Pink Floyd - The Final Cut

Udgivet: 21. Marts 1983
Indspillet: juli til December 1982
Producert af Roger Waters, James Guthrie, og Michael Kamen
Pladeselskab: Harvest
Total Spilletid: 43'14
Medvirkende musikere: Michael Kamen - piano,harmonika, Andy Brown - orgel, Ray Cooper - percussion, Raphael Ravenscroft - tenor sax, Andy Newmark, trommer på "Two Suns In The Sunset", The National Philharmonic Orchestra(!)

Titlen "The Final Cut" kan oversættes / forklares på flere måder. For det første kan det hentyde til en filmproduktion, hvor The Final Cut er den færdige film - altså klippet færdigt. Og her var alle de rester Waters egentlig gerne ville have haft med på monsterprojektet "The Wall", men af flere grunde udelod. Med sin Final Cut fik han så det hele med.
På sangen "The Final Cut" har det en helt anden betydning, da der her tales om at holde bladet i rystende hænder og at ikke have modet til at tage the final cut.
Der er også en tredie tolkning, der går på at det her var fra Waters side tænkt som det sidste Pink Floyd album. Altså den sidste skæring, da det her er tilbage i vinylpladernes tid.

Den oprindelige arbejdstitel på denne plade var "Spare Bricks". Altså "mursten" der var tilovers fra "The Wall" projektet. Det ændrede sig under arbejdet med pladen og den fik sit eget liv og handlede i højere grad om Falklandskrigen eller krig generelt.
Jeg havde i mange år svært ved at se denne sammenhæng mellem "The Wall" og "The Final Cut" men al tvivl blev udvisket da man i 2004 besluttede sig til at genudgive "The Final Cut", med den lille ændring at nummeret "When the Tigers Broke Free" nu var med, der som bekendt er fra filmen "The Wall". Det eneste andet sted dét nummer er udgivet, er på single og på opsamlingspladen Echoes.
På bagsiden af singlen står der : "Taken from the album The Final Cut" hvilket i næsten tyve år var noget vrøvl - nu ikke længere !
Dog er der ikke, som jeg altid har troet, en fejl at man havde skrevet det. Det var faktisk Waters mening at nummeret skulle have været med på The Final Cut allerede dengang i 1983.
Personligt synes jeg at det er noget tyndt at genudgive en plade bare for det ene nummers skyld. Bevares, det siges at lyden er "shinnet op" men det korte af det lange er at pladen aldrig har været den helt store salgssuccess for Pink Floyd. Pladen er lavet sådan i 1983 og dét nummer hører ikke til på den plade. Det er et rigtigt fedt nummer, men det hører til på "The Wall" !! derfor vil du heller ikke finde teksterne til nummeret her. (Du kan finde dem her )

Gilmour har i et interview sagt, at dengang Floyd skulle vælge numre til Echoes, valgte Waters næsten alle numrene fra The Final Cut. Det lavede de andre tre så om, men det tyder på at Waters er ret vild med denne plade. Og dét ikke uden grund. Det er en poetisk og musikalsk lille perle.

Alle sangene på The Final Cut er skrevet af Roger Waters, og han synger næsten alle sangene på albumet (Gilmour er med på Not Now John).
Han har da også dedikeret albumet til sin døde far, Eric Fletcer Waters, der jo døde i Italien 1944, da The Royal Fusilieres Compagny C, skulle holde Anzio brohovedet.
Hvor jeg ved det fra ? Fra netop det "nye nummer" : When the Tigers Broke Free.

I mange år var kun tre af sangene blevet opført live (Not Now John, Get Your Filthy Hands off My Dessert og The Gunners Dream). Det lavede Waters om på i 2006 med sin solo-tour, hvor i hvert fald to andre numre blev spillet, nemlig Southhampton Dock og The Fletcher Memorial Home. Ved en enkelt koncert spillede han også The Gunners Dream igen.

Angående nummeret Not Now John, kan det nævnes der er to udgaver af teksterne. Den ene er som du kan se længere nede på denne side og så er der den pæne version, hvor "Fuck" er skiftet ud med "Stuff". Den pæne version har jeg kun hørt et sted, og det var på en 8" vinyludgave, men den findes sikkert andre steder i dag.

Der var utroligt meget splid mellem medlemmene i Floyd da de indspillede The Final Cut, og Roger Waters har senere sagt at Pink Floyd egentlig ikke var et band længere da de indspillede The Final Cut. Derfor var det, som før nævnt også Waters idé at fortsætte Floyd uden resten af medlemerne. Læg mærke til at Wright ikke er med på denne plade overhovedet - ham havde Waters som bekendt sparket ud.

Roger Waters var som sædvanlig meget misfornøjet med hans sangstemme på The Final Cut. Det er ikke noget nyt med ham Waters, men jeg har en musikvideo med fire numre fra pladen. (The Gunners Dream, The Final Cut, Not Now John og The Fletcher Memorial)
Hér er noget Waters kan være misfornøjet med - den er elendig!
Så den engang på Youtube men kan ikke lige finde den i dag. Søg selv og det vil se hvad jeg mener

Coveret til The Final Cut forestiller et udsnit af en uniform med medaljer. Det har nu altid i mine øjne bare ligenet en sort baggrund, men med 2011 Discovery udgivelserne, kan man tydeligere se at det er en uniform. Se billedet her til højre, sammenlignet med billedet i toppen af siden.
Medaljerne er alle fra 2.verdenskrig:
Den nederst til højre, gul-grøn baggrund med sort og rød stribe, er en "Defence Medal" der gives for 3 års tjeneste.
Den i midten med guld baggrund og sort, rød og blå striber er en "Africa Star" for tjeneste under de Nordafrianske kampe.
Den længest til venstre, blå med en rød stribe, er en "1939/45 Star" for mindst 6 måneders tjeneste mellem 1939 and 1945.
Den øverst til højre med lilla og hvide diagonale striber er "The Distinguished Flying Cross", "for acts of courage, valour or devotion to duty while flying." Oversat bliver det vel til noget som "for heltmodige handlinger, hæder og tjensteligt engagement under flyvning".Den gives kun til officerer.
(I følge en hvis Scott Plumer på www.allfloyd.com - siden findes ikke mere)

Under optagleserne af The Final Cut blev en speciel dekodnings teknink brugt som skule give lyden en 3D effekt. Denne dekodning kaldes "holophonics".
Senere blev teknikken afløst af Q-sound som Waters brugte på "Amused to Death" og man er vist siden gået over til andre teknikker.

I nummeret "The Gunners Dream" er der en strofe som lyder "And maniacs don't blow holes in bandsmen by remote control". Dette hentyder til noget der skete i 1982 da "The Royal Green Jackets" havde en koncert i Regent's Park og en bombe plantet af IRA dræbte 6 og sårede 28 af medlemmerne i "The Royal Green Jackets".

Læg mærke til stavningen af titlen på nummeret "Get Your Filthy Hands off my Desert".
Det er oversat til dansk "Få dine beskidte fingre fra min dessert." Dét der bliver sagt/råbt i starten af nummeret er mig bekendt "Get you fithy hands off my dessert" altså "Få dine beskidte hænder fra min ørken." På engelsk er der kun et "s" til forskel i stavningen men en verden til forskel i betydningen. Og det er ikke en trykfejl. Der hentydes til linien "and Maggie over lunch one day, took a cruiser with all hands.." Hvilket var hvad der skete i virkeligheden. Margareth Thatcher tog beslutningen om at erklære Argentina krig ved en kabinetfrokost !

"...announced plans to build a nuclear fallout shelter at Peterborough
in Cambridgeshire..."

"...three high court judges have cleared the way..."

"...It was announced today, that the replacement for the Atlantic
Conveyor the container ship lost in the Falklands conflict would be
built in Japan, a spokesman for..."

"...moving in. They say the third world countries, like Bolivia, which
produce the drug are suffering from rising violence..."

Tell me true, tell me why, was Jesus crucified
Was it for this that Daddy died?
Was it for you? Was it me?
Did I watch too much T.V.?
Is that a hint of accusation in your eyes?
If it wasn't for the nips
Being so good at building ships
The yards would still be open on the clyde.
And it can't be much fun for them
Beneath the rising sun
With all their kids committing suicide.
What have we done, Maggie what have we done?
What have we done to England?
Should we shout, should we scream
"What happened to the post war dream?"
Oh Maggie, Maggie what did we do ?

They flutter behind you your possible pasts,
Some brighteyed and crazy, some frightened and lost.
A warning to anyone still in command

Of their possible future, to take care.
In derelict sidings the poppies entwine
With cattle trucks lying in wait for the next time.

Do you remember me? How we used to be?
Do you think we shoud be closer?

She stood in the doorway, the ghost of a smile
Haunting her face like a cheap hotel sign.
Her cold eyes imploring the men in their macs
For the gold in their bags or the knives in their backs.
Stepping up boldly one put out his hand.
He said, "I was just a child then, now I'm only a man."

Do you remember me? How we used to be?
Do you think we should be closer?

By the cold and religious we were taken in hand
Shown how to feel good and told to feel bad.
Strung out behind us the banners and flags
Of our possible pasts lie in tatters and rags.

Do you remember me? How we used to be?
Do you think we should be closer?

When you're one of the few to land on your feet
What do you do to make ends meet?

Make them mad, make them sad, make them add two and two.
Make them me, make them you, make them do what you want them to.
Make them laugh, make them cry, make them lie down and die.

Jesus, Jesus, what's it all about?
Trying to clout these little ingrates into shape.
When I was their age all the lights went out.
There was no time to whine or mope about.
And even now part of me flies over
Dresden at angels one five.
Though they'll never fathom it begind my
Sarcasm desperate memories lie.

Sweetheart sweetheart are you fast asleep? Good.
'Cause that's the only time that I can really speak to you.
And there is something that I've locked away
A memory that is too painful
To withstand the light of day.

When we came back from the war the banners and
Flags hung on everyone's door.
We danced and we sang in the street and
the church bells rang.
But burning in my heart
My memory smoulders on
of the gunners dying words on the intercom.

Floating down
through the clouds
Memories come rushing up to meet me now.
But in the space between the heavens
and the corner of some foreigh field
I had a dream.
I had a dream.
Goodbye Max.
Goodbye Ma.
After the service when you're walking slowly to the car
And the silver in her hair shines in the cold november air
You hear the tolling bell
And touch the silk in your lapel
And as the tear drops rise to meet the comfort of the band
You take her frail hand
And hold on to the dream.

Somewhere old heroes shuffle safely down the street
Where you can speak out loud
About your doubts and fears
And whats more no-one ever disappears
You never hear their standard issue kicking in your door.
You can relax on both sides of the tracks
And maniacs don't blow holes in bandsmen by remote control
And everyone has recourse to the law
And no-one kills the children anymore.
And no one kills the children anymore.

Night after night
Going round and round my brain
His dream is driving me insane.
In the corner of some foreign field
The gunner sleeps tonight.
What's done is done.
We cannot just write off his final scene.
Take heed of his dream.
Take heed.

Button your lip and don't let the shield slip.
Take a fresh grip on your bullet proof mask.
And if they try to break down your disguise with their questions

You can hide, hide, hide,
Behind paranoid eyes.

You put on our brave face and slip over the road for a jar.
Fixing your grin as you casually lean on the bar,
Laughing too loud at the rest of the world
With the boys in the crowd
You can hide, hide, hide

You believed in their stories of fame, fortune and glory.
Now you're lost in a haze of alchohol soft middle age
The pie in the sky turned out to be miles too high.
And you hide, hide, hide,

Brezhnev took Afghanistan.
Begin took Beirut.
Galtieri took the Union Jack.
And Maggie, over lunch one day,
Took a cruiser with all hands.
Apparently, to make him give it back

Take all your overgrown infants away somewhere
And build them a home, a little place of their own.
The Fletcher Memorial
Home for Incurable Tyrants and Kings.

And they can appear to themselves every day
On closed circuit T.V.
To make sure they're still real.
It's the only connection they feel.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, Reagan and Haig,
Mr. Begin and friend
Mrs. Thatcher, and Paisly

Mr. Brezhnev and party.
The ghost of McCarthy,
The memories of Nixon.

And now, adding color,

a group of anonymous latin-American Meat packing glitterati.

Did they expect us to treat them with any respect?

They can polish their medals and sharpen their smiles
and amuse themselves playing games for awhile.
Boom boom, bang bang, lie down you're dead.

Safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eye
With their favorite toy
They'll be good girls and boys
In the Fletcher Memorial Home for colonial wasters of life and limb.

Is everyone in?
Are you having a nice time?

They disembarked in 45
And no-one spoke and no-one smiled
There were to many spaces in the line.
Gathered at the cenotaph
All agreed with hand on heart
to sheath the sacrificial Knifes

But now
She stands upon Southampton dock
With her handkerchief
and her summer frock clings
to her wet body in the rain.
In quiet desperation knuckles
White upon the slippery reins
She bravely waves the boys goodbye again.

And still the dark stain spreads between their shoulder blades.

A mute reminder of the poppy fields and graves.
When the fight was over
We spent what they had made.
But in the bottom of our hearts
We felt the final cut.

Through the fish-eyed lens of tear stained eyes
I can barely define the shape of this moment in time
And far from flying high in clear blue skies
I'm sprialling down to the hole in the ground where I hide.

If you negotiate the minefield in the drive
and beat the dogs and cheat the cold electronic eyes
and if you make it past the shotgun in the hall,
Dial the combination, open the priesthole
and if I'm in I'll tell you (what's behind the wall.)

There's a kid who had a big hallucination
Making love to girls in magazines.
He wonders if you're sleeping with your new found faith.
Could anybody love him
Or is it just a crazy dream?

And if I show you my dark side
Will you still hold me tonight?
And if I open my heart to you
And show you my weak side
What would you do?
Would you sell your story to Rolling Stone?
Would you take the children away
And leave me alone?
and smile in reassurance
as you whisper down the phone?
Would you send me packing?
Or would you take me home?

Thought I oughta bare my naked feelings,
Thought I oughta tear the curtain down.
I held the blade in trembling hands
Prepared to make it but just then the phone rang
I never had the nerve to make the final cut.

Fuck all that we've got to get on with these
Gotta compete with the wily Japanese.
There's too many home fires burning
And not enough trees.
So fuck all that
We've go to get on with these.

Can't stop
Lose job
Mind gone
Silicon
Strop on
What bomb
Get away
Pay day
Make hay
Break down
Need fix
Big six
Clickity click
Hold on
Oh no
Bingo!

Make 'em laugh.
Make 'em cry.
Make 'em dance in the aisles.
Make 'em pay.
Make 'em stay.
Make'em feel ok.

Not now John
We've got to get on with the film show.
Hollywood waits at the end of the rainbow.
Who cares what it's about
As long as the kids go?
So not now John
we've got to get on with the show.

Hang on John I've got to get on with this.
I don't know what it is
But it fits on here like....
Come at the end of the shift
We'll go and get pissed.
But now now John
I've got to get on with this.

Hold on John
I think there's something good on.
I used to read books but.....
It could be the news
Or some other amusement
Or it could be reusable shows.

Got to bring the Russian Bear to his knees.
Well, maybe not the Russian Bear
Maybe the Swedes.
We showed Argentina
Now let's go and show these.
Make us feel tough
And wouldn't Maggie be pleased?
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah!
One, two, three, four

In my rear view mirror the sun is going down
Sinking behind bridges in the road
And I think of all the good things
That we have left undone
And I suffer premonitions
Confirm suspicions
Of the holocaust to come.

The wire that holds the cork
That keeps the anger in
Gives way
And suddenly it's day again.
The sun is in the east
Even though the day is done.
Two suns in the sunset
Hmmmmmmmmmm
Could be the human race is run.

Like the moment when the brakes lock
And you slied towards the big truck

You stretch the frozen moments with your fear.
And you'll never hear their voices

And you'll never see their faces
You have no recourse to the law anymore.

And as the windshield melts
My tears eveaporate
Leaving only charcoal to defend.
Finally I understand the feelings of the few.
Ashes and diamonds
Foe and friend
We were all equal in the end.

"...and now the weather. Tomorrow will be cloudy with
scattered showers spreading from the east ...
with an expected high of 4000 degrees celsius..."

The Final Cut

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