By Bruce Edward Walker
Roger Waters’ performance of the Pink Floyd chestnut The Wall last night at the Palace in Auburn Hills pointed up the flaws of the original work and the difficulty of presenting it as a coherent whole.
Certainly The Wall exhibits many examples of the brilliant composition and virtuoso playing one had come to expect from the architects of such ‘70s-era concept album classics as Dark Side of the Moon, Wish You Were Here, and Animals. Lyrically, however, the rock opera is a hodgepodge of self-indulgent whining, bombastic pronouncements, misogyny, and a subjective obscurantism that would make Ezra Pound scratch his beard in confusion.
The main aesthetic problem with The Wall is that the themes of isolation, loneliness, and betrayal are couched snugly in Waters’ personal experience and misanthropic worldview, forcing listeners to tweeze out a plot, a story line, or some overall unifying impression. This stems from the lack of what T.S. Eliot labeled an objective correlative–audience emotion brought about by a complete presentation of external facts. Since we know onlywhat makes Waters’ protagonist unhappy and nothing about what grants him pleasure, we fail to empathize fully with the character.
The lucky audience will find the work to be the only Floyd album you can dance to while expressing dissatisfaction with modern models of education, parenting, entertainment, and warfare both real and romantic. The less lucky might dismiss the entirety of the work out of sheer confusion, and unfortunately miss out on flashing moments of rock genius.
None of these problems resolve themselves on stage, despite the impressive pyrotechnics, projections, and sets. Instead, the unhappy protagonist has to endure even more than growing up without a father (killed in World War II), being raised by an overbearing and clueless mother, and suffering ignominy at the hands of emasculated school masters and lovers.
Yes–Waters’ protagonist, named Pink, is further flummoxed by world problems, which are never presented convincingly as correlated to Pink’s personal issues. The Pink Floyd concert standby of the floating pig hovered over the audience last night, with bumper sticker slogans attacking capitalism–an irony seemingly lost on the crowd, who cheered and laughed at the cheekiness of it all. Animated airplanes projected on the stage wall dropped dollar signs and Shell Oil logos as evil icons which were received to the absolute delight of many audience members surrounding your writer.
For this patron, however, the $200 I paid for my seat was evidence of … well, hypocrisy. Capitalism has been very kind to the entrepreneurial rock star and for his adoring fans willing to cough up the necessary lucre to purchase his albums, tee-shirts, and concert tickets. And good for Waters and his fans, of which this writer is a member and who considers the money well-spent.
And what of the snook Waters cocks at the oil company? I’d be much more inclined to believe its sincerity if I hadn’t been told the enormous stage production required a mere 20-something big rigs to transport it cross-country.
Elsewhere, projections on the wall equated Stalin, Mao, and … George W. Bush. But of course. On this, the less said the better, as artists often revert to such juvenile comparisons in order to glom themselves some sociopolitical bona fides, though they really only succeed in scoring easy points with like-minded people.
Musically, the concert broke no new ground; if you’re familiar with the album and the incomprehensible film it inspired, there were no surprises visually or aurally after the first few minutes. The band is competent, the production lighting, fireworks, and puppetry adequate.
In sum, The Wall is good–not great–Pink Floyd. There are plenty of examples from the group’s catalog better representative of the band’s artistry. Selecting this work as a cultural touchstone and tour makes little sense, but it provides an opportunity to see Waters perform some of his most radio-friendly songs live perhaps one last time.