Pink Floyd – The Endless River (2014)

At 6:13 AM GMT on the 5^th of July, 2014, Polly Samson tweeted:

Btw Pink Floyd album out in October is called “The Endless River”. Based on 1994 sessions is Rick Wright’s swansong and very beautiful.

 

Although I was – needless to say – stunned, I did not know what I thought of this most unexpected bit of news. I had lived all of the last six years being mesmerized and enthralled by what has become my favourite band, cursing the stars that I was born four decades too late to listen to them first-hand and be there when they released an album. (Sure, Division Bell was released after I was born, but I did not know of it owing to being too busy learning the hard way that kerosene isn’t something one can drink). Their first album in 20 years (and apparently their last ever album) was reason to rejoice just for the grandness of its existence. Yet, vicariously experiencing Pink Floyd over the years, it is impossible to not notice that after the 1979 masterpiece The Wall, moments of stratospheric magnificence are few and far between. Don’t get me wrong, all three albums released after The Wall are great in their own right, but compared against their earlier work, there is something lacking in each of them. The Final Cut takes its theme too seriously and loses out on the musicality – it is more a Roger Waters project than a Pink Floyd album; A Momentary Lapse of Reason and Division Bell aren’t as progressive as I’d like them to be. Moreover, through several interviews, David Gilmour made it quite clear that The Endless River solely exists as it is a swansong for the soft-spoken Rick Wright (who died of cancer in 2008)– a catalogue of his final work, most of which had already been recorded back in the 90’s. Furthering the Pink Floyd sound did not seem to be top priority in his agenda. So although excited out of my wits, I knew I shouldn’t expect anything too monumental and memorable out of the album.

The Endless River released on the 10^th of November, and I got my copy from a traditional record store in Berkeley. The album, 53 minutes and 4 seconds long, is divided into four “Sides”, each split into mostly instrumental pieces called “Parts”.

Bookending the beginning of the album is a track titled Things Left Unsaid (Side 1, Part 1), which sets the tone with a mellow ambient vibe. Halfway through, it turns reminiscent of Shine on you Crazy Diamond, a resemblance that becomes more pronounced in It’s what we do which, at 6:17, is one of the lengthiest songs on the album. Although the album, like The Wall, is intended to play out as a continuous stream of music, the transition to Ebb and Flow (Side 1, part 3) seems abrupt and forced.

Side 2 sounds a lot like the Gilmour-era Pink Floyd at the outset with a long-drawn guitar solo, before quickly transitioning into a heavy drum solo with jarring psychedelic guitar in the background – a callback to the early Floyd a la A Saucerful of Secrets and Ummagumma; one can’t help but picture Nick Mason drumming way manically in Live at Pompeii. Marking the end of Side 2 is the mellow Anisina, dominated by Rick’s piano sound. The beautiful uplifting piece is a testament to the musical chemistry that has always existed between Rick and David; the piano and guitar weave in and out in effortless harmony in this uplifting variant of Marooned.

The Endless River personnel: (L-R), Richard Wright, David Gilmour, Nick Mason (c. 1995)

Seven short parts stitched together constitutes Side 3. Kicking-off with ambient melancholic music, there are yet more awkward and abrupt transitions as the tracks progress; and that is cause for concern because Pink Floyd is all about the smoothness and ease of musical metamorphoses. The Wall, which also features continuity between tracks, is the epitome of seamless transition, and The Endless River pales in comparison. Allons-y (1) and (2) are powerful bits infused with strong emotions reminiscent of Obscured by Clouds and the heavier bits of The Wall (think Another Brick). Sandwiched between them is the very stirring and depressing Hammond-organ of Autumn ’68. I would imagine it is a reference to the year when Pink Floyd became a band to be reckoned with (after The Piper at the Gates of Dawn and Saucerful, and successful shows at all over England), when Gilmour got a strong footing in the band with his contributions to Ummagumma, and when founder Syd Barrett had all but faded away in his role as a band member. I believe it is a tearful last nod to the maniac genius of Syd; and contrary to what one might expect, it holds the Allons-y’s together perfectly. Although these three songs are one of the highest points of the album, they might have been better with some pertinent lyrics attached.

Pink Floyd founder Syd Barrett (c. 1966)

With Talkin’ Hawkin’, Stephen Hawking makes a comeback to a Floyd album after appearing in Division Bell’s Keep Talking. There is an air of melancholy resignation around the song as Hawking, in his speech, talks of the importance of communication for humankind in the modern world. This is truly relevant in the context of Pink Floyd as a band because all of them more or less drifted away from each other as they carved their own musical paths – especially Roger Waters, who to the disappointment of all Floyd-heads did not contribute to Pink Floyd’s last bow. It’s a shame that the man who had such a major role in carving the band we all worship did not want anything to do with its final outing. The guitar and piano churn out a slow, haunting melody that will resonate in your psyche long after you’ve listened to the song. The sadness about it is when it truly hits you: this is the last you’ll ever hear Rick Wright play. This is the last you’ll ever hear of Pink Floyd. I had my doubts when I heard they were using Hawking’s voice again (twice is overdoing it!) but this has turned out to be, by far, my favourite part of the entire album.

Songwriter/bassist Roger Water’s acerbic wit is sorely missed.

The first three parts of the final side are abound with eerie Echoes-esque screeches, complete with sounds of waves, whales and seagulls set to jarring notes. The penultimate song, Part 3 (Surfacing) is an interesting amalgamation of Echoes, Shine On and the later Pink Floyd.

Richard Wright, David Gilmour and Nick Mason recording aboard Astoria (c. 1994)

The whole album leads up to the aptly titled Louder Than Words – the only song in the entire record to feature vocals. Although thematically fitting, musically (considering all the other songs in the Pink Floyd repertoire) it is better cut to be a single than a song to mark the end of a legacy. It acknowledges all that Floyd was, has become, and forever will be; it acknowledges that things haven’t always been rosy and cheerful. However, Gilmour and his wife Polly Samson choose a poor choice of words to express this. I know this is senseless, childish nitpicking, but the Floyd fan in me will never make peace with the fact that Polly Samson wrote the lyrics to the last Pink Floyd song ever. She may be Gilmour’s wife, she may have been inspiration to some of the greater songs he wrote, and she may have written High Hopes, ­but she is never going to be a part of Pink Floyd. What I wouldn’t give for Roger Waters to have been a contributor to this song, or better still, the entire album. Never would I have expected to hear the words “diss” or “bitch” in a Floyd swansong. Roger Waters’ acerbic wit and cynicism are sorely missed. That being said, the rest of the song ticks all the right boxes. “With world-weary grace We’ve taken our places…. But we’re here for the ride” hits the nail on the head.

The chorus, though, is what sums Floyd up neatly; Waters would be secretly proud of this bit of writing, I’m sure:

It’s louder than words
The sum of our parts
The beat of our hearts
Is louder than words…

 

The album does get a lot of things right. I do not know if this was deliberately intended by David and Nick, but the album takes you on a journey through all the phases of band. From the insanely trippy and weird psychedelic rock era of Syd Barrett, to the post-Barrett space rock phase, the Waters-led progressive rock age and mainstream success of the 70’s and early 80’s, and the Gilmour-led era, the album acknowledges – quite successfully – the milestones of the long Pink Floyd journey.

Age does not seem to have affected David Gilmour and Nick Mason’s musical chops. Their solos are stellar and the cohesion is remarkable as always. But as is the case with any other Pink Floyd sound, Rick Wright’s understated music is the high point of the album. His presence is always felt, lingering in the background, even in the songs dominated by Gilmour’s solos. He is never striking or dazzling, yet always weaving his magic in an enigmatic, understated and obscure way, characteristic of him. His music is the invisible glue that held Pink Floyd together (The Final Cut suffers solely due to his absence), and amidst all the bickering between Gilmour and Waters, he would always withdraw into the sidelines and be content with just making music, unlike conventional “rock stars”. In that sense, it does seem fitting that Pink Floyd’s last bow should be the token of appreciation and recognition he more than deserves, but never got. It does not scale the same heights as Wish You Were Here – the tribute album to founder Syd Barrett – does. But I don’t think Rick would have minded. He would have been happy they made one for him. He was that sort of a man.

The Endless River is, majorly, a tribute to keyboardist Rick Wright who died in 2008.

Objectively speaking, I ought to consider The Endless River with relatively lukewarm enthusiasm as I do with A Momentary Lapse and Division Bell; sure, I really like them, but nowhere as much as The Wall, Dark Side of the Moon, Wish You Were Here, Animals or even Meddle. But when you love a band as much as I love Pink Floyd, objectivity becomes hard. The Endless River is an album that grows on you – if you let it. I did, and now I can’t help but feel a pang of sadness and loss every time Autumn ’68, Anisina or Talkin’ Hawkin’ plays. The Endless River will be, for me, more than just an album. It will be the monument that will forever remind me of the band that has been a major part of my life, the bittersweet farewell as they sail away with world weary eyes; Pink Floyd does not owe me anything more.

 

***

Bands may come and bands may go
But Pink Floyd will stay on forever
Like an Endless River

***

I thank my friend Betty Morgan for going through the first draft of this article and giving me her insightful opinion, and for reminding me why we love Pink Floyd.

All YouTube links are properties of their respective owners. All photographs sourced from the Pink Floyd Facebook page. No copyright infringement intended.

Film Review: The Dark Knight Rises

There are three kinds of people in this world:

1)      People who like to go to a movie with a blank mind. No expectations, no spoilers and no opinions whatsoever. They probably kill spoiler spreaders in cold blood.

2)      People who go to a movie after reading some reviews and ensuring they are in for a good time. They’re the kind that reads the offer document carefully before investing.

3)      People who want to know the entire story before they watch a movie.

If you belong to class 1, kindly go away. There’s nothing for you here. Class 3 people, the Plot section of the Wikipedia page for The Dark Knight Rises would be a better place for you to look.

Class 2? Excellent. You’ve come to the right place.

***

And He shalt rise

You are presumably tired of all the The Dark Knight Rises reviews and fan posts flying hither and thither. This one is no different from the mainstream ones, I believe, and I wouldn’t blame you if you decide not to read any further. But I do promise you an unadulterated review; I haven’t read anything related to the movie (except the Knightfall comic series) starting from June 20 – exactly a month before the release of what is in all probability the most anticipated movie of the year – not even after I watched it yesterday morning at 11. What you read (if you do read) is my opinion alone.

It was in February 2010 that Christopher Nolan announced the much-anticipated news – he finally had cracked a story for the sequel to the ridiculously brilliant The Dark Knight. Fans of the franchise jumped with glee. It’s going to be awesome, we said, Nolan knows his stuff. He won’t let us down. The master filmmaker will see to it that the last of the much loved saga would be perfectly crafted with no loose ends. The long wait only made the nerves curl with huge expectations of an epic conclusion worthy of the Gotham Nolan had created.

The big question is: Does the movie deliver?

Yes. It does.

Right from the opening scene, Nolan’s invisible signature is felt, sprawling across the screen. The sequence in which a captive Bane escapes from a plane (shown in trailers, so not a spoiler, this) is one of the best I’ve ever seen and it sets the tone for things to come. The non-linear narrative, the portrayal of a Bruce Wayne who hasn’t donned the cape and cowl for eight bleak years, the anatomical exploration of human emotions, the slow goose-bump inducing build-up and efficient development of new characters ensure that you remain riveted in the first half. After the break, Nolan spits in his hands, rolls his sleeve and gets down to business. There’s a new vehicle in the Batcave – The Bat; the masked behemoth Bane potters around in his mercenary uniform, causing orderly havoc and fear; Bruce Wayne is pushed to limits mentally, physically and emotionally; and all other characters – Lucius Fox, Selina Kyle, John Blake, Commissioner Gordon, Miranda Tate et al make merry with their time in the spotlight. That’s all you’ll get out of me. The action sequences and special effects are spectacular and breathtaking, just as in Inception; kudos to the visual effects team.

Christian Bale is remarkable as the caped crusader and gives his best performance in the trilogy. Tom Hardy had the huge shoes – not literally – of Heath Ledger to fill as the antagonist of the film. His portrayal of the menacing, agile, cold, cunning, calculating and physical Bane deserves a toast. He goes to prove his versatility after playing the engaging Eames in Inception and being marvellously magnificent in the little-known 2009 indie Bronson. Joseph Gordon-Levitt as the young detective John Blake delivers a captivating performance. Mark my words, unless they screw up pretty bad, Gordon-Levitt and Hardy have huge stuff happening for them in the future. Anne Hathaway as always is a delight to watch and is mesmerizing as the foxy Selina Kyle/ Catwoman and so is Marion Cotillard as Miranda Tate. Gary Oldman, Morgan Freeman and Michael Caine – all I say is that they are Gary Oldman, Morgan Freeman and Michael Caine.

The music, for me, was a bit of a letdown after the unique, jarring, broody masterpiece with a subtle emotional core that was the soundtrack of the previous two films. Hans Zimmer’s crowd-sourced chant is undeniably the most blood-chilling and epic bit of soundtrack from the entire trilogy. But that apart, the score has certain bland patches here and there, and James Newton Howard’s (Zimmer’s collaborator in the previous two films) contribution was sorely missed.

Thematically, The Dark Knight Rises utilises clichés at points and may not be as strong as its predecessor, which revelled in the disarray and chaos of the Joker’s unrestrained anarchy. But we do realize that exploration into deeper territories would have been disastrous, seeing this is the final chapter of the saga, and that nothing else could have fit the bill as perfectly as this film did – Nolan and the gang don’t let us down. As a story with an aim to bring a beloved tale to conclusion, The Dark Knight Rises more than exceeds expectations.