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A Great Weekend for Pink Floyd


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Front Cover

The Dark Side of Dark Side

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There are those who would argue that end of Pink Floyd came in 1968, when madness claimed founding member and creative force Syd Barrett. There are even those who feel that the band really ended in 1984, after The Final Cut, when Roger Waters left. There are, of course, those who would argue that the band never really ended at all, carrying since 1987 under the leadership of David Gilmour. However, in many respects, however, it could be said that 1973 was the really beginning of the end for Pink Floyd.

1973 was a watershed year for Pink Floyd. Although they had been touring with the material for a more than a year, no one expected that The Dark Side of the Moon would become one of the biggest rock albums of all time. While each new album consistently outsold the previous one, Dark Side was a complete phenomenon. It surpassed anything the band had accomplished before, transforming the band from cult art-rockers into millionaire megastars.

What made The Dark Side of the Moon such a success is open to speculation. Dark Side was the first in a line of Floyd albums to be a concept album. The straightforward lyrics coupled with recurring sound effects made the record tighter and more cohesive than anything the band had released previously. And unlike a lot of other arty, pretentious concept records of the day, people could easily relate to the universal themes presented.

The Dark Side of the Moon also raised the bar for any Floyd record that followed. The original plan was to follow Dark Side with an album containing only three songs: "Shine On You Crazy Diamond", "Raving and Drooling", and "You Gotta Be Crazy", none of which is thematically linked to the others. That was scrapped, however, in favor of the more conceptual Wish You Were Here. Dark Side, more than any other record, came to define the "Pink Floyd sound". Even as recently as 1987, an early version of A Momentary Lapse of Reason was rejected for not sounding like Pink Floyd.

Pink Floyd were also becoming big business. In America, Harvest released "Money" as single, giving the Floyd something that they never had before: AM radio exposure (which in turn helped the album reach a larger audience). And the sales figures were justifiably legendary. Were the years of touring and building an audience finally paying off, or was it the album's concept that resonated well with audiences? Either way, the band suddenly found themselves selling millions upon millions of albums, scoring a big number one hit record, and ending up richer than they had ever dreamed of. Manager Steve O' Rourke found himself in a position to net the Floyd a recording contract with CBS in America worth seven figures. Music became less and less important as David Gilmour collected guitars, Nick Mason collected cars, Rick Wright collected Persian rugs, and Waters collected French Impressionists paintings.


Externally, Pink Floyd had gone from cult phenomenon to mainstream success. Internally, the band was falling apart.

What, exactly, had changed?

Externally, Pink Floyd went from a small cult phenomenon to mainstream success. The Dark Side of the Moon became a staple album that all rock fans had to own. Fifteen years after its original release, the album was selling like a new release when it was first issued on compact disc. So high was the demand that Capitol had to dedicate a plant to manufacturing nothing but Dark Side CDs. Even the album's cover has evolved into a pop cultural artifact.

The band's audience had completely changed. In the days before Dark Side, Floyd would play gigs in universities and small theaters to quiet, appreciative crowds that would only applaud between numbers. These intimate venues found the Floyd at their creative peak as they explored their music with the audience soaking in what Roger Waters now refers to as "magic". As the 1970s progressed and hit record followed hit record, the audiences grew larger and larger, culminating in huge stadium spectacles. At this point, the shows became more rigid and less improvisational, and the audiences were no longer silent and respectful. They shouted during the songs (Play "Money"!) and lit off fireworks in the stands.

Internally, the band was falling apart. During the recording of The Dark Side of the Moon, Gilmour and Waters were at odds over how the album should sound, and they ultimately had to bring in veteran producer Chris Thomas to supervise the mixing of the album. Dark Side also marked the beginning of Roger Waters' domination of the band. What once was a collaborative group became a vehicle for Waters' bleak vision. While albums like Wish You Were Here or The Wall are certainly landmark albums, the energy that pushed the band to create such underrated masterworks such as Meddle or Obscured By Clouds was gone.

After starting out a small clubs in "swinging" London back in 1967, nearly seven years of hard work had finally paid off. The Floyd had their first number one, millions-selling record. They had done something of which most bands can only dream. They were raking in the cash, living the lives of Rock Gods. With all of their goals realized, what was left? The band continued, but they stopped progressing. They simply carried on. They kept on moving millions upon millions of "units", selling out bigger and bigger venues, and ceased to be the group they once were. They ended up becoming hit product-manufacturing cogs in the industry, no longer pushing the boundary of their art. Welcome to the machine, indeed.

Sean Zloch is a staff writer for Spare Bricks.


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Pull Together as a Team

What a Record Producer Does

I've seen it asked and discussed a dozen times on internet forums: what exactly does a record producer do? He must do something; look at the way Pink Floyd gradually slid Piper at the Gates of Dawn Norman Smith from producer to executive producer and then out of the picture entirely, and the contention over Bob Ezrin's role as a latter-day producer. It must be more than just a credit on the record sleeve. Roger Waters, David Gilmour, and Richard Wright have produced Syd's solo work. Gilmour and Nick Mason have produced records for a variety of artists. And it is common to hear of musicians getting excited about working with this producer or that producer.

So what do producers do?

On a certain level, the producer is responsible for the overall finished product. (Get it? Product--producer?) Back in the earliest days of the recording industry, when everything had to be done in single takes, with artists crowded around a sparse number of microphones, it was the record label or a private investor who initiated the record-making process. The actual musicians involved were often left out of the decision-making process entirely. They were hired to do what the producer of the recording wanted them to--he decided what songs were to be recorded, which take would be used, and so on.

This changed as the artists themselves became popular enough to start calling their own shots now and then. Jazz musicians like Louis Armstrong and Miles Davis started to get more involved in the process, dictating to a certain extent who played on the records, what the tracks would be, and so on. But even then they relied heavily on a producer, often someone in the employ of the record company, to coordinate things and make it happen. The best of these producers--giants such as Norman Granz, Bob Thiele, and Teddy Reig--were respected by both jazz musicians and fans, and highly sought after. They helped shape the recording industry and the history of popular music.

As rock and roll developed out of the existing pop music scene, many of the established record-making methods were used. Record producers hired artists to record the songs they wanted recorded, and in turn hired songwriters to write songs for their artists to record. The producer was footing the bill and taking all the financial risk, and thus was in a position to call the shots. (The fact that the musicians were often bound to contracts that gave them little say in what they recorded, and usually gave them no lasting rights to the recordings or the songs, didn't hurt the producers or the record labels, either.)


"In theory we were all producing, but in practice it meant that Roger and I would argue considerably about how it should sound."

With time, though, the artists became too popular to be dominated by anyone's creative vision but their own. Bands like the Beatles wanted to prove that they were capable of writing their own songs and controlling how the finished recording sounded and so forth, setting the stage for bands such as Pink Floyd, who wrote essentially all of their own material and who took control of every aspect of their finished product, from the sound of the record to the album cover design.

In this day and age, it is somewhat difficult to conceive of someone other than the artist being responsible for such decisions. But consider acts like the Backstreet Boys or Christina Aguilera or your average illiterate rap-star-of-the-moment: without being exceedingly derogatory, I think it is fair to say that they probably know little about arranging music or getting the best sounding recording out of a raw song. Present these people with a set of lyrics and a melody and even the most sophisticated recording equipment, and I doubt any of them could come close to creating a number one record.

That's not to belittle their creative abilities. (I leave that to your ample imagination.) It's just that the crafting of a 'finished' rock song out of a simple set of lyrics and a chord progression is a fairly complex task. Face it--there's a lot more that goes into all but the simplest of recordings (for example, a singer with a lone guitar). Say you want a bass and piano and drum to backup that basic guitar and voice. Perhaps you want to add an orchestral score to a section, or maybe get really ambitious and use some sound effects. Or maybe you want an instrumental chorus to introduce the song, followed by a quiet, pared down first verse, before the full band comes in on the second verse. Someone has to make those decisions, and that job falls to the producer.

Sure, these kinds of decisions are often made by the songwriter and band, who may have a specific idea about how they want the song produced when they write and rehearse it. But even seasoned writers and performers often come to the table with songs in very rough form--a simple strummed guitar recorded on a home studio.

Take, for example, the tales told of Waters' initial Wall demos presented to the band in 1978. He had written lyrics and music, and taped virtually all of it at home. He turned this tape over to the rest of the band, and they started fleshing it out, expanding sections, rewriting bits, rearranging, rehearsing. At some point there were dramatically different opinions on which direction the record should take, with Waters and Gilmour strongly disagreeing on several points.

(This was nothing new. Earlier records, such as The Dark Side of teh Moon were 'produced by Pink Floyd' if you believe what the record sleeve said. But as Gilmour once confessed, "In theory we were all producing, but in practice it meant that Roger and I would argue considerably about how it should sound.")

What did they do? Scrap the project entirely? No; they hired producer Bob Ezrin to help them make some decisions. Ezrin's role in creating The Wall is a top example of the influence a producer has on the overall recording process. Waters and Gilmour had done tremendous work to this point, but in hiring Ezrin they agreed to defer to his final decision on which versions would be used.

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Producer Bob Ezrin

Not only did he help polish and focus the narrative, but he helped bring new ideas to the process of creating the album. He was the one on whose shoulders fell the unenviable task of telling Waters when his writing wasn't up to par. The discofied sound of "Another Brick in the Wall, Part 2" is largely Ezrin's doing (in an attempt to help generate a hit single from the record), as is chorus of schoolchildren that is the song's trademark. When Waters wanted an orchestral feel to "Comfortably Numb" and Gilmour favored a heavier, guitar-driven sound, it was Ezrin who made the final decision. And it was Ezrin who (with Michael Kamen) developed the orchestral score for "The Trial"; so important was his contribution to the finished song that the stingy Waters even shared the writing credit!

Ezrin's input as a producer was so valued that both Waters and Gilmour sought his services in producing their post-split records (though Ezrin chose to only work with Gilmour). Apparently, though, Waters learned that having a producer to collaborate with is a valuable thing, as he shares the producing responsibilities on every record he has made since The Wall.

In a way, the producer is in charge of managing every aspect of the recording session, from the actual content of the recording, to assembling any additional musicians needed, to making sure the engineers are capturing the performances the way he and the band want them captured, to overseeing the final mixdown.

When the Floyds got started they felt privileged to have a successful professional producer, Norman Smith, guiding them through the process, and helping them craft a hit single or too. For all that is made of Syd Barrett's songwriting and inventive guitar antics, Smith deserves a lot of the credit for finding a way to translate the Floyd's onstage chaos into the recorded medium. But by the time they were making A Saucerful of Secrets, the Floyds themselves started experimenting with producing their own recordings, which led to that album's title track. Smith hated it, but the Floyds seemed to enjoy the added freedom to experiment.

Even the most basic elements of running a studio session--such as contracting with a recording studio and hiring a caterer and keeping the recording sessions on schedule--fall under the producers duties, although they are usually farmed out to hired hands. With the Floyds producing their own albums from 1970 through 1979, it is largely accepted that manager Steve O'Rourke took over making most of the logistical arrangements (freeing the band to handle the artistic end of things. And it seems that the Floyds have always had a knack for hiring exceptionally competent technical help (engineers such as Alan Parsons and James Guthrie) to help them translate their artistic vision to the recorded medium.

It is easy to view the record producer as just another industry Suit, riding a successful band's gravy train. (And in some cases, you might be right.) But more often than not, musicians rely on their producers to make them sound like the geniuses their fans expect them to be.

Mike McInnis is a staff writer for Spare Bricks.


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A Great Weekend for Pink Floyd

A Look Back at MTV's "Pink Floyd Weekend"

Pardon me for being nostalgic, but this is a column about a time long forgotten, about a channel and a band that no longer exist.

Well, okay. Maybe they both still exist, but they certainly aren't the same as they were back in May of 1988 when I was a sophomore in high school.

I am, of course, talking about MTV and Pink Floyd. I remember when MTV (Music Television) used to actually play music. I remember when Pink Floyd used to play music as well. But I digress.

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Pink Floyd and MTV had a very short-lived relationship. Of course it had nothing to do with bad blood or bad promotion. It had to do with different directions. By the early 90s MTV had decided that showing kids talking about their personal lives in college was more important to the youth of the world than playing music.

Of course, this may have had something to do with the fact that video-making had run its course. Very seldom were videos innovative or fresh. Instead, the music video medium had become soft porn.

Meanwhile, Pink Floyd hadn't done much after the very long Momentary Lapse of Reason tour. It wasn't until 1994 when the Floyd re-surfaced with some new material and a new tour. By then, MTV had totally changed from what it had been back in 1988.

Sure, every so often we'd see the "Take it Back" video, and maybe a quick interview clip with a band member. But nothing could match the magical weekend in May of 1988.

MTV's Pink Floyd Weekend was truly the bait that reeled me into the sights and sounds of Pink Floyd. I had already purchased A Momentary Lapse of Reason on cassette a month earlier, and loved it. In fact, I was on the verge of wearing out the tape in under 30 days.

I woke up that Saturday morning and turned on the TV, remembering about this weekend with Pink Floyd. I had no idea what to expect. I figured Pink Floyd were a band from the 70s. They didn't make videos. Sure, they had made "Learning To Fly" (which is how I got turned on in the first place). But you can't possibly make a weekend of just a few videos, could you?

I was about to find out that Pink Floyd were more than a few videos.

I tuned into MTV only to find some bizarre animation on. "Well this is strange", I thought to myself. But somehow I found myself loving the music and vocals. And man, those keyboards, this was 'better' then what I bought last month. "Who is this?" I thought.

I found myself watching "Welcome To The Machine" from Pink Floyd's album Wish You Were Here.

"Wow" I thought. Then the screen went to black and all I heard was wind blowing then a bass line. It was the intro to "One Of These Days" (which I wouldn't find out for a few more months).

I was glued to the television all weekend long.

By Sunday, I thought I had seen it all. But wait, there was more. Where is that factory and why is there an inflatable pig hanging from it? Oh yeah, a little video clip from "Pigs--3 Different Ones". What about these kids setting a school on fire? What a neat song I thought. Why are their marching hammers on my TV set? "Brain Damage/Eclipse"? Was this one song or two? And why is that little shed exploding? What's up with all of those albums? Hmm, Dark Side of The Moon? I even recall seeing David Gilmour on a tour bus without Pink Floyd (which can be seen on his solo tour video 'David Gilmour').

Needless to say, Pink Floyd had done what they set out to do with the MTV Weekend: grab a new fan and get him to buy their albums and tapes and CDs. Not to mention a really neat T-shirt I bought in Wildwood, NJ. (But that's another column).

In fact they didn't just grab me, but they grabbed an entire generation of new fans. New fans that were going to their shows and filling up stadiums without knowing much of the older material. Something that Waters detested.

You could even say that the Floyd lost a few fans for this.

MTV used Pink Floyd to bring in viewers. Remember the contest? Sure you do--win a plane, and a flying lesson with Nick Mason. What a wonderful marketing ploy to get people tune in and be exposed to Pink Floyd. In a way, you could say that MTV and Pink Floyd used each other.

This issue's theme deals with Pink Floyd, and specifically Roger Waters, against the music industry. But at the time of that glorious weekend, Roger had nothing to do with Pink Floyd. The Floyd, however, were promoting themselves silly--something Roger claimed he hated doing (despite the fact that Roger himself had done a video EP to promote Radio KAOS). They were using a new marketing vehicle called MTV. Thank God for that, because Lord only knows what I'd be listening to now if MTV had never come along.

But as I watched I wondered, "Who is Roger Waters?" It would be years before I would discover that Roger had to cancel tour dates because Pink Floyd were blowing the doors off of stadiums, and there just wasn't an interest in Roger's shows.

Today it's much different. Roger has decided to promote himself with a live album and DVD. His popularity has had enormous growth over the past several years.

It's a shame MTV doesn't care anymore, because the fans certainly do.

Dave Baker is a staff writer for Spare Bricks.


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