the imagery of endlessly digging holes, reflecting the seeming ceaselessness of worry. On The Run consists of footsteps that slow and hasten, trying not to step in time with the ticking of the clock. We spill over into Time – a soulful piece, where the interplay between Masons drumming and Gilmour’s emancipated guitar musings, provide a perfect soundtrack to a character who impossibly chases the sun. The Great Gig in the Sky feels truly euphoric in the way the luscious female vocals, accompanied by Wrights serene keyboards, climb and subside in tribute to the notion of ascension. Money has a deeply sarcastic tint, the rhythmic cycle of a cash register, the distinctive bass work and the emancipatory saxophones proving a memorable way to critique greed. ‘Out of the way, it’s a busy day. I’ve got things on my mind. For the want of the price of tea and a slice the old man died’ echoes out the last line of Us and Them, making you think of every beggar you’ve walked by, as the beautiful instrumentals provide a background of observance, not ire. After Any Colour You Like – the title an allusion to Ford’s famous quip ‘you can have any colour you like as long as it’s black’, we move into the duel pieces of Brain Damage and Eclipse. The hazy psychedelia and transcendent melodies, bring a sense of cosmic exquisiteness to the closers, perfectly capturing the message, and concluding with the observation that ‘everything under the sun is in tune, but the sun is eclipsed by the moon’. By my interpretation the imagery centres on knowing our struggles are temporal and working to show compassion towards the worries of those who are immersed in darkness, trying to feel their way into the light.
2. Wish You Were Here (1975)
If Animals is the most political of the Floyd albums, and Dark Side of the Moon is the most contemplative, then Wish You Were Here must be the most introspective. Far from the enigmatic nature of preceding pieces, the poetics here are about the relationships we form with others and missing friends. One of Wrights’ exquisitely layered keyboard composers, complemented by ever distinctive tone of Gilmour’s guitar, perfectly sets the sanguine tone on Shine on You Crazy Diamond. While you can easily imagine a misadventure in timing working to dull the introduction, the gentle, precise nature draws associations to evolutions in mood or outlooks. ‘Remember when you were young? You shone like the Sun’ questions the opening line - the beautifully emotive chorus and refrain following. One aspect which makes the opener so superbly written is that, while these songs were written to the ‘crazy genius’ Syd Barret, the wordplay could apply to anyone who has made a meaningful impact on your life. Welcome to the Machine is a brooding exemplar of precisely that. An ode to chasing your ambitions, only to find them dimmed by greed and paperwork. Menacing synthesisers, merged with dissonant instrumentals and Gilmour’s melancholy melodies, permeate the sense of nauseating despair, while the macerating effects create a captured sensation. Have a Cigar continues the theme in a more sneering style – ‘The band is fantastic that’s really what I think, by the way, which one’s Pink?’ These are two of the greatest satires of the music industry, by an act who was immersed in the machines machinations. Here, you begin to understand the concept - that there’s a discernible distinction to be drawn between those who genuinely trust and respect you, and those that feign admiration for personal gain – a message brilliantly represented by the art of two suited men shaking hands, with one side engulfed in flame. ‘Did you exchange a walk-on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?’ runs one line on Wish You Were Here. As luscious acoustics serenade, the memorable cords providing an elegant backdrop to our narrator’s tales of loss and reminiscence. Personally, whenever I remember the people I miss, which feels like a lot lately, I remember this song – ‘We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl, year after year, running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here’.
1. The Wall (1979)
‘How shall I complete the wall?’ – Simple words that never fail to stir me. I’ve mentioned how Pink Floyd have politicised human interaction, written odes to our mental struggles, and even made that simple feeling – the sensation of missing someone, feel like the most important emotion in the world. Encompassing all that though is the idea of the wall. These songs terrified me when I first heard them. The idea that people can become so cut off from the world that they see anything outside their ‘perfect isolation’ as alien and vicious felt forbidding – now with each time the world turns, the album feels more poignant. The deliberately grandiose and extravagant, In the Flesh opens and is reprised later, with our narrator transformed into a demagogic puritan, desperately seeking blame. The Thin Ice tells of progression from childhood to the trials of adulthood, the changeable instrumentation proving an immersive soundscape to our characters descent into their memories. Beginning by recalling their absent father, it’s a heartfelt and emotive way of introducing the motifs. ‘We don’t need no education!’ – the line which I used to sardonically relate to now shows itself in a different light, as the themes of strangling dictatorships and forbidden liberty etch themselves into the way I see the world. Mother proves a particularly moving moment – my struggles with anxiety and interaction often led me to find comfort around those ‘with the answers’, and then to have a distrust of authority, as life experiences have reaped their effects. I have emphasised with a lot of the concerns expressed by Waters' careful lyricism, and given meaning by the embroiling harmonies. It’s why One of My Turns, once an outlet for frustration, will lose no poignancy as long as the days where my thought processes take a darker turn continue to persist. Even why the sombre tone of Nobody Home and Vera feels compassionate through the subtle strings and aching melodic phrases.
Hey, you is a particularly heartrending piece – the melancholy acoustics, melded with the ominous presence of piano embellishments and the purgative instrumental section, brilliantly donate to the feeling of forlorn optimism. ‘…And he worms ate into his brain’ is shiver-inducing, marking the piece out as the first time you fully sympathise with our narrators' anxieties, and lending a severe sense of perspective, placing everything revealed into a stark and harrowing context. Comfortably Numb is another brilliantly penned work, playing out as a dialogue between a doctor and a patient, the whispered verses matched with the harmonious chorus, and Gilmour’s soaring solo can be interpreted as a longing to try again – to explore beyond the confines of the walls with which we surround ourselves. Run like Hell and Waiting for the Worms summon memories of the marching hammers drawn for the film adaptation – a perfect accompaniment to the menacing tone of the music. We soon come to the Trial – a vaudevillian theatrical piece seeing all the characters who pink has despised, come to testify against him in an odd, yet terrifying closer. Much debate has circulated on the true meaning of the Wall. To me, the overall lesson is not to let your harmful experiences destroy your perception of people so that the outside world appears a forbidding place to be shunned or else demonised. The thoughtful poetry and intangible composition remind us that there’s beauty as well as hatred in the world – and that to ardently refuse to contribute is impossible. For that reason, I see The Wall as one of the greatest pieces ever recorded, and none of the album's detractors can convince me otherwise. Never ones to end on a disappointing note, Floyd gives the listener a bombastic and memorable warning: Don’t be like pink, surrender to your peers, ‘Tear down the Wall’…
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