Far better music critics than myself have both panned and praised Pink Floyd‘s The Wall ad infinitum since the releases of the album and film by the same title roughly 30 years ago. At this point, most music aficionados have well defined opinions of Pink Floyd, Roger Waters, and The Wall, so I’ll leave all of that alone.
What I will say is that the concert I attended last night still has me trying to figure out what the hell I just saw. I mean that in the best way possible.
The news came out today that Roger Waters will be taking Pink Floyd‘s “The Wall” on the road this fall. I distinctly remember kids in school saying you had to be stoned to “get it.” Maybe you do, if you’re the type of braindead dipshit who thinks Jim Morrison is a major American poet. I mean, I was a half-bright fifteen-year-old virgin when I first saw it, and even I caught the obvious central metaphor. It’s the shallowest, least subtle concept album of the original rock opera era. It’s frankly just kinda dumb.
But don’t tell that to Roger Waters. Dude has milked his dead dad and overprotective mom for the last 30 years. Boo hoo, your teachers were mean! Fucking crybaby.
So now he apparently feels he needs to justify hauling out his guaranteed cash cow: “This new production of The Wall is an attempt to draw some comparisons, to illuminate our current predicament, and is dedicated to all the innocent lost in the intervening years.” Dude, it’s okay to do it for the money.