The Cavern
Rock & Words
LIVE AT POMPEII (Pink Floyd, 1972)
Artista: Pink Floyd (B+)
Recording Dates: Oct 4-7, 1971
Release Date: September 1972. UK
Record Label: (N/A) Distributor: Universal Home Video (!!!)
Producer: Steve O'Rourke, Michele Arnaud & Reiner Moritz
Rating: 10 (ICONIC ALBUM)
Era: Progressive (1968-???)
Subgenre: Live Album
Best Song: Echoes
Tracklist: 1) Intro (Pompeii); 2) Echoes Part 1; 3) Careful with That Axe, Eugene; 4) A Saucerful of Secrets; 5) One Of These Days; 6) Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun; 7) Mademoiselle Nobs; 8) Echoes, Part 2.
Gezz. I've really gone off the rails now…
Corvan, this isn't an album, it's a movie!!! Pretty wild, by the way. It's true… If you look closely, I couldn't add the record label because this was a concert film released in 1972. You can't even really call it a soundtrack; it was never officially released on LP or CD. So, why on earth am I reviewing a movie?
Damn, I've cornered myself and I don't know what to say anymore. Corvan runs and hides under the bed, clutching his copy of Live At Pompeii. Hahaha. The truth is, it's a concert that has influenced me a lot and I couldn't skip it. After all, most of the concerts were destined for this format, a film or documentary that ended up becoming an album for practical or commercial reasons. Live At Pompeii is musically tremendous. It's impossible for me to skip ahead to Obscured By Clouds simply because I consider it Pink Floyd's best concert.
What? What about Is There Anyboy Out There from The Wall Tour? Or Delicate Sound of Thunder? And PULSE???? Oh, right, those were more formal releases, already featuring the band's numerous hits and in a massive concert format. And when I say MASSIVE, I'm not kidding. Pink Floyd wasn't exactly a high-energy band, in the sense of jumping around, running all over the stage, and infecting the audience with their energy. Can you imagine them starting mosh pits? They were more serious, they stood in their place, played, sang, worked their magic, mesmerized, and that was it (as if that weren't enough). But when they hit it big, and as they became a stadium band, the show they put together to complement the music and that "seriousness" became truly legendary. From lasers and the enormous screens that set the standard since the late 70s, to the giant pig balloons and the colossal walls for The Wall, Pink Floyd's concerts were always among the most advanced, spectacular, and revolutionary in the world. Rumors circulated that the laser and pyrotechnic displays could be seen from the moon. And the rumors of unusual venues where they performed were legendary: the Great Wall of China, Venice, the mythical gathering in Egypt at the foot of the Pyramids to ring in the year 2000, and even the incredible rumor of a concert on the moon after their brief reunion at Live 8 in 2005. Just rumors, but what a level of spectacle!
Well, it all started in Pompeii, which is the only truly unusual place they ever played. Why is it my favorite Pink Floyd concert? Because it's precisely the band's turning point. Imagine the group at their peak, both creatively and instrumentally, already releasing the greatest hits of the 70s, from Dark Side of the Moon to The Wall. Well, here we have that band, mature, at its peak, at its best, only instead of performing classics from their climactic period like "Shine On You Crazy Diamond," "Comfortably Numb," "Time," or "Sheep," they play and vastly improve the best of their early repertoire. This is the mature, progressive Pink Floyd completely reworking the songs of their early, psychedelic Pink Floyd, giving them an incredibly powerful punch, taking them to another level, improving them immensely, and delivering a concert with a vibe and spontaneity that makes the songs sound vastly better—something I can hardly say about all their later concerts. I won't be foolish enough to say they're bad concerts, not at all. They're also of a tremendous standard. It's simply that on those albums, the group already feels more rigid, and Gilmour becomes cold and calculating. Not that he isn't here, but you can still see a certain spontaneity and ability to improvise. Here, you don't. I don't know if it's the mythical aura of the place, but in every note there's a kind of mysticism that envelops and hypnotizes. There's something mythical about the ruins of Pompeii that imbues every note with a dark energy. And at times the songs reach a timeless climax, where you can almost feel Vesuvius ravaging everything in its path. It's a perfect soundtrack to that devastation of 2000 years ago, with explosions, cries, ghosts, and a hidden power that I haven't found on any other album, not by Floyd or anyone else. Herein lies the true meaning of "Echoes" and "Set The Control," as mythological songs, as a journey to a devastating past that has remained vibrating through time. Furthermore, this album was what allowed me to make the chronological leap to start listening to the early Floyd. It's a perfect bridge, since, let's face it, few people come to this group through Pipers; they do so through their mature albums and gradually make their way towards... origin, and it's not always easy.
If Pink Floyd has a quintessential concept album, it's this one. WTF? A concept live album? By 1971, Pink Floyd's power as a live band was already legendary, not because they jumped around like drugged-up Iggy Pops, but because of the breathtaking atmospheres complemented by the (then) inexpensive but effective visual effects. The only official live recording was disc I of Ummagumma, from 1969, so in 1971 they began planning to record a new concert. Among the outlandish ideas was the one to record in an amphitheater in the city of Pompeii, which had been in ruins for 2,000 years after the well-known eruption of Mount Vesuvius, which covered the city in lava without allowing for evacuation. Somehow they obtained permission from the Italian government to film the concert, but for obvious reasons, they weren't allowed to have an audience, for the safety of both the ruins and the people, as it could collapse. It is therefore a "fake live" recording, but not so much because they had planned it that way. Adrian Maben directed the film, and it was shot between October 4th and 7th, 1971, just days before the release of Meddle. For the audio recording, they used 24-track recording and the best available technology to achieve the highest fidelity of the instruments. In Pompeii, they recorded "Echoes," "A Saucerful of Secrets," and "One of These Days," which forms the backbone of the album and best fits Pompeii's spectral atmosphere. The remaining songs were recorded in a Paris studio using a montage, and you can see that Rick Wright's beard is missing. In addition to the already recorded tracks, they added a short "Intro," "Careful With That Axe, Eugene," and "Mademoiselle Nobs," which would be called "Seamus" on the album. This is the version that is really worthwhile, 62 minutes long, and which was released in theaters in September of '72, months after the release of Obscured, since it is the one that contains the "conceptual" idea that is completely lost in other versions.
In 1974, an extended version (theatrical version) was released, including some of the Dark Side of the Moon sessions at Abbey Road Studios, bringing the runtime to 80 minutes. I prefer to watch the DSOTM documentary separately to avoid comparing apples and oranges. There's also a third version, The Director's Cut from 2003, with more interviews and material, but it ruins the original. Many of the original, Kubrick-esque astral scenes are replaced with more modern ones that completely destroy that retro feel. Avoid this version and go for the earlier ones, preferably the original.
The LPs and CDs were never released as such. Only the movies exist, but current technology allows you to find them in MP3 format, or the films are already available on YouTube. Let's now look at the music from a perspective I don't think you've ever heard of…
The concert begins with a short, esoteric "Intro" reminiscent of the heartbeat that will open DSOTM. Gongs with slow effects, Mason's pedal emulating a heartbeat, a strange roar that immediately transports us to a distant era, whirring cymbals… The effect is best experienced with headphones. It evokes something dark, like the tremors that had been sporadically shaking the Bay of Naples for weeks and which began to intensify that afternoon. A tense calm, full of foreboding.
Then come the radar notes of "Echoes Part I". Sweet and dangerous at the same time, as the camera slowly zooms in from the top of the amphitheater. At the two-minute mark, Mason starts a drum roll, and we enter the second part of the intro, with the guitar responding with a painful intensity and the bass prominent, more so than in the studio version. Each instrument sounds much clearer, I suppose because this time they got a mixer with many more channels. The intro is much longer and more melancholic, and has something mythological about it with those keyboard notes through the Leslie speaker. I don't know if they were improvising or if it was perfectly calculated, but it immediately feels like a freer and wilder version, while we see the faces of ancient statues that escaped the lava. At the three-minute mark comes the small crescendo that leads into the vocals, in which both Dave and Nick share the lead, in perfect harmony. The song flows perfectly, the dark guitar scales come in, followed by scenes of the band walking through pools of sulfur, and then the guitar solo, with the camera focusing on Gilmour and his black Stratocaster guitar, which appears in 12 frames. I suppose this is one of the studio-edited parts. We can see how Mason maintains perfect synchronization on the drum fills with flawless technique as they build that first exquisite climax. The entire 7-minute mark belongs to Nick, who looks spectacular on the drums, and the film shows that he doesn't use a single overdub. At 7:35, the section where they change rhythm comes, and the bass takes the lead with a sharp, deep line. The guitar roars like a wounded volcano. Wow, they really couldn't have chosen a better setting. There's something truly menacing about the way they play, as if it were a warning, as if they were traveling 2,000 years into the past and trying to deliver an impending message. It's no coincidence that they begin in the late afternoon, shortly before sunset. There was a noble wedding in Pompeii. Many people from Herculaneum had traveled to Pompeii. The increasingly strong tremors served as a warning to a few who returned to their homes, or chose to leave the region altogether due to the smell of sulfur and the rising clouds of steam. Pliny the Elder documented everything from his house on the coast, which was protected by a cliff. He sent warnings to the celebration, but they ignored him. He was going to take a boat, but decided to stay and document what he knew would be a fascinating and terrible event, and one that would cost him his life. The sun begins to set as the music plays, but it too is obscured by the thick layer of smoke. Meanwhile, we can clearly see Roger's bass technique with occasional close-ups, and when the tension in the air is at its peak, Dave's guitar screeches down a descending scale until the song ends at 11:26. They actually played it in a single take, but in the film it appears divided into two parts, and this is where the first part ends. The way the song improves is truly impressive. I couldn't say exactly what it is that improves it, whether it's simply the sound, or the atmosphere created by the ruins, or the experience of watching them perform the song, but there's something that really makes this version superior to the album version.
Next up is “Careful with That Axe, Eugene”, which also creates an ancient, wild, mystical atmosphere. The bassline evokes a sense of a pendulum, of time running out, accompanied by images of a skull painted over 2,000 years ago. Sighs amplify this paranoid aura, as the band appears to be playing at night, with a thousand spotlights in the background like planets. They accelerate at 2:30 and then lower the intensity again so that Roger can return with those malevolent whispers and the suffocating scream at 3:10. It's truly chilling. After sunset, there's a moment of silence (the beginning of this song). A silence in which neither birds nor barking dogs can be heard. A terrifying calm, according to Pliny. Then the tremor returns. The song accelerates at the 3-minute mark, and with Waters' brutal scream, the dome explodes, the earth shakes in a powerful earthquake as Vesuvius spews fire and lava. The musical orgasm with the four instruments playing a solo, a musical collapse as fiery rivers advance, devouring everything in their path. Everything is an orange sea. We lower the intensity again. It's an almost painful hypnosis. "The most horrible thing after the earthquake was seeing how a dreadful black cloud began to form at the top..." The guitar weaves spidery patterns and scales, the organ with velvety mysticism, and the closing with a Roman face in agony. The terror this version inspires has nothing to do with the studio version, which I always thought was merely good, but without anything particularly captivating. This is a truly nightmarish atmosphere capable of keeping me awake for a week. I insist, I don't know exactly what has changed, but the difference is like night and day.
Then we have “A Saucerful of Secrets” with all the chaos of this kind of suite. The band builds tension until Gilmour does those gunshot-like sounds with a metal tube, like a slide guitar. “Huge flaming stones fell all over the city…” It’s amazing that they do all the effects live, without overdubs. Mason does that battle sound, Waters crashes cymbals, while Rick creates calculated chaos with the magnificent piano. Roger runs across the stage at the three-minute mark, grabs the sledgehammer, takes a running start, and delivers a tremendous blow to the gong. Utter chaos. The pyroplasm cloud descended at full speed, burning from within and sweeping away everything in its path. Most died when the dense cloud passed over Pompeii and Herculaneum, incinerating them, leaving a trail of death, giving no chance to escape. Brutal and merciless chaos. I’m not particularly fascinated by the suite, but at least we get to see Nick doing that complex drum roll that takes up almost his entire drum kit. David hasn't even bothered to strap on his guitar; he plays it with a heavy dose of delay and slide, sitting down with the instrument between his knees (no pun intended). After the storm comes the calm. At 5:30, a quieter section arrives, dominated by Rick's almost religious keyboards. Dave finally straps on his guitar and makes it weep over the solemn keyboard notes. Plinio was safe from the deadly cloud and continued writing, filled with terror. "After the earthquake and the black cloud, a silence thicker than death fell. It seemed the worst was over..." Mason joins in, and the crescendo begins, while we see the valley covered in ash, on which no vegetation has grown, the ruins of the ancient city. Dave laments dramatically near the end, like the cries of the few survivors that began to echo through the streets. Aerial shots of the volcano, and that closing in a major key that ends like a ray of hope. This version is a little shorter than the studio version, about two minutes, and it seems they cut some of the more chaotic parts from the beginning. Even so, it still has that disorganized feel, just more pronounced. What surprises me is that the four of them can recreate all that chaos.
Next up is another of the greatest live performances I've ever heard. "One Of These Days" is magnificent, powerful, and terrifying in itself. But here it takes on new dimensions. It's the rain of fire after the eruption. The spectacular yet devastating river of magma flowing down, initially slow, then picking up speed. From the bay, it could be seen advancing relentlessly, devouring what remained of the forests behind the cloud, creating a hypnotic, fiery glow that outlined the mountain against the night… The impressive bass riff is incredibly ferocious, relentless. Mason makes sure the cymbals sound like razors slashing back and forth, as do the bursts of keyboards. Everything is sharp and malevolent. The sun has completely disappeared. Violent drum rolls and the guitar roaring with the overdrive cranked up. It's not the band creating tension, since it's already at its peak, but rather keeping it constantly on the verge of exploding, on the edge... At 2:30, the bass lingers with that piercing effect, Roger tracing the neck and the four strings filled with a strange delay, while the intensity builds again. The black, menacing sound emerges with the processed vocals and finally explodes in the bloodthirsty guitar solo. It's as if all the energy of Vesuvius has finally overflowed, and the tension that had been contained finally erupts in a spectacle of beauty and destruction. The rivers of lava advance uncontrollably, unstoppable, through what remains of the city, petrifying it. Old Pliny leans out of his window and knows that there's no point in even writing down those last moments because everything will be consumed by the fire. He runs and gives what he's written to his nephew, and gets him on a boat as quickly as possible. He stays behind to die of asphyxiation. This live version is much more tense than the one on Meddle, although slightly shorter. It seems as if they are really building it up in the air, in a much more aggressive way, and with a more brutal explosion.
Next up is “Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun”, which opens with the band enveloped in smoke and Roger playing spectral gongs. This is the band's most mystical and darkest track. A riff like a mantra. Death stalking the streets of an entire city. 25,000 lives lost in a matter of minutes. A collective scream echoing silently, even to this day… The hypnotic beat with drumsticks featuring cushioned tips, and the keyboards creating a distant velvet sound, the gentle touch of death. The song accelerates. Mason puts on a spectacular display, the guitar builds distortion in the background, Roger sings in an impersonal, dark tone, like a distant mantra, and the lyrics finally make sense. Everything has a distant, ethereal, ghostly atmosphere. Rick steals the show with the incredible keyboard arrangements and the tremendous solo in the middle section. It's pitch black. What the cloud withstood was buried by the lava. Statues that will remain petrified in gestures of burning pain. Rivers of fire reach the coast, raising plumes of steam. Flames consume what little remains in the fluorescent midnight. The song fades away, just like the fire…
“Mademoiselle Nobs” is the track that feels most out of place on the album. It was clearly recorded in a studio. It's simply a version of what would appear on the Meddle as Seamus. Roger plays guitar, laying down a basic blues pattern with slide. Two lyres are heard, but in the film, only Roger is seen playing, while Dave plays the harmonica. Rick has the crucial task of recording Mademoiselle Nobs herself howling along with the sadly simple arrangement. Nick isn't seen; he was probably sent out for croquettes. It took me a while to figure out how it fit with the album's concept. This is a joke from the Meddle!!! What's it doing here? Well, after the catastrophe, the only thing that must have broken the silence 2,000 years ago in Pompeii was the howling of the few surviving dogs crying for their masters. Aren't they geniuses?
We finish the second half with “Echoes Part II”, which appears in the film divided into two parts. Here, we begin right after the rapid descending scale pauses briefly, opening into a somber atmosphere with a liquid background. The guitar creates seagull-like effects, and the keyboards produce a watery, echo-laden sound, even more pronounced than in the studio version. In the film, the boiling water is still visible. We see the ancient frescoes cracked, just as they were left after the eruption. Evidently, since the song was recorded in a single take, it's daytime again. Symbolically, dawn has broken. At the 4-minute mark, the keyboard kicks in, followed by the “pings,” the plucked guitar, and Nick's tremendous cymbal crash, all of which together build tension interspersed with a few notes of hope. At 7:40 we return to the main theme, with Dave and Rick's voices harmonizing perfectly: “And no one sings me lullabies, And no one makes me close my eyes, So I open the windows wide, And call to you across the sky…” followed by the monstrous guitar riff, as we see aerial shots of the volcano and the city's current ruins. Mason's drumming intensifies behind the double bass drum, and the band accelerates for a final, incredibly fast sprint. Then they slow down again, and the guitar and keyboard solos intertwine to create a melancholic atmosphere. Just as we began by zooming in on the band, the song closes with the camera slowly pulling back. The bass and drums fall silent, leaving the last notes of Dave and Rick's voices to vibrate until they fade away completely.
AHHHHHH!!!! Now do you understand why I say this isn't just Pink Floyd's best concert, but also a Conceptual Concert? They're absolute geniuses. I'm not even sure if it was their intention to chronicle the different phases of the destruction of Pompeii and Herculaneum, but as I listened, too many clues emerged that are too much to be a coincidence. I read the account of the destruction from the writings of Pliny The Elder, and as you piece it together song by song, you realize the perfect synchronicity. If some people believe in The Dark Side of the Rainbow, to me, the intention here seems more evident, each track perfectly calculated to create a monumental chronicle. Unfortunately, the film only offers a few hints, but it falls short of capturing the terrible beauty that this phenomenon must have been. That led me to see this concert with new eyes.
Whether it was intentional on the band's part or not, musically the concert stands on its own merits. The sound clarity is far superior to that of the albums, and the songs achieve enhanced, more intense versions, with unnecessary sections trimmed or solos added that enrich the experience. Furthermore, we can see them performing the songs live, dispelling any doubts about whether they were capable of reproducing that instrumental complexity. They are. That's why Pink Floyd is one of the greatest bands in history. In my opinion, they had already reached that unattainable level here, their absolute maturity that would lead them to become masters of the 70s. And that's how they treat the songs. They magnify them. True, none of the "great classics" are included because that era was clearly just beginning. But the way they handle the songs here is precisely that: as classics, and at least the songs in red are the best tracks from that early period. An anthology album, which unfortunately went largely unrecognized and misunderstood, treated more as one of Floyd's crazy antics that later fueled ludicrous rumors of nonexistent concerts. Nevertheless, it's a legendary, iconic record. And my recommendation is that you watch the film (with the original eight-song sequence) as soon as possible and enjoy that trip down memory lane.
By Corvan
Jul18//2012
