THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON: 50 YEARS

Well, well. Here we are. 50 years of The Dark Side of the Moon. Crazy to think that David thinks we’ll buy a $300 re-issue packed with extra garbage (we 100% will), and that Roger is scrambling to release “his version” to get in on that action. So, what am I, the foremost Pink Floyd “expert” (on this site at least), going to do? Well, what I will NOT be doing is being one of the Floyd superfans that is intentionally contrarian and discredit this album, or insist it isn’t in their top five albums. What I will do, however, is review it, explore its themes and also tell you, that if you have not listened to this album in its entirety yet, then GO LISTEN TO IT RIGHT THIS SECOND (WITH DIRECTIONAL AUIDO) AND THEN come back here and  pick up where you left off. Got it? Good. 

I’ll be splitting this review into 2 parts: one focusing on its more “musical” qualities,  which will be mostly described using how the instruments feel, not the practices used, and the other talking about the album’s themes and motifs, ala my The Wall review. And, as a surprise bonus, I will discuss a super-secret third topic at the end! Hooray! 

THE MUSIC 

“Speak to Me” 

The heartbeat opens the song, looping, as is tradition, for the final song on the album to complete the loop. Themes of the album are quickly established, as well as references to future songs. “I’ve been mad for f*cking years,” the ticking of clocks, the cash register jingles, mad laughter, all mix as the song transitions to 

“Breathe (In the Air)” 

A scream of fear and madness drowns out the sound effects and dialogue before the sublime bass hits and instruments are introduced. The way the metallic-sounding guitar is strummed so languidly is designed to give you shivers each time. And the mysterious fifth instrument, which may be a different sort of guitar, is very vocal in its expressions, giving the song a dreamlike quality. The lyrics enter as languid as they sound, as breathy exhortation. But, as the lyrics turn from being about relaxation and freedom to the futility of existence, the dreamy vocal instrument fades, and is replaced by the main 4: drums, guitar, bass and keyboard. There is a brief retreat, before the song goes

“On the Run” 

The drums kick in, as a rhythmically oscillating synth noise escalates and de-escalates. There are the sounds of an airport: announcements, planes roaring by, gasping as you run to your gate. A man remarks that he’s “here for today, gone tomorrow” before laughing. These elements appear and return, before culminating into a crescendo that crashes the plane directly into the listener, before the man is again heard being “On the Run.” But now, ticking clocks fade in, for he is out of  

“Time” 

As the rumble of the plane crash fades, clocks tick, until a cacophony of ringing erupts for 15 seconds. A fast metronome is introduced, very appropriately, as well as a heartbeat. The first coordinated strum hits, more chills are delivered, and dry drums and piano fill the silence without removing the aspect of suspense while waiting for the next power chord. This pattern continues for 90 seconds, keeping you in suspense once more, until the drum hit delivers the first lyrics in the last five minutes. Gilmour’s guitar attacks and releases, in  opposition with Waters’ lyrics, which evokes a sense of weariness appropriate to the lyrics. The pain of straining against boredom and routine — looking at yourself and wondering where it all went wrong. Gilmour then launches into an equally evocative solo, properly mind-bending if I do say so myself. The female backing vocals add fantastically, as they will to the rest of this album. We return from the solo, the lyrics correctly much more desperate, exasperated, as the backing vocals cry in despair, before Waters gives up, as he “thought [he’d] something more to say.” Defeated, he returns home, resigned, as the instruments slow down with him, as he moves to  perform 

“The Great Gig in the Sky” 

Muted at first, then transitioning into a sort of rhythm that evokes being spun lazily in circles, Wright’s piano really comes through here. The dreamy instrument makes its return with Waters’ bassline, and a disconnected voice says, “I am not frightened of dying-anytime will do, I don’t mind.” As Mason hits his snare intro, the real star comes along, Clare Torry and her vocals, with no lyrics. An absolutely stunning performance; Torry delivers the vocal equivalent of a  thermonuclear bomb by wailing into the microphone for a minute, backed by a full band that does nothing but elevate her. Her energy spent, she and the song tone down, to smooth crooning, still with no words — Wright returning to his circling piano, and Waters his contemplative bass. As  Torry and Wright fade away, a line is heard saying “I never really was afraid of dying.” This ends the A side of the album, but the quality certainly doesn’t end there, because the first B side song is  

“Money”

Cash registers and the jingling of change open, spelling it out to the audience, establishing the beat before the iconic bassline drops. Arguably the most famous song to use a 7/4 time signature, it lends itself well to the group’s blues and jazz roots. The keyboard, drums and guitar take a backseat to the bass and lyrics, both performed by Waters. After the first chorus, it launches into a saxophone solo, performed flawlessly by Dick Perry. Just like “Great Gig,” the solo is supported by the others and delivers a similar performance of wailing with great power. The solo ends after a minute as the drums and guitar take over for another Gilmour solo.  Mason and Gilmour are in perfect sync, Mason delivering his some of his strongest work, and Gilmour bends the notes as if the neck of his guitar were rubber. The combined solo sections make up 3 minutes of song, and Waters fades out as various people chime in about their experiences, some citing differences between 

“Us and Them” 

The main 4 lay down a relaxed groove, and Perry brings his saxophone sailing by lazily here and there. Waters’ last word is repeated 8 times to the beat. And then, the dream turns into a nightmare, as Waters’ delivery adopts a tone of quiet screaming, and the backing vocals come in, harmonizing in agony. Then, a return to the easy tone, as Waters sings about opposites, before descending back to the music battlefield with the backup vocals. Wright chimes in with a minor piano solo, before Perry chimes in. Back to the war, still with Perry,  blurring the lines between dream and nightmare. The song makes its last stop in dreamland, with lyrics that immediately descend back to the battlefield, where Wright’s synth provides 

“Any Color You Like” 

Wright’s flowing synth is the shining star of the first minute, lulling the listener back into tranquility. Then Gilmour breaks back in with a dual-guitar performance, one for each ear. While the album has used directional audio before, it is most distinct here. The tracks rejoin, and with possibly the best transition in history, becomes 

“Brain Damage” 

The guitar fades into the background, serving as a constant companion to the chords, and a high voice occasionally breaking through. The vocals are at their most calm, and also most haunting. Mason’s simple, muted cymbal metronome gives way to a fantastic fill, where all the elements kick in — backup singers, keys, drums and guitar strings — before receding back to before. Now, the sound of sinister laughter echoes, before the return to climax. The lyrics fade, the song de-escalates, as the sinister laugher gives input before, finally,  

“Eclipse”

Wright’s organ trills as Waters gives it his breathiest performance yet, and the guitar and drums slowly build. A vocalist behind Waters emphasizes his words, calling back to “Great Gig.” As the final lyrics fade, “And the sun is eclipsed by the moon,” so does the song, reduced to a  heartbeat and one last line of dialogue: “There is no dark side of the moon, really. Matter of fact, it’s all dark,” before looping cleanly back into “Speak to Me.” 

THE THEMES 

So, now that you’ve listened to the album (right?) and you’ve read my review of its music, we’ll move onto the themes. The album deals with many themes, but as a whole it functions as a critique of modern society, both for the average person and for the band themselves. “Speak to Me,” as previously stated, functions as a preview to the themes in the album, but its focus is on the concept of “madness.” At the time, and even still today, people with mental disorders are ostracized from society. They are “othered” and often left to suffer and  die in mental institutions, instead of receiving treatment and compassion as fellow human beings. The first speaker points this out as hypocrisy, “ I’ve always been mad, I know I’ve been mad, like/ The most of us have….very hard to explain why you’re mad, even if you’re not mad.” Society decides who is “mad” and who is not, and people showing signs of deviation are immediately attacked for it. In “Breathe (In the Air),” they implore the audience to be real with themselves, as opposed to being a closed-off façade of “normality,” “don’t be afraid to care.” It then reminds them that, in the eyes of those who run the world, they are but a tool for production and nothing more, “When at last the work is done/ Don’t sit down, it’s time to dig another one.”  And that their experiences as humans are meaningless, “And all you touch and all you see/ Is all your life will ever be,” nothing but distractions before the grave. “Breathe” also reveals how the band feels about their treatment at the hands of the music industry. “Long you live and high you fly/ But only if you ride the tide,” clearly states that as long as they toe the line, they’ll be successful. “Balanced on the biggest wave/ You race towards an early grave,” but go too far and you’ll end up figuratively, or literally, dead, relating some feelings about how Syd, former bandmate, was chewed up and spat out, and self-destructed to the point of leaving the band. “On the Run” is almost explicitly personal for the band, relating to their collective fear of flying, and  hatred of dragging themselves across the country on tours. 

“Time” is one of the more thematically direct songs, discussing the futility of an existence driven by routine before wondering where it all went. “Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day/ Fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way,” a statement on how daily routine instills a sense of entrapment. “And then one day you find/ ten years have got behind you/ No one told you when to run/ You missed the starting gun.” You try to make up the time you lost, but can’t. “Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time.” The band adds a few lines for themselves “Or half a page of scribbled lines,” and “The time is gone, the song is  over/ Thought I’d something more to say,” the frustration of not being able to express your sentiments through music. And, in the end, you return to your routine, “Home, home again/I like to be here when I can,” as your time runs out and you (and the album) pass on to “The Great Gig in the Sky,” a very clear metaphor contained entirely within the name of a song with no lyrics. The speaking voices at each end of “Great Gig” talk about dying, so it’s very clearly a metaphor for death and the afterlife. But, despite Clare Torry’s vocals having no lyrics, it can still be analyzed. Her first minute of song evokes sensations of confusion and fear, terrified of what happens as one dies, their final thoughts as the life fades from them and they transition to what awaits beyond this mortal plane. Then, having made it to her final resting place, she and the song calm down, into a more mournful tone, regretting what her life was and what her life could have been. Altogether, it’s a bit of a memento mori, that life is limited, and you must take care to live life to its fullest. 

“Money” is, again, less subtle in its messaging. In general, it is calling out the crass consumerism that society had become at that point, and still is to this day (if not more so). The daily rat race of work, rest, paycheck, repeat. But what if you were rich?! Everyone always says, as does the song, that money is “the root of all evil today,” but people would still bow and scrape at the prospect of becoming wealthy. The band also used it to lampoon the music executives that they had, at that point, existed to serve. Although a more direct attack would wait until Wish You Were Here, their next album. “Us and Them” is a clear portrait of conflict, but not  necessarily limited to direct warfare. The lyrics are almost explicitly about war, “The general sat and the lines on the map/moved from side to side” comes to mind, but again, it’s not only about open warfare. It’s about artificial divides in society. Racial divides, class divides, gender divides — walls we construct and conflict we conduct between fellow humans for no logical reason, aside from the orders received from those above us in society. The band was also likely expressing a divide between themselves and fans, a theme repeated more directly in The Wall, how the band was “othered” and seen as above the fans in the fans’ eyes. “Any Color You Like” has little to analyze aside from title. Perhaps they are saying that after the conflicts of “Us and Them” get resolved, people can understand harmony, and they can choose any color of a person they like . All flavors of human: all races, all creeds, all sexualities, all genders, et cetera. 

“Brain Damage” maintains a constant metaphor of “the lunatic,” who progressively invades the protagonist’s space — going from in the yard, to in the hall, to in his head. The lunatic serves as synecdoche for a mental illness progressing, invading your life, taking it over. And then, when the protagonist finally seeks treatment, having the doctor “rearrange me ‘till I’m sane,” something goes wrong. The “sane” that the doctor has changed the protagonist to is not who they really are, but likely a picture of conformity. Now, they are trapped: “You lock the door/ And throw away the key/ There’s someone in my head, but it’s not me.” Perhaps it says that a singular image of mental conformity is not ideal, and that some deviances should not be corrected. More personal to the band, this seems like a minor tribute to Syd, especially with the line, “And if the band you’re in starts playing different tunes/ I’ll see you on the dark side of the  moon,” as they effectively kicked him out of the band due to his declining mental state (brain damage). The final song, “Eclipse,” is made up of a list of everything in one’s life — past, present and future — “And all that is now/ And all that is gone/,And all that’s to come.” The song then goes on to say that “Everything under the sun is in tune/ But the sun is eclipsed by the moon.” The statement is rather straightforward, if a bit obscure. Things in life all remain in delicate balance, until the end, which quickly starts a new cycle, much like how the song loops back to the start of the album. And then, in a twist before the end, a speaking voice says “There is no dark side of  the moon, really. Matter of fact, it’s all dark.” Which caps off the theme of madness, saying that we are all the same, and the divide between “normal” and “mad” is fake.  

THE SUPER-SECRET BONUS THIRD TOPIC 

Now that we’ve made it here, I’ll reveal what you’ve all been waiting for. You may have heard some rumors and rumblings here and there that DSOTM syncs up to a particular movie rather well. Well, I’m here to say that those rumors are absolutely true! …What? The Wizard of  Oz? What are you talking about? No! I’m talking about the cinematic masterpiece Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2! You lot must be a bunch of cultural philistines! 

In (some) seriousness, I know of the “Dark Side of the Rainbow” theory, and it’s been attested to be true. Not by me, though. I did it with Kevin James’ comedic work of Blart. And it works surprisingly well. It wasn’t my own idea, granted, but a suggestion from Griffin McElroy, from a podcast he co-hosts called Till Death Do Us Blart, where he and four other podcasters (two of them his brothers) watch Paul Blart: Mall Cop 2 every American Thanksgiving and discuss it, until the end of time (don’t ask). This idea in particular comes from the 2017 episode, so listen to it if you want a more complete explanation, but there is much lore within the podcast by that point, so you might have to start from the first episode. Or, you could watch a YouTube supercut of the high moments (with movie clips) in a video entitled “BLART Side of the  MALL.” Now, if you want to experiment with this yourself, read no further than this paragraph, because I will be describing the best moments of synchronicity, plus there are some tips I will give. One: start the soundtrack at precisely 38 seconds into the film, when the drums kick in and the close-up badge appears to reveal the title. Also, make sure it’s on loop, since the album is only half the length of the movie. Two: gather some compatriots to watch it with. The high notes of sync are often surrounded by a few minutes of downtime, so make sure you have people to dunk on the movie with by your side. Three: turn on the subtitles, so you don’t lose the dialogue that may be important to appreciate the sync. 

Onto the best moments, then. The movie begins with Paul’s life falling apart, set to  “Speak to Me” and “Breathe (In the Air),” very thematically appropriate, which culminates in his mom getting run over by a milk truck the MOMENT the lyrics kick in for the first time. He and his daughter travel to Las Vegas for a security convention, set, again ingeniously, to “On the  Run.” Later, he tests out an experimental Segway, performing an intimate dance on it set to the vocal parts of “The Great Gig in the Sky.” Paul and his compatriot security guards shop at a gear expo, to the tune of “Money.” And, in another moment of mind-blowing accuracy, Paul’s rival, Eduardo, picks up a bean-bag launcher and fires 4 shots in perfect timing to the descending guitar notes that happen towards the end of the song. The movie continues, and as Paul tries to hype himself up to give a keynote speech, he begins to hyperventilate, and steps into a serenity garden just as “Brain Damage” begins, where, of course, the lyrics “The lunatic is on the grass” appear as Paul calms himself. Then, a large bird in the garden begins a furious salvo of attacks on him as the song picks up the pace. After escaping that, Paul goes to the stage and delivers a  powerful speech as “Eclipse” backs him with a triumphant air, before Paul realizes his daughter Maya is missing with the line “and the sun is eclipsed by the moon,” and his daughter stumbles upon the villains of the movie and is captured as the threatening heartbeats loop the album. 

Paul, having a cartoonish version of hypoglycemia, collapses from low blood sugar in the middle of searching for his daughter, and has to crawl to a dripping ice cream cone as “On the Run” plays, mirroring his desperate scramble very well. “The Great Gig in the Sky” delivers  again, this time supplying a background to Paul evading a man with a gun by running onstage to a serene Cirque-de-Soleil-esque performance and trying to fit in. By the time he has escaped his  pursuer and prepares to take on the criminals, he goes back to the gear showcase, and, naturally, “Money” is playing as he gears up. He even takes a super-Segway prototype, and he’s seen cruising through the hotel while the spoken lines “I certainly was in the race” and “He was cruisin’ for a bruisin’” are heard, because of course they are. He defeats the villains and, as  Eduardo’s girlfriend professes his love to him and the movie ends, it fades out, of course, with  “Eclipse,” another triumphant scoring. 

THE END 

There you have it. Not only do you have a review of its music and an understanding of its themes, but you also have a treasurable viewing experience of an otherwise garbage movie. And that’s all for me here folks. I’ll admit, I slammed this out in a couple days, because I thought the  release date was around March 24th, when the anniversary bundle releases, but I guess not! My bad! Anyway, thanks for reading, and keep rocking, you crazy diamonds.