WISH YOU WERE HERE Behind The Scenes at a PINK FLOYD Show
- by Nikki Nilsson -
Issue #8 - Cosmic Debris Musicians Magazine - Aug /94
BC Place Stadium. The tribes were gathering to witness the gladiators of Rock Spectacle, Pink Floyd.
Six nights earlier I had been cruising the homes of Shaunessy to find a classy, peaceful spot to sleep in my van in preparation for the morning's 'steel call'... all 700,000 tons of it.
For the next five days I joined over 100 stagehands in building an aircraft hanger of a stage (centred by two 80 foot towers), a never-ending 40 foot circular, flying video screen plus the backdrop (that could only be stretched by hand while hanging upside down in the steel-rigging), quad boxes in the nose bleeder seating sections plus the world's largest mirror ball. We gave thanks under earplugs for the employment of 2 giant cranes and a snorkelift for raising humanly immoveable objects. We hung over 400 speakers and i-don't-know-how-many vari-lights. We groomed two flaccid pigs lying aimlessly in their 80 foot high sties and laid down several miles of audio and A/C snakes. We polished all the cymbals and suspended a brass gong the size of a small flying saucer.
The ultimate question in any jaded stagehand's mind (after calculating wages) is "Why? What's it
for?"
Pink Floyd's opening number, Astronomy Domine, put everyone in their place - Floyd Space - with driving force. The liquid projected amoebae and planetary images accompanying their astral rock soundscapes grabbed the audience like a fishhook. You knew you were in for a ride.
Whenever I hear about a concert attempt at the worst sound facility (next to Montreal's Olympic
Stadium) in Canada, I make a point of avoiding even entertaining the idea of attending - its too
masochistic. An evening with my antique stereo, a glass or so of decent wine, a vivid imagination
and I can easily substitute a good musical experience for BC Place Stadium's tortuous acoustics
and not have to pay to feel disappointed. But... Pink Floyd's elite crew managed to duplicate the
sophistication and gloss of their recordings and conquer the noise buzzards. A serious miracle.
The first half of the three-hour show was a showcase for Pink Floyd's last two recordings sans
Roger Waters, The Division Bell (1994) and Delicate Sound of Thunder (1988). After a decently brief intermission, the band returned with a review, including hits from the mega album Dark Side of the Moon. The quadraphonic sound system ka-chinked the cash registers in circular sweeps for Money. Other highlights included grandiose versions of Shine On You Crazy Diamond and Wish You Were Here.
Stellar performances by guitarist David Gilmour, drummer Nick Mason, and keyboardist Richard Wright were equally matched by Guy Pratt (bass), Gary Wallis (drums), Jon Carin (synth keys), Dick Parry on sax and, of course, on guitar, the amazing Tim Renwick, one of the most sought after, versatile studio musicians alive today. The searing solos,duos and duels by Renwick and Gilmour on songs such as Learning to Fly, Us and Them and Another Brick in the Wall raised the aural senses into the stratosphere. Excellent backing vocals by Durga McBroom, Sam Brown and Claudia Fontaine added immeasurably to brighten the edges of melody. And, they were the only ones in the band to actually move much on stage.
Pink Floyd does not boast showy, animated musicians. It doesn't have to. Theatre is all around them in the form of tastefully orchestrated technical wizardry. The stage is lit like a ring of fire, search lights scan the crowd, lasers slice the air cutting constantly changing symmetrical designs in perfect synchronization to the beat, giant pigs jump free from their perches and fly.
The lighting is so vivid and rich that you feel it is going to turn into an all-enveloping liquid. The blues at one point make the band look like they are playing at the bottom of a giant aquarium. Surrealistic video images cleverly suit each song and you feel mercifully spared from trying to figure out what they really mean. It is difficult enough just trying to absorb them in time, let alone be able to rewind one's memory for a game of philosophical replay.
When the 20-foot mirror ball slowly rose up glittering slyly in the dark, you knew you were truly being transported into the cosmos. The multi-mirrored dinosaur egg threw a palette of light around the arena while it spun itself into a mushroom and then unfolded into a many-petalled flower. Light reached every nook and cranny of the stadium's cavernous walls and filled the ceiling with oogleplexes of star galaxies.
The special effects were implemented with the eloquence of surprise, eliciting "wow!"s from even the diehard cynics, and ensuring another audience the next tour round.
And who knows when that will be? The way I see it, there are ... only 5 1/2 years left to the year
2000. Who else can possibly top the spectacle of this century? If PINK FLOYD returns again, you really should do more than just wish you were there. Go.
Six nights earlier I had been cruising the homes of Shaunessy to find a classy, peaceful spot to sleep in my van in preparation for the morning's 'steel call'... all 700,000 tons of it.