Richard Wright: Broken China

RICHARD WRIGHT: BROKEN CHINA (1996)

1) Breaking Water; 2) Night Of A Thousand Furry Toys; 3) Hidden Fear; 4) Runaway; 5) Unfair Ground; 6) Satellite; 7) Woman Of Custom; 8) Interlude; 9) Black Cloud; 10) Far From The Harbour Wall; 11) Drowning; 12) Reaching For The Rail; 13) Blue Room In Venice; 14) Sweet July; 15) Along The Shoreline; 16) Breakthrough.

General verdict: A conceptual art-rock record about the trials of depression in name, an intentionally uninspired adult contemporary album in nature.

I have always admired Rick Wright as a personality — the «quiet» member of the band, almost a symbol of amicable humility, a consummate musician with none of Gilmourʼs flash or Watersʼ political ego, and a classy gentleman who looked more like a university professor onstage than a member of a rock band. Unfortunately, all these things always worked best within the context of Pink Floyd than on their own. Wet Dream had already shown that a Rick Wright solo album was not such an exciting idea; and to expect something more from a follow-up project in the «Dave Floyd» era would be a rash thing indeed.

Allegedly, Broken China is a concept album whose main theme is «inspired» by Rickʼs then-current wife Mildredʼs then-current battle with depression (he had only married her one year earlier, but I suppose he knew what he was doing). I think it is relatively safe to say that the record would sound something like this regardless of the circumstances in which it had been produced — it is definitely a little more somber in tone than Wet Dream, but not by much, and, like almost any Floyd-related piece, its melodies and arrangements combine notes of pessimism and gloom with elements of hope for the future and consolation in beauty. Everything here is quite true to Wrightʼs vision and personality. It is just that the music itself is deadly dull.

The album is awfully long, clocking in at just under an hour, and once it is gone, remembering any specific moments from it is hard. In general, itʼs the same old atmosphere: somber, bass-heavy melodies, ranging from rhythmic and danceable (ʽNight Of A Thousand Furry Toysʼ) to minimalistic synth-assisted heavenly prayers (ʽBlue Room In Veniceʼ). About half of the record is instrumental, with Rick himself singing on most other tracks and inviting Sinéad OʼConnor to take lead vocals on two of the key tracks, including the album closer ʽBreakthroughʼ; however, the vocals throughout are used in the same way as any other instrument — very even, very monotonous, consistently bent on generating steady atmosphere rather than emotional jolts.

There is an attempt at modernisation, too, with some of the tracks featuring trendy trip-hop rhythm tracks (ʽRunawayʼ) and a few even bordering on house (ʽSatelliteʼ) — but in the end, all of the album should really be described as «adult contemporary» due to the absolute lack of energy and ecstasy; an intentional lack, but one that is not compensated by any extraordinary chord sequences, sonic combos, or even lyrical revelations (the lyrics, by the way, are mostly taken care of by Anthony Moore, Floydʼs resident lyricist in the post-Waters era). Guitars are handled by Tim Renwick, Steve Bolton (largely known for his work with late period Atomic Rooster), and Stingʼs sideman Dominic Miller, so nothing to write home about. Bass duties are given over to Pino Palladino, who is obviously good (anybody who has been chosen to replace John Entwistle for the Who has to be) but isnʼt really given a lot of chances to shine, other than hold down a nice, steady groove on the recordʼs more danceable tunes. Gilmour is noticeably lacking, though he did play on the original recording of ʽBreakthroughʼ — after which Rick decided that was not what he wanted, and re-recorded the song, which is really all you need to know about the level and the functions of Broken Chinaʼs musicianship.

I have no idea what to write about individual songs, seeing as how there are absolutely no stand-out themes or ideas on any of them — and, in fact, even most of the positive accounts of the album I have seen rarely concentrate on the musical aspect, instead going off on all sorts of tangents about how the experiences processed on this album really relate to their own problems etc. etc. Well, as somebody who also has to face depression on a regular basis, I must say that I feel very little in common with these softly sanitized moods; I am not sure how exactly this musical equivalent of watching paint dry is supposed to count as therapy, but probably for some people it does. Nor do I find the lyrics particularly hard-hitting: hearing Sinéad OʼConnor deliver the lines "But sooner than wake up / To find it all unchanged / Iʼll sleep through the day ʼtil the daylight ends" in her familiar icy tone just brings on a feeling of predictability.

Of course, there will always be people swearing by this record as some sort of forgotten, defiantly un-commercial masterpiece of subtle, but immense psychological depth; to me, though, it is just another sign of how desperately Rick needed the assistance of his bandmates to bring genuine life and beauty to his cold and hollow Apollonian structures. The motives behind this record are more than noble; the end results, alas, amount to little other than morose sonic wallpaper.