Pink Floyd—Music From the Film More (EMI)

Until now, this was the only Waters-era Pink Floyd album I’ve never owned. I’d been looking for it for a few years, after realizing that my favourite Pink Floyd era was that fiendishly productive and exploratory period between Piper at the Gates of Dawn and Dark Side of the Moon. I managed to pick up their other soundtrack album, Obscured by Clouds, on LP, but finding a decent copy of More was difficult. The recent Pink Floyd reissue campaign couldn’t have come soon enough. Suddenly the Floyd were everywhere, even in London Drugs, which got me feeling nostalgic, seeing as I bought a lot of my music at London Drugs as a kid. KISS albums, mostly. London Drugs doesn’t need my help though, so I picked my shiny new copy of More at the soon-to-be-empty edifice of HMV Downtown.

When you open the mini-gatefold LP sleeve, you can see a lady’s boobs, which makes up for the fact that there are no bonus tracks. There’s also a nice booklet with lyrics and stills from the movie. That’s it. If there were liner notes, they might go something like this: Music From the Film More was recorded between A Saucerful of Secrets and Ummagumma at Abbey Road. Director Barbet Schroeder paid each member of Pink Floyd 600 pounds apiece to put in the eight days’ work that produced this music: 13 songs and assorted jams and fragments; their various lengths dictated by the film, which was pretty much complete by the time the band started recording. In his book Inside Out, Nick Mason recalls, “A lot of the moods of the film…were ideally suited to some of the rumblings, squeaks and sound textures we produced on a regular basis night after night.”

Side one has the best songs, written by Waters and mainly sung by Gilmour. They held on to a few of them after the album’s release, with numbers like “Green Is the Colour” and “Cymbaline” showing up on BBC Sessions and other live sets. Nowadays, “The Nile Song” may be the best-known song on the album, having been covered by Voivod, Melvins, and others. For Pink Floyd, it’s practically garage rock, and they wouldn’t record anything so brash until maybe “Young Lust” or “Not Now John.” My personal favourite, though, is the opening track, “Cirrus Minor,” a slightly sinister wisp of a song that presages Waters’ “Grantchester Meadows” with its acoustic guitar picking, sleepy vocal lines, and dubbed-in birdsong.

Side two focuses on atmospheres. “Main Theme” is effectively eerie, with the bass and drum interplay foreshadowing the minimalist drone of OM by a couple decades. “Dramatic Theme” closes the album with a similar jam, with Gilmour playing a more prominent role. “Quicksilver,” the longest piece, sounds like what Schroeder was probably after in the first place, resembling “A Saucerful of Secrets” without the narrative thrust. “Ibiza Bar” is a cool variant on “The Nile Song”’s groove. “More Blues” is exactly as advertised—a straight up blues jam. You have to take the bad with the good, though. Fans often name “Seamus” off Meddle as their least favourite Pink Floyd track, but I’d nominate David Gilmour’s “A Spanish Piece” from More as another low point.

It would take Pink Floyd a few more albums to fully merge their two strengths—the songs and the atmospheres—into an even stronger whole, but just hearing them dabbling in the studio, finding their way in the absence of Syd Barrett’s erratic vision, is fascinating enough.

Young, moderately loud, and not so snotty: high school albums

The Deciblog recently published Laura Pleasants of Kylesa’s list of five albums that remind her of high school, and asked, via their Twitter feed, people to submit lists of their own. I heeded the call, then thought that a fleshed-out version might make a decent post. So, here we are.

I wish I could say that I had a better time in high school—cutting class, sticking it to the man, barfing O’Keefe’s Extra Old Stock while leaning out of a speeding Datsun 510. None of those things happened. I was really crappy at being a teenager. I was never high in high school. I’m pretty much the same person I was when I was 14, except that the peach fuzz ‘stache is gone, and I can talk to girls now.

Oh, and music was almost all crap when I went to high school. When I started grade eight, Keith Moon, Bon Scott, and John Bonham all died in quick succession. Foreigner were big. Michael Jackson and music videos happened. When I graduated, Duran Duran were huge. If I could sum up high school with one phrase, it would be “a state of constant discouragement.”

In no particular order, these were some of the records that kept me going.

Rush—Signals
“In the high school halls, in the shopping malls...” Signals isn’t my favourite Rush album of the period (Permanent Waves came out just as I turned 14, followed by the untouchable classic Moving Pictures), but I remember it being more ubiquitous than most. My first day of senior high at Burnaby Central, I heard Signals drifting out of someone’s car in the parking lot. Rush were growing up, for better or worse. The songs focus on late adolescent concerns. "Subdivisions," of course, lent some sympathy to bored suburbanites, “New World Man” was like a social studies class in song form, “Digital Man” was in sync with budding comp sci majors, and “Losing It” was a sobering dose of reality for those of us enjoying the best years of our lives. Signals was a senior high wake-up call. Time to put away childish things and get serious.

AC/DC—Back In Black
Talk about ubiquitous. This was the Nevermind of its day; the album on which a former cult band exploded into the mainstream. This record got so much play that I’ve never actually owned it. We got into AC/DC with Highway to Hell, and its soon-to-be death-tinged mystique, but Brian Johnson and the band’s thunderous intent took things over the top. We played most of these songs in our band, with Willingdon Black gritting his teeth at my attempts to “improve” on Phil Rudd’s beats (I was a deluded little bugger). Back in Black was more than just a party record—we studied it and learned from its lean, mean songcraft. WB and I have since been in many bands together and separately, but when we’re collaborating on songs, we speak the same Back In Black-derived language. I wish more bands today would learn from it as well.

Iron Maiden—Number of the Beast
Like Back In Black, this album was an event, albeit of a more cultish variety. “Wrathchild” got some airplay and I thought it was a damn cool song, so when CFOX premiered the new Iron Maiden album in its entirety, I was there, rolling tape and getting blown away from “Invaders” onwards. (Although I despise file-sharing and the havoc it’s wreaked on 21st Century music consumption, I never bought into the “home taping is killing music” argument back then. Just one of the many hypocrisies I live with daily.) As with AC/DC, a new singer helped bring new popularity to Iron Maiden, along with an album that was obviously an instant classic. I saw them at the Coliseum sandwiched between Girlschool and Scorpions later that summer, so suck on that. On second thought, things kinda ruled when I was in high school!

Marillion—Script for a Jester’s Tear
I realized that I’d be a progressive rock fan for life when a copy of Close to the Edge made the rounds between my friends, and I was the only one who could stomach it. My enthusiasm for Yes and ELP in high school was tainted by the knowledge that they’d both peaked a decade ago. There was nothing fresh and new to get excited about. I tried really hard with 90125, which was a quality pop album, but not really Yes. Genesis had no mystique either; they were all “No Reply At All” or “Illegal Alien.” Marillion came along in the nick of time (i.e. before I had to buy another Saga album). Script... had intrigue, especially because the North American edition didn’t come with a lyric sheet. I dove right in, puzzling over every sonic detail, trying to figure out what the concept was, man. They were my favourite band for five years.

Pink Floyd—The Final Cut
Although it didn’t take long to suss out that this wasn’t really Pink Floyd, we bought into this album wholeheartedly. I was a bit too young/naive to get fully into The Wall when it came out, so The Final Cut was it—it was new, it was ours. We loved the cover (not by Hipgnosis, I now realize), we loved the “holophonics by zuccarelli labs ltd.”, the swearing on “Not Now John,” and Roger Waters’ Falklands-inspired bitterness. Hey, I was bitter too—Thatcher and Reagan seemed callous and out of control, and nuclear annihilation surely awaited us all. Along with The Day After and If You Love This Planet, The Final Cut fuelled the fear and secret hope that I’d get to see two suns in the sunset and high school would suddenly become the least of my worries.

I bought a couple of books from Continuum's 33 1/3 series on my last trip to Victoria. Number 3 in the series is about Neil Young's Harvest, and number 6 is everything you wanted to know about Piper at the Gates of Dawn. I thought they were both pretty useful. Sam Inglis's examination of Harvest not only lays out Young's early career succinctly (I've never had a good grasp of its chronology and the circumstances surrounding his involvement with CSNY), it includes an interesting discussion of the clash between popular success (represented by Harvest) and critical success (Tonight's the Night, for example). Plus it has lots of information about the recording sessions themselves—about non-guitarist Jack Nitzsche playing slide on "Are You Ready For the Country?" and forcing drummer Kenny Buttrey to play the title track with one hand, for example.

John Cavanagh's Pink Floyd book is more of a time capsule, concentrating on the extraordinary era that birthed the band. The historical material (a fair bit of it taken from a 1966/67 CBC Radio piece that I had a tape of for a while) is woven into a track-by-track dissection of Piper...—as with the Neil Young book, all the fine points of recording and songwriting are given plenty of attention. The discussion of The Floyd as musicians is quite funny and reassuring. Producer Norman Smith: "Nick Mason would be the first to admit that he was no kind of technical drummer. I remember recording a number—I can't now recall which one—and there had to be a drum roll, and he didn't have a clue what to do. So, I had to do that." Peter Jenner: "Nick, when all is said and done, was not a very good drummer, but he was a very good Pink Floyd drummer." Of course, a lot of words concern the short-lived genius of their guitarist and main songwriter, but the book avoids pandering to the cult of Barrett. If you want to know how to play "Astronomy Domine" and what the strange noises at the end of "Bike" are, put on your scarlet tunic and curl up with this.