Muddled in a financial quagmire, the band decided to go ahead with Ezrin’s and Water’s fusion of ideas. David Gilmour described one of the numbers on the album as the last embers of his and Waters’ ability to work together. The band at the same time, were falling apart with Richard Wright being fired (he rejoined later as a session player and full-time in the 1990s) and David Gilmour often opting out. He called upon producer and musician Bob Ezrin and his psychiatrist friend to talk about the sheer alienation he was facing as an artiste and a figurative wall that he wanted to build around himself and the raucous fans down there, to escape an inexplicable burden of disillusionment. The Wall stemmed out of Roger Waters’ harrowing experiences during the 1977 ‘In The Flesh’ Tour where his interaction with the crowds took unprecedented shapes - distanced and frustrated with his god-like presence at events.
Forty-two years later, it still finds itself relevant, the words managing to strike at the heart of politics and trends which echo till date and hummable melodies that continue to scar and heal. The sound would eventually grow on these very people, and The Wall came to be known as one of the greatest albums ever produced. A certain Margaret Thatcher hated it and many hormonal teens found it creepy and confusing. When Floyd’s eleventh album, The Wall hit the streets and record shops, most failed to understand what it actually stood for. More than anything, they existed as a distinct sound, away from the quotidian banal existence of loud music and urban life. Pink Floyd existed as a fusion of identities - real, imagined and fleeting apparitions.
Pink Floyd (left to right): Rick Wright, Roger Waters, David Gilmour and Nick Mason, in Los Angeles in 1980 Sourced by the correspondentĪn anomaly, a caustic presence in the crammed room of ’70s rock and roll, this group of four stood in the corner making music which was not supposed to make sense the first time one listened to them.
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