Most of the music in my mp3 collection was not written recently. A quick glance at the top of my play count in iTunes shows names like Led Zeppelin, Queen, Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath, and Judas Priest. So of course two years ago I was stoked to go see Roger Waters perform The Wall in Las Vegas, and I was equally stoked to see it two nights ago in San Francisco. I was in a diaper when the album first came out, so it was thrilling to see a show I never thought I’d get to see.
The 2008 show and Friday’s show were very different experiences. The MGM Arena in Vegas is a killer venue for any concert, and the audio and visuals were perfectly synced. At AT&T Park in San Francisco the video and audio were out of sync, likely due to the technical constraints of being in a stadium designed for baseball, not concerts. There were also three massive towers on the field to house the projection units, which mostly didn’t get in the way but at times obscured action on stage. AT&T Park also had the psychotically stupid notion that people coming to see The Wall would enjoy having guys walking up and down the aisle shouting “HOT chocolate” and “PEAnuts HEEEERE” in the middle of the show. Given the amount of weed people were smoking, I was amazed at the level of vitriol being directed at these buzz killing sales guys. A note to the managers of AT&T: if you do not understand the difference between a ball game and performance art, please do not host performance art at your venue.
Despite the downsides of the venue this weekend, the show itself has been tweaked nicely over the past two years to keep it fresh and relevant. Unlike the performance in Vegas, the wall itself was used to project footage from the stage so that you could see slight facial expressions and more subtle movement along with a more panoramic view.
Truly great art goes through three phases. When it first arrives on the scene, it is terribly, awe-inspiringly shocking because it pushes the envelope with its message and form. Next, it provokes a great amount of discussion and controversy as society disputes whether or not it has a place in this world. Last, the naysayers inevitably lose and works of great art are enshrined in preservation mode. This last phase is bittersweet. When groundbreaking art achieves its goal of providing human beings with a new idea, it renders itself obsolete. It ceases to be inspiring or thought provoking and becomes merely respectable. In some ways this is good as it makes room for new art to step in and push the envelope forward once more, but in other ways it’s sad as the chaotic moment of birth can never be recaptured.
Unfortunately, I think this is what has happened to The Wall. When I was an undergraduate double majoring in history and humanities, I knew I was probably destined to manage a very fine Taco Bell some day, but I harbored distant hopes of being a museum curator. I even managed to land an internship at a museum my junior year. After spending hundreds of hours carefully brushing ancient slabs of marble with an itty bitty toothbrush, I realized that the conservation of art isn’t quite as interesting as the creation of art. The Wall is still relevant and breathtaking. It’s still poignant and meaningful as an eloquent statement against war. But I can’t help but realize that it isn’t surprising. I would have loved to have been at the show’s very first performance in Los Angeles and heard the breath leave every audience member the first time they saw David Gilmour standing atop the wall during “Comfortably Numb.” It’s still impressive to see today, but it isn’t a surprise. It’s expected, the way the “surprise” chord is fully expected in Haydn’s Surprise Symphony.
Speaking of which — most palpable in these modern tours is the absence of David Gilmour. Hearing other people sing and play his part was entertaining, but it was a bit like looking at a museum diorama of George Washington crossing the Delaware. Wooden dummies dressed in the right clothing give you an idea of what it might have been like, but it’s not the same as seeing the real thing. Gilmour’s singing was handled by one guy and his guitar parts by another. Two other dudes weren’t half as good as one Gilmour.
I felt the sincerity and intensity of the performance, but not any sense of urgency. Funnily enough, the closest I got to feeling what it must have been like for Pink Floyd back in the late seventies was when Roger Waters was forced to relive his historic annoyance with obnoxious arena audiences. The rowdiness of stadium crowds first inspired him to do a show where the band would be shielded from the audience by an actual barrier. He got a bit of a reminder of that experience when the giant floating pig came out to drift over the crowd during “Run Like Hell.” The audience got ahold of the pig when it drifted to close to the ground. They ripped one leg to shreds, taking bits of the vinyl home as trophies in the same way that tourists visiting monuments collect stones from the ground to be displayed on dusty shelves at home. In a way it recaptured some of the chaos and tension between performer and audience, and in another it was just kind of sad.
I loved the show. I love the emotion it generates and its unabashedly oversimplified message. But I also feel sadness, since I don’t know if music like that can be written any more. The early eighties signified the death of a lot more than disco. The groundbreaking era of musical exploration heralded by the invention of the electric guitar was over. Probably only Eddie Van Halen continued to carry the torch, pushing the limits of the instrument beyond anything any of us thought was possible. But I have a feeling that to see truly epic bands like those most active around the years 1968 to 1972 we’re going to need another new disruptive musical technology, and I’m not talking about autotune. Beethoven needed the pianoforte. Elvis needed the electric guitar. The artists of the future will need . . . something. I’m just not sure what it is yet. And that’s good, because it means I’ll get to see it when it’s being played and not just being hung up in a Hard Rock Café.
