The Cavern
Rock & Words
ANIMALS (Pink Floyd, 1977)
Artist: Pink Floyd (B+)
Recording Dates: Apr – Dec ‘76
Release Date: January 23rd, 1977. UK
Record Label: Harvest/EMI
Producer: Pink Floyd
Scoring: 10 (MUST HAVE)
Era: Progressive (1969-???)
Subgenre: Progressive
Best Song: Dogs, pero el disco no tiene un solo segundo de desperdicio, NI UNO.
Tracklist: 1) Pigs On The Wing 1; 2) Dogs; 3) Pigs (Three Different Ones); 4) Sheep; 5) Pigs On The Wing 2.
Animals is a perfect album. I learned that saying "one of the most perfect" was idiotic of me, redundant, since perfection doesn't allow for improvement; it's either perfect or it isn't, period. Before I begin, I want to mention that some time ago someone sent me a link to a huge review of this album. I saved the link but didn't want to read it so as not to affect my perception of the album, since I've also learned to read other people's reviews only after I've finished writing my own, basically because otherwise they'd end up stealing my ideas even if I didn't want them to. In the end, I didn't read it, and I ended up losing the link (if anyone has it and can resend it to me...). But in that long period, I couldn't help but read various opinions that enriched my own understanding, although my view of the album remains somewhat different.
Before we begin, I also wanted to elaborate on an idea Marlaior raised, which I haven't had the chance to revisit, and which this album certainly lends itself to. Animals is a serious contender for the title of best rock album of all time. Truly. Every word, every note, is meticulously crafted. Nothing is superfluous, and nothing is missing. The concepts it explores are almost mathematical, yet simultaneously human, cruelly human. We'll examine this in detail later. My point is that just because it's a band's best album doesn't mean it has to be your favorite. It's not the Floyd album I listen to most often. It's incredibly complex, and despite its musical and lyrical perfection, the songs are very long, with numerous sections that prevent you from focusing on any one in particular. They are all majestic, and that creates a mental fog after listening to it, leaving me in that state of rage and confused pessimism that I suppose was Waters' intention. The reverse isn't true either; your favorite album doesn't necessarily have to be the one you consider the best. There might be emotional factors, memories of particular moments, a special connection. You know it's not the best, but there's a special connection we all create with certain albums. My favorite Pink Floyd album is probably Meddle or Wish You Were Here. My favorite Rolling Stones album is Aftermath, which almost no one considers. The best Beatles album, I think it's almost universally agreed that it's Abbey Road, but for a long time my favorite was MMT, and then Revolver.
That said, Animals is a difficult album, not necessarily the most acclaimed by the public. I believe that Pink Floyd wasn't a Progressive band, or at least they differed greatly from the standards of bands considered to be in the genre. Their albums tend more towards Space Rock with Surf influences at the beginning, Psychedelia, and Art Rock. If they have a purely Progressive album, and one that is perhaps the pinnacle (and coffin) of the genre, it is precisely Animals. It's one of those albums where you notice a new detail with each listen, and which can have countless interpretations. But at the same time, that's what makes it so inaccessible to those crowds who prefer Dark Side of the Moon or The Wall. And you can't blame them; the songs there are short, with memorable hooks, fascinating solos, and even a certain seductive complexity. That's why the songs on Animals, which are over 10 minutes long (one is over 17), are rarely heard on the radio, at a tribute concert, or even at Waters' or Gilmour's own concerts. That's another detail: here, the songs only work as a unit, as a complete album; separately, they lose their impact and power.
Animals was conceived by Waters, and it was there that the dictatorship he imposed within the band became evident. Pink Floyd ceased to be the democracy it had been more or less until 1975, giving way to a group where one person made the decisions, wrote the songs, and the others accompanied him, with little opportunity to contribute. Which is ironic considering the album's theme, and that it contains perhaps Gilmour's best guitar work and Wright's keyboards. In some ways, this makes it just as hypocritical as Wish You Were Here.
Animals borrowed musical ideas from WYWH that ultimately didn't make it onto that album. They can't really be called outtakes, but rather, due to their complexity and length, they didn't fit the album's overall mood. "You've Got to Be Crazy" would evolve into "Dogs," while "Raving and Drooling" would become "Sheep."
It was recorded at the band's new studio, Britannia Row, from April 1976 until the end of the year. The band had bought the three-story building in 1975, midway through the recording of WYWH, because their contract with EMI, which gave them unlimited recording time, had ended. They needed their own space, given their perfectionism and the number of months they spent recording an album. So they spent almost a year remodeling and equipping the studio. Part of the building was used to store all the band's musical equipment, as well as their increasingly sophisticated touring gear.
The themes of the previous album began to slowly mutate. Waters gave them a twist, shifting the initial concept of madness to fit his own version of George Orwell's Animal Farm. That year had been catastrophic in the United Kingdom. Since 1975, a European crisis had been brewing due to the Middle Eastern oil blockade. In England, there was no work, and inflation skyrocketed. Young people started the Punk movement, which combined political and social discontent with music. A kind of neo-hippie movement, but anarchist, in which they left their homes and went to live in abandoned buildings. Musically, they were fed up with the virtuosity of Hard Rock, but especially Prog, so Punk music became its antithesis, returning to the simplest foundations, with three-note songs, direct lyrics, no poetic flourishes, no solos, or if there were any, the simplest possible ones. Johnny Rotten would be remembered and recruited by the Sex Pistols for wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt with "I Hate" superimposed on it. Thus, punk was against prog as a musical form, and against the government and the music industry ideologically. It's curious that Nick Mason produced The Damned's second album on Britannia Row…
The thing is, Animals borrowed some elements from the punk movement. No, absolutely not musically; I've already mentioned that this is the band's most complex album. Lyrically, it's not the same. It's also the most complicated, the most metaphorical, the one with the most layers and layers; it's light years away from punk's punch-in-the-face style. However, it's the most aggressive, the most enraged, the most socially conscious, the one with the most political and social protest. I don't know if there's a more furious punk album than this one. Perhaps with more swearing, but here Waters goes to the very root of the social problem, reflecting not only England in the second half of the 70s, but, in general, all of Western society over the last half-century.
In Animal Farm, Orwell offers a parody-critique of Stalin's socialist system; essentially, the pigs represent the political class, the dogs are the "forces of order"—be it the police or the army—and the sheep are the masses, the people, the proletariat. Without delving too deeply into the lyrics, Waters attacks capitalism, using the same animals but representing different elements than in Orwell's novel. The simplest interpretation assigns the pigs the role of the upper class, the dogs the middle and business classes, and the sheep the lower class. It's also supposedly the case that "Pigs on the Wing" refers to Waters' new love, Carolyne Anne Christien, who was the wife of the Grateful Dead's manager. While I don't rule it out, I have my doubts, since Roger was very reluctant to write love songs.
The recording was difficult, but Mason would say it was less tense than WYWH. Gilmour only contributed to the composition of "Dogs," and it's the only track on which he sings a fragment. It's the first album on which Wright isn't credited on any song, even though his keyboard work is impressive, with a wealth of detail that is essential to the songs and the creation of atmosphere. This is where the friction between Rick and Roger began, leading to Wright's "departure" from the band for The Wall tour, where he wasn't an official member, but rather a "hired" musician. Ironically, the tour resulted in losses for Pink Floyd, so Rick was the only one who made money on that tour. Ha! Another issue was Snowy White's presence in the studio. Gilmour somehow accepted (I don't know if willingly or unwillingly) the presence of another guitarist to learn the songs and support them on tour, since the three central tracks were impossible to replicate live with a guitar, no matter how many pedals Dave used. White recorded a solo for "Pigs On The Wing" that ultimately didn't appear on the album version, but rather on the 8-track version (which can be found on YouTube). Snowy would eventually become an ally of Waters, participating in subsequent Floyd tours until Roger's departure, and would end up replicating Gilmour's parts note for note on Waters' solo tours (I saw him do this in 2006 on the DSOTM tour). I suspect this also influenced Dave to record his guitar masterpiece here. He couldn't contribute much lyrically, and besides, he was distracted by the birth of his son, but his guitar parts are perhaps his best moments, with some truly emotive or incendiary solos, reflecting the lyrical fury with every note. A dedication to his son? Or a "I don't need you" message to Snowy?
Finally, there's the matter of the album cover. Nowadays, with technological resources, magical things can be done, and the capacity for wonder has been lost. But Floyd was among the first to place enormous importance on the creativity of their album covers. Hipgnosis, which had already worked on previous albums, was the agency tasked with reflecting Waters' vision. He passed by Battersea Power Station, which appears on the cover, daily. Already in its decline at the time, it somehow represented England's industrial decline. They commissioned the design of a giant balloon, which they inflated with helium and which was meant to look majestic, flying near the station. For the day of the photo shoot, they hired an archer to bring down the pig if it escaped. But it was very windy, and the shoot was impossible, so they rescheduled it for the next day. The archer wasn't budgeted for a second day. The pig finally broke free in the strong winds and flew across the British skies, landing on a farm in Kent, much to the panic of some cows. It recovered and inflated again. Photos were taken on a third day, now without wind, but in the end, it was decided to create a montage using photos from the second day, with the pig flying freely, already some distance from the plant. The pig would become a Floydian icon, and Waters still uses enormous pig balloons on his tours, painting the names of local politicians on them, to the delight of the audience.
“Pigs on the Wing” is divided into two short parts, barely 1:25 each, flanking either end of the album. “Pigs on the Wing Part I” is perhaps the most cryptic lyric on the album and could refer to a trillion things. The expression “Pigs on the Wing” was a phrase used by RAF pilots to indicate that they had a Luftwaffe aircraft in their blind spot, right behind one of their wings. In other words, they were in imminent danger of being shot down. The album version is simply Roger and his acoustic guitar, playing a warm folk strum with a beautiful melody. Snowy White added a guitar solo that wasn't included on the LP, but was on the 8-track version. The lyrics are key. And we can take the idea of a love song to his new wife—Waters even suggested this in an interview—but we already know that after “A Pillow of Wings” he swore never to write love songs again. Waters adopts the role of a dog. One might assume canine qualities like loyalty and friendship, but in the context of the album, dogs bite. Sometimes simply to protect their own interests, their adopted family, even if they aren't necessarily doing "the right thing." Waters speaks to an audience from the perspective of a dog, directly, trying to establish a connection from the start; we assume, then, that we are also dogs—neither sheep nor pigs listen to Floyd. It begins with a slap in the face: "If you didn't care what happened to me, and I didn't care for you," a cunning old dog speaking of a capitalist society where everyone looks out only for their own interests, whether it's their own survival or that of their family, unlike sheep and pigs, who care for each other to survive. “We would zigzag our way through the boredom and pain, occasionally glancing up through the rain.” The life of dogs is boring, a zigzag dodging obstacles, being the meat in the sandwich, squashed between the pigs and sheep, occasionally “glancing up through the rain” or approaching that pig life they yearn for, but never attain. Roger uses an almost confessional, emotive, almost beautiful voice…
Waters trades the gentle acoustic strumming for a more aggressive and rhythmic one. “Dogs”, which should have been subtitled “Two Different Ones” because there are two voices, not only vocally but metaphorically, is the album's centerpiece, a damned masterpiece that unites and gives meaning to the rest of the tracks. David Gilmour sings the opening verses, while Roger performs the second half. It's no coincidence; each embodies different types of dogs. The dogs on the album don't represent the middle class. For today's society, I think that definition is already obsolete, and I suppose it was back in 1977. The dogs still represent the middle class. But they don't exclude politicians, public servants in judicial or police positions, businesspeople, people who are on the rise. It's an ambitious class, in an eternal quest to climb the ladder, but one that doesn't exclude those same public servants or businesspeople who haven't yet reached that other sphere, represented by the pigs. The pigs, then, don't necessarily represent the rulers, but rather the highest echelons of the most disgusting power, from the political elite, the Forbes-listed businesspeople who deal in seven-figure sums, the upper echelons of the Church, the international organizations capable of devastating a country in five minutes (the IMF, the most powerful banks, NATO), the most powerful pharmaceutical companies that don't hesitate to unleash epidemics for their own profit, the arms industry, drug trafficking, and the various mafias... All interconnected in some way, all related by that lust for power that has driven them mad and stripped them of any humanity. And the sheep, not necessarily the lower classes, but those with the poorest ideologies, the resigned, those who have been brainwashed or ideologically indoctrinated (by religion, television, educational systems, cultural elements, etc.) to give up and accept what they are, and which can also include many people from what we consider the middle class. Do you understand how fascinating this topic is?
“Dogs” shows us two different kinds of dogs: one old and cunning, trying to jump to the status of “pig,” and one young, ambitious but somehow innocent. Gilmour personifies the old, decadent dog, warning a young one just beginning his ascent.
“You've gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need,
You gotta sleep on your toes,
and when you're on the street,
you gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed,
and then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight,
“You gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking.”
As I was saying, to truly rise to the top, they have to be insane, have lost their humanity, become beings whose sole aim is power at any cost ("a real need," a thirst for power), capable of biting without flinching, without remorse. But they must always be vigilant, since they are always simultaneously prey (to stronger pigs and dogs) and predator (to weaker sheep and dogs). From here, the tone shifts to advice, almost paternal, in which the old dog imparts the basic principles to the young one for ascending to where he is, while the rest of the pack joins in with a swift, agile rhythm:
“And after a while, you can work on points for style.
Like the club tie, and the firm handshake,
A certain look in the eye and an easy smile.
You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to,
So that when they turn their backs on you,
“You'll get the chance to put the knife in.”
In this final verse, Waters joins in with almost shouted harmonies, Manson launches into a near-diabolical drumming, and Dave delivers a spectacular, pyrotechnic, razor-sharp solo, with barely a hint of wah, short and which Waters finishes with a chilling laugh. Rick accompanies with bittersweet textures on his Hammond organ. The dogs must adopt a normal, trustworthy image, but deep down this is only to gain an advantage over others, to be able to manipulate, and to stab them in the back without raising suspicion. Gilmour's voice becomes echoing for the third chorus, as if the dog were becoming ethereal, nearing death:
“You gotta keep one eye
looking over your shoulder.
You know it's going to get harder,
And harder and harder as you get older.
And in the end you'll pack up and fly down south,
Hide your head in the sand,
Just another sad old man,
All alone and dying of canceEEeer.”
Suddenly, the Old Dog becomes overly candid. This is suspicious, isn't it? If it were his son, he probably wouldn't be giving him this kind of advice, since he'd be on the same quest for power, born into it. In any case, he admits that this lifestyle is alienating, lonely, with no one to truly trust. Perhaps he's warning the young dog to stay away from trying it, not to save him, but to eliminate potential competition. But amidst this dissuasion, many truths emerge, and he ends up talking about himself. Exactly at the 3-minute mark, the word "cancer" fades into an echo, leading into Wright's solo, with that majestic "Shine On You..." effect, the tempo slowing down more and more as the dog realizes the weight of what he's just said. Then comes another solo from Gilmour, calm and melancholic, with a tritone guitar, an acoustic guitar gently strumming, and a third playing high notes with a slide in the background, emulating a kind of canine cry. A truly heavenly moment, in which the dog recovers with the major notes with which it closes. After the guitar solo at 4:45, only the acoustic guitar remains, with dogs barking in the distance and the synthesizer fading away. A crystalline and elegant keyboard plays a few notes as the time signature changes. Gilmour launches a sharper, more distorted solo, with a truly chilling feeling, as if the dog realizes there's no turning back; at this point, he's alone and can only face what remains of his life with all the pride and cynicism he can muster, which makes him even more dangerous. At times, the guitar weeps, but there are parts where it seems as if Gilmour is making it laugh! Close your eyes and let yourself go. It's also remarkable how Mason simplifies his style a bit, but he's more effective with the fills, creating tension, becoming a tremendous architect. At 6:45, the old dog barks again:
“And when you loose control, you'll reap the harvest you have sown.
And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stoOOOOooone.”
It's remarkable how Dave holds this note – silence – guitar – it almost fades into an echo – and Nick propels the song forward again with his drumsticks, picking up that quasi-funk tempo. The metaphor here is outstanding. As time passes, you accumulate more power, the blood turns to stone.
“And it's too late to lose the weight you used to need to throw around.
So have a good-drown, as you go-down, all alooooOOOOOne.
“DrAAAAgged down by the stone-one-one-one-one…”
Check out Nick's fills, he's truly unstoppable. And let's return to the metaphor. Your blood is stone. You're up to your ears in shit and you can't get out; your own blood, thick and heavy with your crimes, drags you down to the bottom. And he ironically wishes for a good sinking, with no one around. These people, even if they have families, end up alone. Even if they use their children or spouses as an excuse for what they do, they end up ignoring them, pushing them aside. In the fall, or in old age, they will invariably be alone. And that loneliness is a stone that will drag them to hell on earth. Here there's a very interesting effect: the word "Stone" keeps repeating with a Machiavellian echo, which gives an electronic effect to the voice, blurring in such a way that it seems, in fact, that he's sinking. The brilliance lies in the fact that, if you flip the record over at that exact point in the song "Sheep," you can make out the echo in the background repeating the electronic sound "one-one-one..." suggesting that the sinking was so deep it reached the other side. Or does he sink so far that he becomes a sheep? Does power ever reach a point where it blinds so much that it makes those who wield it stupid and vulnerable?
Then comes a fascinating synthesizer solo with a satiny effect, which at first might seem dull, but beneath the layers, the sheer amount of detail Rick added becomes apparent. The "Stone" sound returns intermittently, and the keyboard occasionally mimics almost plaintive barking. This entire section represents the old dog, who, trying to dissuade the young dog, has seen his reflection in the mirror. Although he speaks in the second person, he realizes he was actually talking about himself. He realizes he is alone, hence the almost desert-like and suffocating atmosphere of Wright.
At 11:45 the syncopated acoustic guitar riff from the beginning returns, and Roger enters in the role of the young dog, singing with a certain confusion, desperation:
“I gotta admit that I'm a little bit confused.
Sometimes it seems to me as if I'm just being used.
Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise.
If I don't stand my own ground,
How can I find my own way out of this maze?”
The young dog is genuinely confused by the old dog's stance. The key part is the line "If I don't stand my own ground," where he realizes he might be some kind of predator, but ultimately he'd be working for someone else… is it worth it? Nick drives the drums back with a brief roll, leading into a triumphant entrance for the whole band and that mid-tempo groove.
“Deaf, dumb and blind you just keep on pretending
That everyone's expendable and no one has a real friend.
And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner.
And everything's done under the sun,
And you believe at heart, everyone's a killer.”
The final verse is again in harmony, leading to a brief climax that launches us into another extended, more aggressive Gilmour solo, accentuated by Mason's brutal, galloping drumming, which feels almost like a stampede passing overhead. This instrumental bridge, which simulates chaos (simulates because every note is perfectly calculated), represents the young dog meditating on the advice he's just received. The temptation of success is strong, but at what cost? A violent, two-faced, sharp life, represented by that savage guitar solo, like a bleeding knife—an incredible and highly underrated Gilmour solo. The turning point is that descending whirlwind of notes at 13:55, where the dog seems to have an epiphany and decide to follow an honest path. The rhythm slows for a twin-guitar solo by Gilmour, one guitar with a tritone and the other with a wailing slide, again imitating the yelp of a dog, realizing what he must do. The emotional and beautiful quality of this guitar solo is truly incredible, and it's rarely appreciated, but Gilmour makes his guitar another voice, one that says as much or more than Waters' powerful lyrics. He must stay awake, shake off that "brainwashing," stay in "his own little corner of the world." At 15:15 we have a brief and dramatic silence, before a new part of this suite-like piece. The young dog responds to the old one in a dense crescendo, attacking him with questions (each verse begins with "who was"):
“Who was born in a house full of pain.
Who was trained not to spit in the fan.
Who was told what to do by the man.
Who was broken by trained personnel.
Who was fitted with collar and chain.
Who was given a pat on the back.
Who was breaking away from the pack.
Who was only a stranger at home.
Who was ground down in the end.
Who was found dead on the phone.
Who was dragged down by the stone…”
It's a frontal attack, throwing in his face that he's not really a predator, that he can't do anything for himself, but rather that he's "broken and trained," "has a collar and chain," "is a stranger in the house," which is the harshest metaphor for loneliness. These rising dogs are never truly masters, despite appearances. They may seem wild, dangerous, but they always serve other interests. They carry out orders, even though at times they believe they're the ones making the decisions. They live in a mirage, wielding a power that doesn't emanate from them, but from the pigs who tug on their chains or pat them on the back… and who can do without them and replace them at any moment.
A bombastic keyboard, the increasingly incisive guitar playing, Mason running all over his drum kit, Gilmour's spidery guitar riffs, the bass scale getting louder and louder, Gilmour adding his voice out of sync, creating a climax for the last line, in which the stone this time does not repeat itself, does not sink little by little, but suddenly goes out, with only Wright's keyboard remaining for a few moments next to Nick's cymbals.
Wow! Painfully honest, reflecting that human duality. They started working on the song in 1974, with countless lyric changes, and had the opportunity to polish it for two years, resulting in a brutally well-rounded piece by all four members. At one point, it was a colossal work, at least twice as long. Gilmour convinced Roger to cut almost two-thirds of the lyrics because they were impossible to memorize; there were too many lines. Another change was the key, ending in D, since in the original key, during the climactic part where each of them sings "dragged down by the Stone," they couldn't reach the high note, either individually or together, so they had to lower the key. The song is a gem in itself, monumental, without a single wasted word, the core for understanding the other tracks on the album, and an incredible social critique that remains relevant today.
We continue with “Pigs: Three Different Ones”, in which Roger emulates three different pig voices, although this time I think the instrumental part surpasses the lyrics. The three different pigs aren't as clearly defined in their roles as the dogs in the previous track. It's the second longest track, clocking in at 11 minutes. It begins with almost imperceptible pig grunts after a burst of synthesizer, followed by a spectacular, bittersweet Hammond organ solo from Rick, which eventually becomes the main feature of the song, initially sounding like “Echos.” Dave plays a short guitar solo in mid-range tones, then launches into some power chords loaded with echo and distortion. Hey! Do you hear that? It wasn't a guitar solo, but a bass solo, with a fretless bass! A truly spectacular and dramatic intro. At 1:05, Mason does a drum roll to put us in a complex, semi-slow tempo, slightly similar to that of "Have a Cigar", bluesy and funky vestiges.
The lyrics are accusatory, from the point of view of the dog who has opened his eyes and refused to fall into the system:
“Big man, pig man, ha ha, charade you are
You well heeled big wheel, ha ha, charade you are
And when your hand is on your heart
You're nearly a good laugh
Almost a joker”
These aren't just any politicians. They're the ones who wield the highest power, the ones who sometimes don't even need to hold public office to pull the strings; often, we don't even know who they are. They're not businessmen who travel in limousines, but those who travel in private jets. They're not those poor souls who own a multi-million dollar company, but a damned business conglomerate, branching out into countless companies around the globe, several of them on the Fortune 500 list. The mobsters, the drug lords who take orders from no one, who have a disgusting capacity for corruption, for buying off judges, governors, presidents. They are those "giant Ferris wheels" (which, no matter when they're down, are still above us). They are the ones who can be called to the stand, and without blinking, with utter cynicism, place their hand on their heart and swear to tell the truth, the truth, and nothing but the truth, while spewing out pure lies, already paid for in advance to the judges. Politicians who buy $7 million houses and with total cynicism say they will no longer tolerate impunity and make a thousand promises of justice… That kind of gluttonous pigs, so mired in mud that one no longer knows whether to laugh or cry.
“With your head down in the pig bin
Saying "keep on digging"
Pig stain on your fat chin
What do you hope to find?
When you're down in the pig mine
You're nearly a laugh
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really crying”
With a funkier rhythm and a darker tone, Roger continues singing, his cynical tone perfectly fitting. The pig keeps gorging itself while ordering the dogs to keep digging. What more does he expect to find when he already has a disgusting amount of power and money? What more do these guys seek when they form a group that controls 85% of the world's wealth, while millions starve? It's incredible how Roger uses melody and falsetto in that last line, where he truly seems on the verge of laughter, or tears. Pigs have their problems too. Despite being on top, Roger ironically states, "You're on the verge of laughter, but you're crying." Gilmour creates almost ghostly wah effects in the background, while the guitar, laden with magnificent punch and distortion, follows the rhythmic bass.
“Bus stop rat bag, ha ha, charade you are
You fucked up old hag, ha ha, charade you are
“You radiate cold shafts of broken glass”
Here he's already attacking another pig, but it's left open to interpretation. He continues in the same vein as the beginning, with the first three verses slow, then changing the pace and accelerating.
“You're nearly a good laugh
Almost worth a quick grin
You like the feel of steel
You're hot stuff with a hat pin
And good fun with a handgun
You're nearly a laugh
You're nearly a laugh
But you're really a crybaby.
This type of pig could represent the mafia, the drug cartels. There are many references to metal and weapons, making it easier to associate them with this image. However, upon closer examination, the businesspeople and politicians at the top necessarily have dirty hands; they have their henchmen who do their dirty work, but they are the ones who give the orders. Or it could represent the arms industry, one of the most powerful, which is in some way behind the serious drug problem we experience in Mexico, or which doesn't hesitate to provoke wars in Third World countries to increase its sales or get rid of old inventory.
After this verse comes a mind-blowing instrumental section, starting at the 4-minute mark. The guitar riffs continue, but this time Dave uses a talk vox, for the first time, to emulate the dog's growls. Rick creates fabulous background arrangements while the bass sounds colossal in the background. But it's Dave who takes charge this time, adding a ton of effects with three different guitars, creating a rarefied, ghostly, yet aggressive atmosphere, giving the impression of interweaving and layering two distinct solos, steadily increasing the tension without ever reaching an explosion. Gilmour is truly phenomenal, stepping outside his usual style; more than a melodic guitar solo, he's turning his guitar/voice into a pig, making it squeal, growl, and cry. At 7:10, there's a break, and we're left only with the opening keyboard riff. We then get another fretless bass solo. In fact, Gilmour played both bass solos. It's said that Waters decided to play acoustic guitar on "Pigs" and "Sheep," leaving Dave to handle the bass parts, although legend has it that he couldn't quite reach the required speed and precision in certain passages. After a few tense moments with the guitar riffs, we return to the final verse, this one openly dedicated to Mary Whitehouse, a moralist of the time. Or did he use the surname for a transatlantic pun?
That verse is either very ambiguous or very direct, so much so that it ends up getting lost in the face of the universal barbs that had been thrown. In any case, it sounds incredible how they highlight the "YOU!", Gilmour joins in for harmonies, and Roger finishes again with that incredible falsetto. Dave engages in another exquisite, soaring solo. Meanwhile, the rest of the band lays down a colossal foundation, and Gilmour starts toying with a quasi-disco bass line that blurs the song, right in the middle of the guitar solo's ecstasy. A fantastic song, and yet it feels like the weakest of the three epic tracks on Animals, perhaps because the main figure is somewhat repetitive, although in my opinion, what counts is the amount of detail they add.
Then comes “Sheep” to close the trilogy. Rick begins with an elegant, sophisticated electric piano, vaguely reminiscent of the effect on “Riders on the Storm.” “Sheep” lasts “only” 10:20, making it the shortest of the three. As I mentioned, it originated from “Raving and Drooling” from 1974, which was an extensive, dynamic, and furious jam, with Waters babbling incoherent lyrics in a dialogue with the synthesizer, to create a sense of madness. Over time, it was refined, and Roger added the lyrics that, rather than signifying a social class, refer to people who are easily swayed, who don't think or see beyond their own noses. This is often more focused on the lower classes, the more susceptible, but it doesn't exclude the middle classes, who are quite comfortable. And lyrically, he takes the opportunity to attack religion as a subjugating force, but this could apply to any form of "brainwashing," from TV and, well, these days, the internet, where we can either spend hours watching 9gag (to say the least) or be manipulated into feeling like "Facebook revolutionaries," making us feel satisfied with shares or likes. The bass is again played by Gilmour, and on tour, it would be played by Snowy, to let Roger guitar freely (besides, it's impossible to play bass and sing without getting bogged down). Rick plays a colossal role with the bursts of synthesizers, in a fierce dialogue with Roger's screams and Gilmour's incredibly powerful guitar, which sounds incendiary, in a constant solo, one of David's most incredibly underrated works. The rhythm section again creates a galloping feel, although Nick sounds somewhat more understated than on "Dogs."
The lyrics create that quasi-religious parody. From the start, they criticize the passivity of the sheep, content to graze and feel the air, unconcerned about any dogs that might be lurking nearby… “Helplessly passing your time in the grassland awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.” I love how it fades into an electronic effect leading to Wright’s savage finale. “Things are not what they seem,” says Roger, “What do you get for pretending the danger’s not real?” And it’s true, no matter how much the sheep are told that something else is going on, they cling to the idea that it isn’t true, that there are no conspiracies, that life is beautiful and simple. And how could they not, when behind religion, behind what they see on TV or the internet, are pigs, who are the ones who truly guide them and feed them that green ideology?
“What a surprise!”
A look of terminal shock in your eyes
Now things are really what they seem
No, this is no bad dream.”
Waters is ironic, almost mocking them as they're led to the slaughter. Isn't that what sheep are for? To be eaten, to be clothed with their wool? To be cannon fodder in wars fought in the name of their country? A tense instrumental bridge follows, where the stony blood of "Dogs" seeps in alongside the mechanical sounds of the slaughterhouse, which come and go amidst the dynamic bass and keyboard patterns (Stone-one-one-one...). At 4:40, Nick delivers a couple of snare drum hits to change the rhythm and begin a synthesizer solo, which is more of an ascending series of notes while the others build more and more tension. Before we know it, the train is rolling again, and Gilmour is working his magic, though it feels as if it slams on the brakes just before exploding. The song almost fades away, leaving only the dark bass and taking on very dense tones with the synthesizers and guitar slides. From the background, eerie sounds of sheep begin to emerge, and a voice processed through a vocoder, making an almost inaudible parody of Psalm 23 in which Waters plays on the true symbolism of the psalm, which, as such, calls the sheep to be conformists:
“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want
He makes me down to lie
Through pastures green he leadeth me the silent waters by
With bright knives I release my soul
He made me to hang on hooks in high places
He converted me to lamb cutlets
For lo, I have great power and great hunger
When cometh the day we lowly ones
Through quiet reflection and great dedication
Master the art of karate
Okay, we shall rise up
And then we'll make the bugger's eyes water”
I insist, this is almost inaudible with the electronic effect that sounds like a synthesizer. Waters was originally going to do it, but the sound engineer ended up recording it. The sheep begin to bleat in an increasingly eerie way, as if it were their own prayer. This section always gives me goosebumps.
Then we return to the frenetic section, with Roger singing “Wave upon wave of demented avengers, March cheerfully out of obscurity into the dream,” as those sonic slaps of guitar and synthesizer return. Gilmour and Rick combine for those incredibly violent flourishes. Finally comes:
“Have you heard the news?”
The dogs are dead!
You better stay home
And do as you're told
Get off the road if you want to grow old”
We assume it's from a pig's perspective. Unlike Animal Farm, Waters' sheep rise up in a revolution and massacre the dogs. The pigs simply hide, or flee, but most are safe. They'll replace their dogs eventually. The song winds down with that schizophrenic guitar riff and Mason going berserk, turning into an octopus for an apocalyptic fade-out ending that leaves us with birds chirping and sheep bleating in the distance.
This allegory isn't gratuitous. Waters knows that the middle class, young people in general, are too cowardly to start a revolution. We're too comfortable. We complain, we protest with tweets, we act like know-it-alls pretending to understand how the corridors of power operate, believing we've discovered the secret to conspiracy theories. They raise the price of gas, but we're afraid to lift a finger for fear of losing what we've worked so hard for. In a way, we're more domesticated than sheep. We protest in cyberspace, but we're terrified of doing it in the streets. As long as we have certain comforts, we can endure a little longer, a little longer, year after year… Sheep reach a point where they have nothing left to lose. They may not know about Marx, they may have no idea about political theory, but there comes a breaking point where the pigs (through their old dogs) cross the line and force the sheep to rise up, because the dogs, or the middle class, simply NEVER have the guts to do it. Obviously, the masses take it out on those closest at hand, the “oppressive dogs.” Few pigs will actually fall; at most, they'll be forced into exile, but they're the ones who bring the song to a close, so they remain alive, simply “out of the way.”
The album closes with “Pigs on the Wing Part II”, basically the same song we opened with but with slightly changed lyrics:
“You know that I care what happens to you.
And I know that you care for me too,
So I don't feel alone,
Or the weight of the stone,
Now that I've found somewhere safe
To bury my bone.
And any fool knows a dog needs a home
“A shelter from pigs on the wing”
This time it's the young dog, who didn't let the consumerist system break him and didn't end up a predator like others of his kind. Many times, dogs "cross the line" and become slaves to the pigs under the pretext of giving their families "a better life," but as we mentioned, it's a mere excuse; they end up being cast aside. Their leitmotif is power, and they end up alone. The dogs who refuse to cross that line perhaps do so for their family, or for a loved one, as the song suggests. A dog needs a home; they are good, noble, and loyal by nature… unless they are trained. In the case of humans, many times we don't even need someone to train us; it's the system itself, the ideology, that conditions us, and without realizing it, we bow our heads to have a collar and leash put on us. The system doesn't change, nor will it ever. It's basically the same as it has been since the first civilizations, not repeating itself in circles, but in spirals. The dog in the last song doesn't close his eyes like the sheep; he knows the dangers that surround him, but he manages to escape the system through relationships , and in the end he achieves what the pigs will never achieve, not even with all their millions… Perhaps deep down, it is a damn Waters love song.
The irony is that Roger Waters created such a cruel representation of human society through animals. A chilling one, still relevant, and applicable to any country under any economic system. The moral? That love is stronger than anything! Ha gotcha! No, there isn't really a moral; it's a brutal critique of both types of dogs, pigs, and sheep. None are spared, and each must engage in self-reflection. The ending, the metaphor of "Pigs on the Wing Part II," leaves me wondering if Roger didn't mean to suggest that the home, the partner and family that provide refuge and security, that bring a certain happiness, isn't also a way of reverting to being a sheep. The young dog knows, at least in part, what surrounds him, but he finds in his family a justification for not rebelling or fighting back. "I already have my happiness" or "I'm not single anymore, I have children who depend on me, I can't take risks." Deep down, it's an excuse. And that's why Animals invites self-reflection. Yes; we think we're young dogs, wide-eyed, with some awareness of just how messed up the world is. That gives us a certain sense of superiority over the sheep. But what good is it if we do nothing? If we just sit back and wait for the sheep to have nothing left to lose and stand up, risk their necks, and change the system for us? Doesn't this actually leave us in an even more pathetic role than ignorance—one of cowardice? Of comfort? Of justification?
This album raises more questions than it answers, and the more we delve into it, the more questions arise. But I maintain that it perfectly applies to almost every scenario of the last century. For example, in the last six years, Spain, Argentina, and Venezuela experienced this firsthand, and currently, Mexico is fed up with the impunity and cynicism of the corrupt officials who have been in power for 85 years.
The pigs are there, still accumulating more power and wealth. This is the essence of why socialism cannot work, since human nature is gluttonous, predatory, and animalistic. And it is precisely the same reason why capitalism does not work.
Ultimately, Animals brings together Gilmour's most incendiary guitar work, Wright's most intricate keyboards, and Waters' finest lyrics. Mason also plays a significant role, though more subdued than on other albums, unlike his bandmates, who shine from beginning to end and seem fully aware that this is Pink Floyd's magnum opus, the pinnacle before the painful descent. "Dogs" steals the show, more powerful and complex, and boasts some of rock's most profound lyrics, but the entire album is a gem. The tracks are far more powerful as a whole than as individual pieces, and they still sound as fresh as if they were released yesterday. The most valuable aspect, despite its musical perfection and majesty, is the lyrics, which are not only critiques of a monstrous and practically immutable system, but should also serve as a springboard for personal reflection, here and everywhere, leading us to question who we are, what we truly are, and what the hell we're doing to change the world... These kinds of albums are must-haves, and that's why it's Pink Floyd's best album and one of the best (though not necessarily my favorite) albums in history, without a doubt. Whether the message resonates with each listener is up to them.
By Corvan
Nov/26/2014
