From the start, as the first images of children's faces flashed in blood red swathes across the wall, I could feel emotion welling involuntarily-and knew that this would be an experience beyond compare. Waters manages to capture all of this in images projected on a physical wall that builds up slowly on stage as the concert progresses. Others are tossed on the stack by authority figures who abuse their power, peers who use us for personal gain, and a culture that seems at times manufactured to drain the humanity from our bones. Some of the bricks are fashioned early on for us by our parents as shelter from a cruel world. These walls begin being built in childhood, with each new brick corresponding to life experiences of loss, betrayal, punishment, fear and ostracism. Waters has been careful to note that The Wall is not about any one thing, but rather a panoply of thoughts, emotions and experiences that speak to the building of metaphorical walls in our lives-both personal and societal. Arguably, the effect is more potent now than it ever was, because Waters has recreated The Wall to connect with audiences at a point in history when walls are again on the verge of coming down.īecause The Wall is an amalgam of elements-including difficult memories pulled from Waters’ childhood, allusions to the unraveling of Sid Barrett (one of Pink Floyd’s founders who succumbed to mental illness), and others that are fictional characters and loosely drawn historical references-it has always been a work open to broad interpretation. The result is a masterwork that touches modern listeners every bit as powerfully as those of us who have always loved the music. Instead, Waters reanimated both himself and the music he wrote some 30 years ago, and imbued it with emotion born from three decades of history. Notoriously surly and demanding throughout his rocky tenure with the band he co-founded in 1965, it’s strange to think that despite every internal feud, legal morass and public fiasco-all part of Pink Floyd’s storied history-Waters always held onto a defiant optimism that his work would not go peacefully into rock history, mummified in stale memories. Roger Waters is by most accounts an enigma. I have now had that experience, and it has exceeded every expectation I’d conjured in vain since leaving that arena 25 years ago, rain drenched and sullen. But I had never ex perienced the music as I always thought such a masterwork should be experienced. As any fan would, I’ve listened to the album countless times, and I’ve seen the movie version of The Wall enough to know its premise and storyline. Although I’ve been a fan of Pink Floyd’s music for most of my life, my experience with The Wall has been limited.
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