Alex DeLarge best put it about his favorite music-
'Oh, it was gorgeousness and gorgeousity made flesh. It was like a bird of rarest-spun heaven metal or like silvery wine flowing in a spaceship, gravity all nonsense now. As I slooshied, I knew such lovely pictures!'
When it comes to lovely pictures and gorgeousity, however, few can rival Pink Floyd. The London-born lineup was founded in the wee end of the freewheeling sixties by crazy diamond Syd Barrett, was commanded in the turbulent 70s by the de facto genius Roger Waters and was then left for the musically gifted but a tad-too-low-key David Gilmour to handle. And while they might have leaped from style to style- from Barrett's freaked-out visions to Waters' blazing philosophical and social commentary to Gilmour's self-indulgent nostalgia for the past, nearly everyone could agree on the band's indisputed ability to churn out music that enlightened, entertained and felt as gloriously out of the world as DeLarge would want it.
And there is a lot of clamour among the Floyd fans, regarding which particular song or album was their finest hour. There are many, who will laud the psychedelic work of the late 60s; there are many, who (like me) absolutely adore the challenging and provocative concept albums of Waters in the 70s and there are also many, who will defend the post-heyday band and their ramblings in the 80s and 90s, mostly because of Gilmour and his guitar.
And yet, everyone will agree upon 'The Dark Side Of The Moon'- that seminal 1973 album that not only proved Floyd as the new-found pioneers and masters of progressive rock but also cemented their credentials which were being held in doubt. Indeed, intriguing but inadequate works like 'Atom Heart Mother' and 'Ummagumma' had lovers of girls named Emily and space trips to the Sun wondering if they had lost their mojo. 'Meddle' - with its soft-spoken, sunlit elegance, was a sort of comeback but not quite as sensational as the journey to the alternate universe that the band presented.
And yet, despite its rich wealth of extraordinary music, it is not really my favorite Floyd album. I have a weak spot for 'Animals'- for its roaring politics- and I can listen to the whole of 'Wish You Were Here' and 'Meddle' without a hiccup. I like 'The Division Bell' too, even as it lacks the lyrical intensity of these other works but my absolute favorite will always be 'The Wall'- a magnificent magnum opus of rock, theatrical drama, agonizing pain and scorching storytelling all blended into one massive masterpiece. That is an album that I can never tire of- clearly the whole of Pink Floyd at their monumental best- churning out Waters' incredible plot of a rockstar going berserk with the demons inside him as he builds a wall from the rest of humanity. Gorgeous, gorgeous stuff.
And yet, 'The Dark Side Of The Moon' is absolutely wonderful simply because it is about one of the simplest ideas that all their albums have ever addressed- life. It is about birth and death, about hope and despair, about the allure of wealth and the
inevitability of time, about choice and destiny. And listening to it is about experiencing all that life has to throw up.
'Speak To Me' might sound like the words that you would whisper to your newborn child as it makes its first arrival into a world beyond its comprehension. Floyd present us with a suitably thrilling sound collage that introduces the album and its themes to us. The way it segues into 'Breathe' is jaw-dropping mastery- Gilmour's lap-steel pedal guitar strums out a rich, wistful and melancholic sound that serves as an ironic backdrop to the words that float out of his voice like puffs of cold breath. 'Long you live and high you fly but only if you ride the tide', he sings, promising a plethora of bliss to the newborn but also hinting cautiously at reality. Richard Wright's synthesizer and Waters' downbeat bass add to the languid atmosphere.
What follows this calm moment of reflection is sheer frenzy. 'On The Run', living up to its title, amps up the tempo and the four band members, now armed with synthesizer effects, organs and tape effects, hurl out to us an instrumental surge of adrenalin. The song captures the crazy, nearly suicidal fervour of catching up with time and it ends, devastatingly, with a twist that will leave you reeling. Listen to it yourself and discover it.
'Time' recovers the balance but Waters' unforgettably powerful lyrics hammer hard the sheer futility of time wasted for once and for all. Gilmour sings Waters' words with true gusto but it is his guitar that really delivers the punch- a trademark solo, bursting with sadness and pain, bridges his verses beautifully and the song signs off, by morphing elegantly into the 'Breathe (Reprise)'. The lyrics now are of surrender and homecoming instead of new life and beginnings.
What follows next is one song from the album that makes time stop. Richard Wright's tinkling, even menacing, piano is first heard along with mutterings on death and being afraid of the same. And once we hear Nick Mason's drum beats, we are taken to a completely new level- I am of course talking about 'The Great Gig In The Sky'.
Clare Torry's roaring, sensuous, heart-wrenching cries of agony and ecstasy are superbly backed up by Mason's loopy drumming, Wright's beautiful keys and, in a masterstroke, Waters and Gilmour's guitars lending a backdrop of soul-stirring devastation. The song lasts a little less than 5 minutes but every second of it aches with a throbbing core of spectacular sorrow. Simply unforgettable.
The latter half of the album kicks off with the grand and glitzy 'Money'- possibly the only song in the album that makes you tap your feet even as you wince at the cynicism of the words. Money, according to Waters, can be everything- from something as transient as gas to a crime that is the root of all evil today. And yet, as Gilmour's pitch-perfect, snazzy voice reminds us, we all need it. Dick Parry shows up in the middle with a classy sax solo that takes us back firmly to the groovy seventies and Waters' bass and tape effects are meshed with Gilmour's guitars to create a truly trippy and deliriously drunk rock song.
'Us And Them' brings back the introspective core of the album and while it lasts for almost a whopping 8 minutes, all of it is beautifully judged and brilliantly performed. In an album bursting with mind-numbing experimentation, it is this song- sung soulfully by Gilmour and Wright- that makes for its beating heart of pain. Essentially a song about war, everyday conflict and the fragility of life, it is also sensational and profoundly poetic in its emotions.
Waters does not have any credit on the stunning 'Any Colour You Like', an instrumental passage written and composed by the other three Floyd members with its name taken from a classic Henry Ford quote. It is surprising since this number, along with the rest of the 'Moon' catalogue, boasts of some of the finest bass that he has played. Sure, Gilmour, Wright and Mason do their job well enough but it is his background bass that gives the whole song its real pulse. Its makers intended it to be a reflection of the ironic lack of choice in the real world.
What begins so well must also end well and so it is up to Waters to bring up the rear with two brilliantly edited songs. The first 'Brain Damage' is an everlasting classic and clearly further vindication of Waters' spectacular songwriting. His voice is smooth yet sneering, as he complains of 'lunatics' on newspapers and in his memory. But in the stunning, operatic choruses, he becomes thoughtful, now extending a hand of hope to those who are on 'the dark side of the moon'. The song's emotionally naked sound also addresses its themes of insanity and hope, both of which stemmed from their fallen comrade Syd Barrett.
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