Richard Wright: The Quiet Soul of Pink Floyd
The news that Pink Floyd keyboardist Richard Wright died of cancer September 15 caught fans and music scribes alike off guard. It provides a further illustration of the privacy so cherished by Pink Floyd throughout their history, that no announcement had been made to the press of his illness. As a longtime afficionado of the group, I was affected on a level as when Lennon was shot in 1980. When Floyd's original wunderkind and inspirational spark Syd Barrett died in the summer of 2006, it was not as shocking as it was inevitable given his long term illnesses. Wright, however, seemed at the top of his game, playing shows on the Floyd's guitarist/vocalist David Gilmour's solo tour that same year.This was documented on last year's DVD Remember That Night, and now the CD/DVD set Live in Gdansk. Wright's playing and singing added so much vital colour and texture to the proceedings that it was enough to bring a tear to the eye. Just the week before, I had been watching the many extra features on the DVD, and seeing the genuine warmth, respect, and affection Gilmour and Wright had for each other, onstage and off, was touching indeed.
Pink Floyd has touched me many times since I first heard Dark Side of the Moon at a neighbor's house in 1975 at the ripe age of 8. Living then in a rural area just north of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, even the inattentive ears of my age discerned something different about the Floyd. The neighbors, Danny and Stevie Sutter, were older than I, and had a tendency to lift the stylus off of the hi-fi when Wright's Great Gig in the Sky, or his song with Roger Waters' lyrics, Us and Them came on. They preferred the more obvious rock and roll of Money, or Time, with its sinister opening embellished with drummer Nick Mason's melodic rototom work, and especially, the VCS3 synthesizer dominated On the Run with its climatic (and loud) airplane crash sound effects. Clare Torry's emotive wordless vocal wailing on Great Gig, and the jazzy, languid tempo during the verses of Us and Them were absolutely intolerable for those teenagers whose other albums included works by Aerosmith, Foghat, Uriah Heep and others.
The fire was truly stoked four years later in 1979 with the release of The Wall. I had been transplanted from wet and green Wisconsin to the mighty dry and arid Sparks, Nevada. My 7th grade ears delighted in the subversive strains of Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2), with its anti education rhetoric whetting the rebellious streak in schoolchildren everywhere in the Western Hemisphere. At that time, the broader conceptual connotations of the tune within the storyline of The Wall were lost on me, and I'm certain this was the case for most other that bought the 45 RPM single as well. Not long after hearing the song on AM radio, I had accidentally tuned in to a FM station that played the whole unabridged track with David Gilmour's scorching guitar solo complete and intact. I was in bliss, and at this point, I had an inkling that there was more to music than what was played on the radio, and these were the days when FM radio was much less conservative than now.
The seeds of my addiction now well and truly sown, I spent the following years tracking down every Floyd rarity and bits of minutiae possible. I combed the bins at every record store in town, looking for import copies with rare tracks or alternate artwork. My partner in crime at this point, one Bill McDonald, had remarkable luck haunting a long closed Sparks store called the Record Corral. They seemed to specialize in country and western music, judging by the loads of signed 8 X 10 glossy black and white photos of old time country stars on the wall. One of the owners was a sweet elderly lady, with puffed-up jet-black dyed bouffant hair, and painted on eyebrows with arches to rival the one in St. Louis. She must have hired a young gun to help with ordering more current pop and rock stuff, because they had tons of rare Pink Floyd. Every week, Bill and I would go with hard earned paper route/babysitting/odd job money, and race each to the bins to see who would gain first access to new treasure. Oftentimes, the bounty would be too great for the purse, and leave us hapless gents to make do with perhaps one album each, and build up funds for the next visit, and hopefully some other person in town wouldn't have bought the others already. Oh, the tears, frustration, and desperation !
It was during this time period, roughly four years total, that I discovered the fickle nature of the record buying public.While Bill and myself were devouring albums like the soundtrack to the film More, or Ummagumma and Relics (albums still largely unknown to the Floyd's US fan base, much less Syd-era nuggets like Piper At the Gates of Dawn and A Saucerful of Secrets), most people had moved on to AC/DC, Journey, Def Leppard, Van Halen, and the Scorpions. At this point, Pink Floyd albums were released years apart, and teens sought out other things to listen to in the interim. But while most were listening to Brian Johnson growling about Hells Bells and being Back in Black, I was listening to Roger Waters' bloodcurdling scream on Careful With That Axe, Eugene. Many moments were spent with my younger brother Christopher (who had yet to develop his own musical tastes), hunkered down reading comic books, building with space themed Legos, and drawing, with vintage Pink Floyd blasting away on my modest-but-still-plenty-loud stereo in our small shared bedroom. When I e-mailed Chris to let him know Wright had died, he mentioned that he knew more about Pink Floyd than many of their so-called fans, such was the level of inundation he, my mother, and my sister Heather endured in those days.
During this period, maybe 1981, a group of friends and I walked to a run down 2 screen theatre where local radio station KOZZ used to feature midnight movies, showing films such as Heavy Metal, Kentucky Fried Movie, and Led Zeppelin's The Song Remains the Same. On this occasion, Pink Floyd Live at Pompeii was the feature, and I was dazzled by the shots of the ruined and empty amphitheatre the Floyd played their pre Dark Side of the Moon repertoire. After seeing the film, I confess I became obsessed with growing a moustache to emulate Nick Mason's formidable lip curtain, but it was apparent to me how much Richard Wright contributed to group sound and dynamic. Couple this with the purchase of the excellent Pink Floyd biography by Barry Miles (a 1960s acquaintance of Paul McCartney, who witnessed firsthand Pink Floyd's evolution from the nightclubs to the stadiums), filled with minute details and color photos of their legendary multimedia concerts, and I scaled new levels of obsession.
Richard William Wright was born July 28, 1943, and raised in the Hatch End area of London. He was the only member of the Floyd to have any formal training. A keen jazz fan with little interest in pop music, he had been studying architecture (where he met fellow future Floyds Waters and Mason), but soon dropped out to enroll at the London College of Music. After several weeks, however, Wright dropped out. This was due in part to his already having developed a sort of anti-technique, acquired after years of being self taught and playing by ear. This was greatly at odds with the strict reading of sheet music demanded by the conservatory establishment. By the time embryonic versions of Pink Floyd were playing in the equally embryonic London Underground, Wright's main instrument was a Farfisa organ. A somewhat limited instrument, Wright made up for it's lack of touch sensitivity by using the organ's built in adjustable vibrato, a volume pedal and the legendary Binson Echorec. He created sinister swells and creepy counterpoint (often utilizing scales more often found in middle eastern music) during the Floyd's long live improvisations, and helped with the vocal and instrumental arrangements on their 1967 debut The Piper at the Gates of Dawn. Though the songwriting and lead vocals belonged largely to Syd Barrett, Wright's woody harmony and occasional lead vocals are prominent on the album. His keyboard work is equally astounding, thanks to the large array of instruments available at EMI's Abbey Road studios. In addition to the celeste and the aforementioned Farfisa organ, one can hear piano and Hammond organ, two instruments that Wright would soon add to his onstage gear.
After Barrett's departure in 1968, it is widely known that Waters provided a strong, conceptual guiding hand that steered Pink Floyd to huge global success with Dark Side of the Moon. To not recognize the large contributions that Wright, Gilmour and even Mason gave along the way would be an injustice. For example, on Cirrus Minor, Green Is the Colour, and Cymbaline, three Waters penned songs from 1969's soundtrack the the film More, benefit greatly from Wright's impressionistic organ and piano solos. Throughout this period, Wright contributed not only the occasional complete song, but many chord sequences and segued bits and fragments that helped form large scale works such as A Saucerful of Secrets, Atom Heart Mother, Echoes, and Shine On You Crazy Diamond. By the time of 1975's Wish You Were Here, Wright had added synthesizers to his arsenal, and again his technique differed from that of his contemporaries. While the Keith Emersons and Rick Wakemans used the synth's pitch wheel (a device which allows the player to move a note up and down while playing) to provide fast squiggles to climax their solos, Wright most often used it to shade his solos, gently sliding and slurring his notes in a manner akin to horn players. With his sense of space and melancholy impressionism, it is no surprise that Wright was a great admirer of Miles Davis.
An oft-printed misconception is that by 1977's Animals, Wright was a spent force creatively. The truth is that he was becoming disenfranchised with Waters' increasingly pessimistic world view. He therefore kept all his song ideas in reserve for his 1978 solo album Wet Dream. But while he did not contribute to the songwriting, his keyboard work is impressive indeed. Animals benefits greatly from the fact that two of the three long works had been rehearsed, arranged,.and played live by the band since 1974. Indeed, Wright contributes at least one solo a piece to Dogs, Pigs (Three Different Ones), and Sheep. His electric piano, organ, and synthesizer work on those tracks are astoundingly great, and often provide the only respite from David Gilmour's slashing guitar, Nick Mason's uncharacteristic aggressive drumming and Roger Waters venomous lyrics and vocals.
By late 1978 and 1979 however, Wright was finding it increasingly difficult to add creatively to the recording sessions for The Wall. The problems were compounded by the Floyd's bad investments that almost wiped out their substantial Dark Side of the Moon earnings, with impending tax issues looming as a result. Previously, Pink Floyd had spent a lot of time in the studio improvising and experimenting collectively to come up with material for albums. But the Wall was presented to the group as almost a completed work by Waters, who had very strong ideas about what the finished work would sound like. Wright's quiet, non-confrontational disposition did not help matters, so when a schism arose regarding production credits and royalties arose arose midway through recording, Wright attempted to fight his corner and lost. Shortly after, Waters demanded Wright cut his summer holidays short (while the rest of the group continued theirs) to record his keyboard parts, and Wright refused. Furious, Waters then leveraged Wright to be fired from the band, and to be re-hired as as session player for the remainder of the sessions and the following mini-tour. Waters threatened to abort the whole album if the rest of the group did not ratify his decision. With his marriage on shaky ground, his confidence in tatters, and the whole band desperate for a fresh influx of money to mend financial worries, Wright acquiesced.
The young 12 year old was completely oblivious to all this turmoil when he bought The Wall in 1979, and it didn't really matter. In fact, no announcement was even made to the music press that Wright had left the bad he co-founded. I only learned of it in 1983 when I purchased Pink Floyd's next album The Final Cut, and immediately noticed Wright's name missing in the credits. Shortly after, feeling the Floyd to be a spent force, and tiring of being at loggerheads with Gilmour, Waters himself left the band. At this juncture the group was in effect a conduit for Waters' musings, and any sense of true group collaboration had long since evaporated. To everyone's great surprise, Gilmour and Mason forged ahead as Pink Floyd, hiring a slew of session musicians to record 1987's A Momentary Lapse of Reason. Against great odds (and legal wrangling with Waters over ownership of the Pink Floyd name), the album was a commercial success. It was during the later stages of the album's completion that Wright got wind of the project, and asked Gilmour if he could be part of it. Realizing the legal benefits of having another founding member in the band, Gilmour re-hired Wright as a salaried musician, but he in fact played little on the album. A Momentary Lapse of Reason is not the Floyd's best work by far, so reliant it is on Gilmour and the cast of extra musicians. It also lacked Waters incisive lyrical gravity, but there was a foundation on which a new inspiration would hopefully be built upon.
With the huge world tour that followed, Wright gradually gained his confidence back. By 1992's Division Bell, he had been re-instated as a full member in Pink Floyd, and co-wrote much of the music. The album also featured his first lead vocal since 1973 on the track Wearing the Inside Out. While not in same league as Meddle, Dark Side of the Moon, and Wish You Were Here, The Division Bell marks a fine return to form for the Floyd, and makes a fitting swan song for the group. Emboldened by his revitalization, Wright recorded his second solo record, the quite excellent Broken China. It is a conceptual record based on the real life experiences of his third wife Millie, and her battle with depression. It featured lyrics by Floyd collaborator Anthony Moore, and loads of Wright's dense webs of keyboard work.
Following years of inactivity, the group confounded expectations and reunited with Roger Waters in 2005 for a triumphant four song set during the Live 8 benefit. Not long after, Wright made guest appearances on Gilmour's 2006 album On an Island. Gilmour invited Wright as part of his band for the following tour, playing On an Island in its entirety, and a slew of Pink Floyd classics, including pre-Dark Side jewels Fat Old Sun, Wots...Uh, the Deal, Astronomy Domine, and a mind-shattering 25 minute version of Echoes. These shows provided ample proof that Gilmour and Wright still had that magical chemistry. At the time of his death, Wright had been recording material for an instrumental piano album. The week following Richard Wright's demise, David Gilmour appeared on the BBC's Later with Jools Holland. He played an emotional live version of Wright's tune from 1968'd A Saucerful of Secrets, Remember a Day ( which had never before been performed live). With lyrics that seem prophetic: "why can't we play today, why can't we blow the years away" and "free to play along with time, evening never comes", it was a heartstring-tugging tribute from one friend to one departed.
While many of the tributes and remembrances since focus on the obvious attributes of Us and Them and The Great Gig in the Sky, I wanted to provide a list of some of my personal favorite Richard Wright moments:
1) His organ and singing on Piper at the Gates of Dawn.
2) The atonal, Cecil Taylor inspired piano massacre in the middle of A Saucerful of Secrets, followed by the majestic hymnal aftermath in the tracks conclusion.
3) His keyboards work on the More soundtrack. Especially his vibes/organ playing on the proto-ambient workout Quicksilver. Or the spine-tingling organ at the end of Cymbaline.
4) The calm before the storm organ solo on Careful with that Axe, Eugene, and the frenzied organ climax and subsequent far flung intergalactic space drift during Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun (both from the live half of Ummagumma).
5) The solo melancholy piano of Love Scene: Version 4. This was recorded for the soundtrack of Zabriskie Point but was ultimately unused. It can be found on the expanded version of the soundtrack.
6) His very nice piano and organ on Syd Barrett's 1970 album, Barrett.
7) His country blues piano playing on the oft-derided Seamus (from Meddle)
8) Echoes. Where does one begin ? The famous sonar piano ping, leading into delicate interplay between Wright's Leslie effected piano and Gilmour's blissfully bent guitar notes ? The wispy harmony singing between Gilmour and Wright ? The tripled layers of choppy, swirled Hammond organ during the funky section ? The fragile gossamer strains emerging from the whale song section ? The reprise of the piano/guitar interplay during the fadeout ? Wow.
9) Live at Pompeii. Here one can actually see Wright performing while both he and Pink Floyd were at an absolute peak.
10) Dark Side of the Moon. In addition to the aforementioned highlights, his squishy wet wahwah and and echoed electric piano on Money. The can't tell where one line begins and where one one ends synthesizer solo on Any Colour You Like. The subtle silly/crazy synth solo at the end of Brain Damage. That little Hammond flourish at the juncture of the "run, rabbit run" lyric during Breathe...
11) The whole of Wish You Were Here. But especially the coda of Shine On You Crazy Diamond Part 8, where he starts with a jazzy vamp on electric piano, then layers on a funky bass line on clavinet that sounds straight from a 1970's cop show, and then topping the whole thing with a pitch wheel synthesizer line that by turns exudes euphoria and desperation. Then the whole thing does a gradual fade as Part 9 fades in with all its lugubrious anguish and closes the album.
12) The Twilight Zone-ish organ intro to Pigs (Three Different Ones), and the electric piano solo at the beginning of Sheep (from Animals)
13) His solo albums. For my money,Wet Dream and Broken China sound more like classic Pink Floyd than anything Waters, Gilmour or Barrett did on their own.
14) The early songs of his that feature his voice prominently, such as Paint Box, Remember a Day, and Summer 68.
So, there it is. I always got a thrill watching live footage of Pink Floyd. Wright always looked so thoughtful, as he constantly looked around at the others members of the band, making eye contact and looking about to make sure everything was being held together. During interviews, he had the same countenance: measuring his words very carefully and precisely, and looking every inch the classy, gentle Englishman that he was. My life would far less enriched without Pink Floyd. Their music opened up and accessed doors to jazz and other avant-rock music that I probably wouldn't have tried without their antecedent. So thank you to Roger, David, Nick, Syd, and to you, Richard Wright, for making the world a better place. You are missed.
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