Pink Floyd album

This two-CD set is a well-intentioned (and, purely on its own terms, excellent) assembly of the two different mixes, stereo and mono, of Pink Floyd's 1967 debut album, The Piper at the Gates of Dawn, issued by EMI Records for the 40th anniversary of its release. And if it stood alone, with no other version of the album out there, it could be recommended without hesitation -- the original stereo and unedited mono versions of the album (of which the latter is totally new to CD) have been given state-of-the-art digital transfers, and those two mixes are different enough so that they're both worth hearing. The balances on the instruments on various songs is sometimes radically different, and it's clear that there were so many ideas tried in the mono mix (which was done first) that didn't make it to the stereo mix, and other ideas that were unique to the stereo version. The only problem with this two-CD set is that it stands distinctly in the shadow of a more expensive and ambitious Piper at the Gates of Dawn [3-CD Deluxe Edition], which includes a brace of outtakes plus the five single-only sides issued by the band during 1967. And anyone who would be interested in the stereo and mono mixes of Piper would almost certainly be a natural audience for that third CD of material. So most Floyd fans who would buy this double-CD set should just skip past it and go for the triple-disc set. The latter comes in a handsome hardcover book format and offers fans of the early Pink Floyd a chance to do something for the first time in the CD era (and for the first time since the year 1967 and maybe 1968) -- immerse themselves in the Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd sound. That includes not only the stereo and mono mixes of the album on two separate digital platters, but also the band's three early singles, plus two previous unreleased alternate takes (an "alternative version" of "Matilda Mother" and "Take 6" of "Interstellar Overdrive"), plus a booklet replicating Syd Barrett's collage artwork from 1965. That's the way to hear this material -- this double-disc set should be left to the timid neophyte fans who, if they have any ears at all, will soon want to upgrade to the triple-set.

EMI Records managed to miss marking the 40th anniversary of the Beatles' Sgt. Pepper's album, but they just about made up for it with this triple-CD set, packaged in a handsome hardcover book format. It offers fans of the early Pink Floyd a chance to do something for the first time in the CD era (and for the first time since the year 1967) -- immerse themselves, up to the neck at least (if not quite to the top of the head) in the Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd sound. EMI pulled out all the stops with this triple-disc set commemorating the 40th anniversary of the release of Pink Floyd's debut album, The Piper at the Gates of Dawn, containing the stereo and mono mixes of the album on two separate digital platters, and augmenting them with a bonus CD containing the band's three early singles, plus two previously unreleased alternate takes (an "alternative version" of "Matilda Mother" and "Take 6" of "Interstellar Overdrive"). A more modestly packaged and priced double-CD set, containing just the mono and stereo album mixes, was also released, intended to satisfy the more budget-conscious fans out there, but the fact is that anyone who cares about early Pink Floyd, or who would be interested in hearing the two different mixes of Piper, is precisely the kind of listener who would want the third disc -- apart from presence of the rarities and the single-only sides (five songs that are as good as anything on Piper), the triple-disc includes a replication of Syd Barrett's collage artwork from 1965. This is a wonderful feature that almost makes up for the lack of liner notes outside of photos and lyrics; perhaps the story of The Piper at the Gates of Dawn is well known to the collectors who would invest in this triple-disc set, but a deluxe edition such as this cries out for historical notes. Nevertheless, this is a very nice set and it would be worthwhile if it simply reissued the music, for this is an album that truly does warrant close examinations of the mono and stereo mixes, as they are subtly but notably different from each other -- the balances of instruments are very different on some of the songs, and it seems as though some ideas that were tried for the mono mix (which, naturally, came first) on particular songs were abandoned for the stereo mix, while other ideas for the sound were, of course, unique to the stereo version. Additionally, the five songs released on singles by the group that year, "Arnold Layne," "Candy and a Currant Bun," "See Emily Play," "Apples and Oranges," and "Paintbox," were all superb pieces of psychedelic pop, funny and cutting lyrically with lots of layers, in their music as well as their meanings, to be enjoyed and savored (a sixth song, "The Scarecrow," came from the album); and while the French edit of "Interstellar Overdrive" and a stereo mix of "Apples and Oranges," may sound like we're getting into outre minutiae, along with the two alternate takes they're all distinctly different from the established versions. The assembling of all of this material in one place -- which, astonishingly, has never been done before -- allows us the most thorough overview yet achieved of the group's surviving work from 1967, which also represented the peak of Syd Barrett's tenure with the band. He would become a less substantial and sustained, more erratic presence from then on until his departure in 1968. And while even this set isn't complete in that regard -- the makers would have had to license the Peter Whitehead-recorded pre-EMI Pink Floyd recordings done in connection with the director's Tonite Let's All Make Love in London, and searched out more outtakes (of which none apparently survive), as well as including "Remember a Day," which was recorded at the Piper sessions but not released until a year later -- it is the most concentrated and intensive look ever given at this glorious and all-too-brief period in the band's history. For those listeners who recognize that importance, this is a necessary reissue -- and for those who don't, and need to discover the early Floyd and what they were about, it's every bit as essential. Indeed, for that group of listeners, it's a revelation-in-the-making.

The Final Cut extends the autobiography of The Wall, concentrating on Roger Waters' pain when his father died in World War II. Waters spins this off into a treatise on the futility of war, concentrating on the Falkland Islands, setting his blistering condemnations and scathing anger to impossibly subdued music that demands full attention. This is more like a novel than a record, requiring total concentration since shifts in dynamics, orchestration, and instrumentation are used as effect. This means that while this has the texture of classic Pink Floyd, somewhere between the brooding sections of The Wall and the monolithic menace of Animals, there are no songs or hooks to make these radio favorites. The even bent of the arrangements, where the music is used as texture, not music, means that The Final Cut purposely alienates all but the dedicated listener. Several of those listeners maintain that this is among Pink Floyd's finest efforts, and it certainly is an achievement of some kind -- there's not only no other Floyd album quite like it, it has no close comparisons to anybody else's work (apart from Waters' own The Pros and Cons of Hitch Hiking, yet that had a stronger musical core). That doesn't make this easier to embrace, of course, and it's damn near impenetrable in many respects, but with its anger, emphasis on lyrics, and sonic textures, it's clear that it's the album that Waters intended it to be. And it's equally clear that Pink Floyd couldn't have continued in this direction -- Waters had no interest in a group setting anymore, as this record, which is hardly a Floyd album in many respects, illustrates. Distinctive, to be sure, but not easy to love and, depending on your view, not even that easy to admire. [The Final Cut was reissued in a remastered edition in 2004. This edition added "When the Tigers Broke Free" -- originally heard in the soundtrack to The Wall, but its moody, war-obsessed soundscape is better suited for The Final Cut -- as the fourth track, inserted between "One of the Few" and "The Hero's Return," where it fits nicely into the album's narrative.]

By condensing the sonic explorations of Meddle to actual songs and adding a lush, immaculate production to their trippiest instrumental sections, Pink Floyd inadvertently designed their commercial breakthrough with Dark Side of the Moon. The primary revelation of Dark Side of the Moon is what a little focus does for the band. Roger Waters wrote a series of songs about mundane, everyday details which aren't that impressive by themselves, but when given the sonic backdrop of Floyd's slow, atmospheric soundscapes and carefully placed sound effects, they achieve an emotional resonance. But what gives the album true power is the subtly textured music, which evolves from ponderous, neo-psychedelic art rock to jazz fusion and blues-rock before turning back to psychedelia. It's dense with detail, but leisurely paced, creating its own dark, haunting world. Pink Floyd may have better albums than Dark Side of the Moon, but no other record defines them quite as well as this one. The album was celebrating a total of 1,350 weeks on The Billboard 200 and Top Pop Catalog charts in Billboard magazine when Capitol Records released the 30th anniversary edition in 2003. The SACD version, as had previous digital remasterings, added space and definition to the elements of music, dialogue, and sound effects that made up the album, while the 5.1 remix expanded those improvements across multiple speakers. Original designer Storm Thorgerson contributed a new, subtly different album cover and a 20-page CD booklet that was a scrapbook of photographs and artwork associated with the album over the years.

Pink Floyd's supporting shows in 1980 and 1981 for Roger Waters' narcissistic, nihilistic epic The Wall are the stuff of rock & roll legend. Throughout the '70s, the band earned the reputation as one of the best live acts in rock & roll -- and not just because they delivered musically, but because they delivered a full-fledged show. They had model planes crashing into the stage, giant inflated pigs hovering around the arena and, of course, astonishing live shows. All of Floyd's showmanship culminated in The Wall, an album that wasn't only a story, it was designed to be a theatrical experience. And that's exactly what Floyd designed, under the direction of Waters and with the assistance of such artisans as animator Gerald Scarfe and stage designers Mark Fisher and Jonathan Park. Waters had a brilliant idea for the show -- an actual wall would be constructed across the stage, and then the band would play behind it, as Scarfe's animations were projected on the wall and giant inflatable puppets danced on stage.

Originally, Waters wanted Floyd to perform behind the wall for much of the show, but during the development of the production, it was decided that the wall would be finished at the end of the first act -- in other words, at the end of the first record of the double album-set. The group devised ways to appear during the second half before the wall was torn down at the end -- David Gilmour played his "Comfortably Numb" solo on hydraulics, above the wall, and a hotel room with Waters brooding in a chair appeared during "Nobody Home." Nevertheless, the importance of the group, as such, was diminished. As they readily admitted, it could have been playing behind that wall, and they did augment their lineup with guitarists Snowy White (for the 1980 tour) and Andy Roberts (the 1981 tour), bassist Andy Brown, drummer Willie Wilson, and Peter Woods. At the end, it didn't really matter who was playing, since the entire Wall extravaganza was about the experience. And, from all accounts, it was one hell of an experience -- how could it not be, with actual theatre, film, music, and huge dancing puppets all added to the spectacle of a regular Floyd show?

Pink Floyd knew they had something special, something worth preserving, and they intended to do so with a concert film, possibly book-ended with filmed narratives. That plan didn't come to fruition because the footage was botched. How could it not be? Not only were the crew trying to capture a production that was about the theatrical experience, much of the later portion of the show would have been film of a film, as Gerald Scarfe's animations were projected on the cardboard bricks. So, the film mutated into the solemn, scarily sober Alan Parker film that became an '80s cult favorite, while live documentation of The Wall remained the province of bootlegs. Until the 2000 release of Is There Anybody out There?, that is. Skillfully edited together from the handful of Wall shows Floyd performed between 1980 and 1981 (much of the recordings reportedly date from shows at Earl's Court in London), the album replicates The Wall live -- which, of course, was a replication of the record, only with visuals. There are two songs not on the record -- "What Shall We Do Now?," a tune pulled from the record at the 11th hour (early pressings still listed it on the sleeve), plus "The Last Few Bricks," which was an instrumental at the end of the first act that gave the crew time to finish building the wall -- but they really add no revelations. There are no revelations at all, actually, with the possible exception of the layered harmonies on "Outside the Wall," which makes this coda seem like a full-fledged song. Other than that, there are minor differences, from Gilmour guitar solos to Waters' vocal phrasing, but this plays exactly like the record. There are still the sonic details, spoken word pieces, and found noises, too -- the only difference is that there is some crowd noise, a few intros from the "Master of Ceremonies," and an ever so slightly rougher fidelity. Since the show was so rigidly structured, there was no opportunity for the band to stretch out and jam (something they were very good at), apart from a handful of slightly extended endings.

All of this means, naturally, that Is There Anybody out There? is The Wall by any other name, and that it isn't for anybody but Floyd fanatics -- the kind that thrill to the little details, the little differences that separate this from the studio album, plus the lavish packaging (not just on the limited edition, either; the regular issue has two extensive booklets filled with new interviews by the band and associates). Will this disappoint the less-dedicated listener? Not necessarily, since it is a sharp, professional record -- and anybody that is familiar with The Wall will likely enjoy it as it's playing. The question is, how often will you put the record on? After all, anyone that will purchase Is There Anybody out There? will already have The Wall, and if they want to hear the piece, they'll listen to the studio recording since it is the original, full-realized version of the work. That doesn't really diminish the worth of Is There Anybody out There?, since it is a solid record, but it hardly makes it a necessary album, either. [Is There Anybody out There? was also released in a lavish "Limited Edition," which printed the two CD booklets as a hardcover book, which was kept in a keepcase. A nice package for hardcore fans that were planning to buy the album anyway.]

This 30th anniversary CD reissue of the mono version of the debut Pink Floyd album has a confusing history. It appeared on schedule in 1997, without a lot of advertising or fanfare; it was available for a few months and then disappeared -- all except in the U.S., where it never showed up at all; for reasons that elude everyone except the EMI executives who conceived it, the company chose to make this edition available everywhere in the world t the U.S.. So, plainly, a lot of fans, especially in America, never even knew it was out there. And a handsome little package it is -- housed in a substantial CD-size red-and-green box, it was the first official release of the mono version of the album in 30 years, albeit in a different mix from the original, and with an edited version of "Flaming," but it was decidedly different in sound from the existing stereo version of the album. The sound quality is killer, even if it isn't the same mix that was debuted in 1967 -- Syd Barrett's guitar crunches and slashes with larger-than-life presence, usually in the foreground of Rick Wright's organ drones and other, more unearthly sounds out of more exotic instruments; and Roger Waters' bass thunders along in its melodic way, whilst Nick Mason's drums add effects as well as holding what beat there is (or sometimes isn't). This edition also comes with a beautifully illustrated booklet that includes the lyrics to every song, and a set of photo cards that include one shot of the short-lived five-man Pink Floyd lineup of late 1967. This 30th anniversary release has, of course, since been supplanted by the 40th anniversary edition from 2007, which restored the original 1967 mono mix to circulation. But as it does offer a different mix and the artwork is unique, the 1997 release is another layer of collectible music for the completist (and on this end of the Pink Floyd's history, those who are interested tend to be completists).

Pink Floyd claim they had no intention of recording another live album when they began the Division Bell tour, but performing The Dark Side of the Moon in its entirety convinced the group to release another double-live set, called Pulse. There's no question that the group is comprised of talented musicians, including the number of studio professionals that augmented the trio on tour. Whether they're inspired musicians is up to debate. A large part of Pink Floyd's live show is based on the always impressive visuals; on the Division Bell tour, they closed each show with an unprecedented laser extravaganza. In order for the visuals and the music to coincide, the group needed to play the sets as tightly as possible, with little improvisation. Consequently, an audio version of this concert, separated from the visuals, is disappointing. Pink Floyd play the greatest hits and the new songs professionally, yet the versions differ only slightly from the original recordings, making Pulse a tepid experience. [The first edition of the album featured a blinking red light -- a symbolic representation of the "pulse" -- in the spine of the disc and cassette.]

The music is familiar -- the real attraction of the limited-edition twentieth anniversary edition of Pink Floyd's landmark 1973 album is the packaging. This release uses the same remastered tapes as the Shine On box set, tapes that sound better than most previous editions. In addition to the improved sound, the disc is cased in a handsome box that includes several postcards that were issued with the original album.

By condensing the sonic explorations of Meddle to actual songs and adding a lush, immaculate production to their trippiest instrumental sections, Pink Floyd inadvertently designed their commercial breakthrough with Dark Side of the Moon. The primary revelation of Dark Side of the Moon is what a little focus does for the band. Roger Waters wrote a series of songs about mundane, everyday details which aren't that impressive by themselves, but when given the sonic backdrop of Floyd's slow, atmospheric soundscapes and carefully placed sound effects, they achieve an emotional resonance. But what gives the album true power is the subtly textured music, which evolves from ponderous, neo-psychedelic art rock to jazz fusion and blues-rock before turning back to psychedelia. It's dense with detail, but leisurely paced, creating its own dark, haunting world. Pink Floyd may have better albums than Dark Side of the Moon, but no other record defines them quite as well as this one.