| Track: | Rating: | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1. Signs Of Life | | | | | |
| 2. Learning To Fly | | | | ||
| 3. The Dogs Of War | | | | ||
| 4. One Slip | | | | ||
| 5. On The Turning Away | | | | ||
| 6. Yet Another Movie/Round And Around | | | | | |
| 7. A New Machine, Part One | | | | | |
| 8. Terminal Frost | | | | | |
| 9. A New Machine, Part Two | | | | ||
| 10. Sorrow | | | | | |
Although the process had commenced years before, it was only in the mid-1980s that the process of recording albums under the "Pink Floyd" name became entirely politicized. The Wall (1979) was primarily the outcome of Roger Waters's elaborate conceptual planning, but the Waters/Gilmour partnership which had dominated earlier PF projects was still in force on this album as regards the performance side of things. With The Final Cut (1983), however, this balance was completely destroyed. For all practical purposes, it stands as the first Roger Waters solo album, with David Gilmour reduced to the position of a session musician.
Such a condition was obviously unlikely to perpetuate itself, and the following years saw an interesting drama unfold. Waters abandoned PF shortly after the release of The Final Cut, claiming that the band had ceased to exist. Gilmour thought otherwise and, after a lengthy court battle (which lasted beyond the release of MLoR), was granted the right to maintain the Pink Floyd name for recording purposes.
Although often seen as a debasing of the group's name (which, in artistic terms, it may be) A Momentary Lapse Of Reason merely follows the precedent of a Pink Floyd leader releasing a solo album under the band label. While David Gilmour insisted on keeping the facade that MLoR was a band recording, such a claim is immediately transparent; the only other "band member" for this release was drummer Nick Mason, who contributed nothing to the writing, seldom performed anything truly memorable, and was not even the only drummer to appear on the recording. Former member Richard Wright was brought in as well (as a session musician, subsequently restored to "full" membership on the tour) to provide occasional keyboard parts. To portray this partnership as one of equals would be a manifest absurdity. This is clearly Gilmour's album, and might almost be seen as the follow-up to About Face, rather than The Final Cut.
Gilmour had stopped writing lyrics for Pink Floyd after Ummagumma, entrusting these duties to Roger Waters instead. This natural posed some problems for MLoR, and may go some way in explaining the high number of co-writers used on this project. As regards the music, to, Gilmour seems to have brought in a fairly high proportion of outside talent, although it's less clear why he should have needed assistance on this matter.
Whatever the nature of its creation, MLoR must ultimately be judged on its own merits, and these are sadly lower than befits an album released under the PF logo. The main problem, to be quite frank, is that the songwriting is often half-baked and/or underdeveloped. Gilmour clearly tries to emulate the "unifying vision" of Waters's works, but ultimately comes up a bit short; some of the songs come off as throwaways, and even the better numbers generally seem a bit structurally flawed. While there is very little on the album that's actually bad, there's also very little of a truly memorable nature here. Most of the album falls into the "average" range for such material. While this still makes the album an improvement on About Face, there is little else that can be said in its favour as regards the overall PF legacy.
From the beginning of opening track, the listener may be under the distinct impression that Gilmour's PF is trying to recapture the magic of its earlier years. "Signs Of Life" begins with sounds representing marine life, perhaps signifying an early stage in the development of life on earth (or not). Keyboard tones follow, and a garbled conversation (featuring voices similar to those of Gilmour and Mason) appears in the background. Richard Wright's trademark keyboard presence then settles in as the dominant instrumental texture, providing some traces of melody and harmony. Finally, Gilmour himself makes an appearance, with a guitar tone altered to suggest "underwater" playing; his actual performance here is actually not overly notable. The track works as an ambient prelude to the album, but seems derivative of previous PF "openers". It's pleasant enough, but adds little to PF's history.
From here, we go to the pop song. "Learning To Fly" was the first single from the album, with the amateurish 1980s production being identifiable almost immediately. This song is certainly much better than most radio fodder (especially from 1987), but doesn't add up to anything of a truly memorable nature. The instrumental development is minimal for most of the song, with the vocal/instrumental harmonies on the "chorus" being perhaps its strongest asset. Credit must be given to the clever percussive parts between the second and third verses (probably Ezrin's doing). It must be admitted that the guitar solo at the end is not vintage Gilmour. "Learning To Fly" is still a decent art-pop number, but doesn't ascend beyond this level.
With the snarling noise at the track's beginning signaling an end to subtlety, "The Dogs Of War" is the weakest track on the album. The lyrics are rather banal, possessing the venom of Waters's best moments but lacking the "bite" (so to speak) -- one wonders if these lines might actually be directed at the "old dog" himself, but they're too vague to really amount to much in any event. The repetitive low rumblings at the track's beginning suggest a watered-down "One Of These Days", and the song which follows simply isn't very good. The guitar spotlight section is a bit better, but not by much; only the saxophone solo provides a truly memorable performance, and this isn't quite enough to save the entire track. This one could have been cut fairly easily.
"One Slip" actually begins in a promising manner, with a Mediterranean sonic effect suddenly intruding upon the album; melodic alarms and percussion yield to a guitar texturing which suggests the stylings of Phil Manzanera (who doesn't receive a performance credit on the album, though, so perhaps not). This entire introductory section sounds incredibly like the work of said PM; perhaps not surprisingly, it's also the best part of the song. After this promising start, the track quickly turns into a fairly ordinary DG solo track, with dire lyrics and a prosaic development. Tony Levin is finally given some room to shine here (the earlier tracks seem to feature a strong keyboard bass role), and his presence adds a fair amount to the overall merit of the song; still, there's only so much he can do. There's some potential in this track, but its execution doesn't really develop it. (By the way, my guess is that Jim Keltner appears on this track. This is only a guess, nothing more.)
"On The Turning Away" sees Gilmour trying his hand at a formal English ballad, and half-succeeding (at best). While this is certainly much better than the average 1987 slow song, its no less difficult to take seriously; the "important" lyrics, regarding the plight of the "weak and the weary" seem unfortunately trite, and the instrumental development (except for Levin, of course) is a bit weak. Still, the closing guitar solo is fairly good, and the drum performance at the end is perhaps Mason's most memorable moment on the album (if he's the one playing it). These factors narrowly take the song up to a "good" rating, but the margin is still rather close.
The second half of the album is somewhat better than the first, consisting as it does of a rather vague story of a man trapped with the memory of a lost innocence, seeking some meaning in his tragic life. "Yet Another Movie" begins this cycle, with a curious introduction sounding like nothing so much as a tympani altered by synthesizer treatments, courtesy of Patrick Leonard. Some attempts at recreating PF's earlier "spacious" tracks then appear: a lead role played by keyboard texturing, sampled dialogue, etc. Following up on the conclusion of the previous track, Gilmour finally manages to produce some impressive guitar features here, ranking at least in the same general range as his best work. The track concludes with the brief "Round And Around" passage, featuring a brief period of guitar/keyboards interaction -- it's okay, but it doesn't really seem necessary to either the song or the side-long suite.
"A New Machine, Part One" consists of Gilmour manipulating his voice via a vocoder to an extremely creepy effect; repeatedly chanting out messages that emphasis the chronic dissatisfaction of the character's mental state, he is successful at pointing out this figure's desperation. The lyrics tend to "go on for a bit", but that may have been the idea.
"Terminal Frost" is an instrumental piece, apparently meant to suggest a lengthy period of inactivity/entropy in the life of this mysterious lead character. A sparse work, this track alternately features lead roles by the keyboards, the saxophones, and Gilmour on lead guitar. Levin is also notable in his role; Mason's drum line (again assuming that it is, in fact, he) is a bit too repetitious, and can't help but bring down the track a bit. Some of the guitar and saxophone solos are fairly interesting, but there isn't too much of a truly memorable note here. Some might note a similarity to David Foster (the soundtrack composer, not the ex-Badger member), which isn't necessarily a good thing.
"A New Machine, Part Two" is a shorter continuation of "Part One", and is slightly less mood-provoking (which may have been the idea; to judge this as a separate track is almost unfair).
The most successful track on the album is "Sorrow", a mini-epic noting the continued gradual demise of the lead character; the song ends with him standing on the brink of suicide, uncertain of his next mood. The lyrics are much more subtle here than in the other tracks, and fit the mood of the song accordingly. From a musical standpoint, too, this track is fairly impressive; the introductory guitar line features an absolutely nasty tone, and the similarity to "Wish You Were Here" doesn't seem inappropriate in this case (given its probable target) -- the solo itself is quite mournful, though not without a fair degree of tension. Despite a few flaws in its typical 1980s production, the track makes it to its higher rating by virtue of the dark instrumental passage towards the end. Chilling and vindictive, this track suggests at the potential which the Gilmour-driven PF so rarely uses.
While obviously recommended to collectors, the casual Pink Floyd fan is under no obligation to possess this album. While not a complete waste, it's hardly representative of PF's best work.
(review originally posted to alt.music.yes on 13 January 1998)