Pink Floyd: P.U.L.S.E.

PINK FLOYD: P.U.L.S.E. (1995)

CD I: 1) Shine On You Crazy Diamond; 2) Astronomy Domine; 3) What Do You Want From Me?; 4) Learning To Fly; 5) Keep Talking; 6) Coming Back To Life; 7) Hey You; 8) A Great Day For Freedom; 9) Sorrow; 10) High Hopes; 11) Another Brick In The Wall, Pt. 2.

CD II: 1) Speak To Me; 2) Breathe; 3) On The Run; 4) Time; 5) The Great Gig In The Sky; 6) Money; 7) Us And Them; 8) Any Colour You Like; 9) Brain Damage; 10) Eclipse; 11) Wish You Were Here; 12) Comfortably Numb; 13) Run Like Hell.

General verdict: A perfectly listenable live experience — give the guys a passing grade, then move on without looking back.

Back in 1995, the release of Pink Floydʼs second post-Waters live album was a pretty major event. It seemed as if Gilmour and Co. were actually willing to learn from their mistakes and produce an audio-and-video package that would become forever etched as the ultimate live Floyd experience. Everything was taken care of: the stage show, the visuals, the setlist, the sound quality, even the packaging with its famous blinking red light — the one that made every devoted fanʼs life a living hell because the stinking AA battery would die every six months and you had to run out for replacements, praying that it was really the battery and not the LED flasher itself. (Later editions, fortunately, dropped the blinking light altogether — I wonder if there are people around whose copy is still blinking?).

Two things do indeed separate P.U.L.S.E. from Delicate Sound Of Thunder and make it a much more reliable Dave Floyd-era document for all those who are not connected to the 1987-88 shows with a special nostalgic thread. First, as we move into the 1990s, the live performances are being freed of the previous decadeʼs infamous production gimmicks — the keyboards sound livelier, the drums less glossy, and all the technophilia are now strictly controllable. Second, and even more important, P.U.L.S.E. is structured in such a way that it is not automatically perceived as a «greatest-hits-live» album — this is made by cleverly integrating a few oldies together with the new material on Disc 1, and by performing Dark Side Of The Moon in its entirety, not just the hit songs, on Disc 2. By the time you realize that they did actually perform all the exact same hit songs as they did in 1988, it is too late to be disappointed.

Unfortunately, both of these advantages have somewhat dulled with the passing of time. There is no escaping the general feeling that even as late as 1994–95, the bandʼs shoulders were still heavy with the «burden of proof» — proving to the fans that they were still Pink Floyd without Roger Waters, and that they could go on as a creative force without Roger Waters. To achieve the first task, they go as far as resurrecting ʽAstronomy Domineʼ, but even then they play a short and sanitized version, a far cry from the psychedelic extravaganza that you hear on Ummagumma (let alone the Syd days, the song was still a blast in the early post-Syd period). To complete the second, they predictably play a lot of material from The Division Bell, but the live versions do not add much to the studio versions of the songs — ʽHigh Hopesʼ is every bit as poignant here, but not an iota more poignant, if you know what I mean.

The performance of Dark Side is passable, and it is fun to hear Clare Torryʼs vocal part on ʽGreat Gig In The Skyʼ divided between all three of the bandʼs backing vocalists (including Sam Brown of ʽStop!ʼ fame, though at this moment, I suppose, most people are familiar with her through her involvement in both P.U.L.S.E. and Concert For George) — but now that we actually have official access to 1972–75 performances of the material (on various deluxe editions of the old catalog), the historical importance of this show has dimmed, and the live setting without the accompanying visuals and laser effects adds little to the studio originals. Throw in the fact that they are still including a rather out-of-place reggae-ish section in the middle of ʽMoneyʼ, and that Gilmourʼs solo on ʽTimeʼ is quite far from monumental, and the whole thing is just a gesture, to which there is no real need to return.

For quite a long time, P.U.L.S.E. did contain what many viewed as the definitive version of the ʽComfortably Numbʼ solo — expertly constructed, lengthy, violent, culminating in a shower of mind-blowing psychedelic bends that worked particularly well in conjunction with the huge overhead globe opening its petals to blind everybody out of existence. It is still a magnificent experience, but, in my opinion, it has now been eclipsed by Gilmourʼs performance in Pompeii twenty years later — not as ecstatic or flashy, but cutting much closer to the heart (and, might I add, with a much better guitar tone and sound mix). And this particular eclipse is quite symbolic of the overall experience: P.U.L.S.E. is simply too much saddled with this prove-yourself-and-give-the-people-what-they-want attitude for me to be able to succumb to its charms a quarter century later.