Is This the Life We Really Want?

Produceret og mixet af Nigel Godrich
Udgivet 2017
Optaget i United Recording, Five Star Recording, Electric Lady Studios og Wack Formula Studio

Jeg er kun lige begyndt på denne side, så indtil videre, er der kun en del af teksterne. Resten kommer snarest

Vi kan da starte med at konstatere at det er Roger Waters' første rockalbum siden Amused to Death fra 1992. Altså 25 år.
Her er det så også meget vigtigt at huske, at han rent faktisk har udgivet ny musik i mellemtiden. Problemet er bare at det ikke er et rock album, men opera og så tæller det ikke - i manges verden. Og så tæller det jo nok alligevel for en hel masse i Roger Waters egen verden. Jeg bilder mig selv ind, at man kan høre det. Jeg kunne tage fejl, og måske i virkeligheden er det man kan høre bare, at han har passeret de 70 år. Nu må du ikke tage det her som negativ kritik. Et i de kredse rost opera-album og det at manden ikke længere er 25 år, har indflydelse på hvem han er, og dermed hvilken musik han laver.

Noget der bestemt har en del indflydelse på pladen, er den for Waters nye producer Nigel Godrich. Han havde været med ind over med filmen "The Wall Live", men ellers er Godrich ikke en Waters eller Pink Floyd har arbejdet sammen med.

"The idea was to give him a reboot in the same way The Force Awakens gave Star Wars back to the fans"

Udtaler Nigel Godrich. Han er kendt som Radioheads producer, men har også produceret for Paul McCartney ( Chaos and Creation in the Backyard 2005 )og arbejdet med REM (UP 1998).
I følge Godrich er det også ham der har introduceret Jonthan Wilson for Waters... og trommeslageren og bassisten der også medvirker på pladen her.
Det lader til at Godrich har udfordret Waters en del gennem diskussioner, om hvor pladen skulle hen. Oprindeligt lader det til at Waters havde planer om at tage en del af det materiale med, som han har haft liggende, men det kom ikke med - Godrich igen. Det er selvfølgelig Godrich version af historien. Hvad siger Waters?

Half of it is on the cutting room floor at the moment - it didn't fit Nigel's image of what this album was going to be like. So I've acquiesced to it not being on the record - I almost feel like saying. "Somewhat against my better judgement." And it is. But so is a lot else. I'm not being disparaging. I think what Nigel has done on this record is really, really good. Something I could never have done in a million years because we're different people and we come from different diciplines

(Hov. Fik jeg nævnt at Godrich lavede en såkaldt "cameo" som en Stormtrooper i lige netop dén Star Wars film han omtaler?)

When we were young
When we were young
When we were young When we were young, we could piss up the boys boat wall
A black expanse of pitch, or tar, or whatever it was
It doesn't matter much anymore
And tussles with the girls before the advent of pubescent awe and confusion
Knickers thick, pasty in the roar of adolescence's dawn
How innocent and cruel
Ran the gauntlet of first stirrings in the changing rooms of May
Where are you now? Don't answer that
I’m still ugly
You’re still fat
I’ve still got spots
I’m still afraid
Our parents made us what we are
Or was it God?
Who gives a fuck, it’s never really over

Our parrents made us what we are, or was it God? Who

If I had been God
I would have rearranged the veins in the face
to make them more resistant to alcohol
and less prone to aging
If I had been God
I would have sired many sons
and I would not have suffered the Romans to kill even one of them

If I had been God
With my staff and my rod
If I had been given the nod
I believe I could have done a better job

And if I were a drone
Patrolling foreign skies
With my electronic eyes for guidance
And the element of surprise
I would be afraid to find someone home
Maybe a woman at a stove
Baking bread, making rice,
or just boiling down some bones
If I were a drone

The temple's in ruins
The bankers get fat
The buffalo's gone
And the mountain top's flat
The trout in the streams are all hermaphrodites
You lean to the left but you vote to the right
And it feels like déjà vu
The sun goes down and I'm still missing you
Counting the cost of a love that got lost
And under my Gulf Stream, in circular pools
There's ninety-nine cents' worth of drunkards and fools

"And it's also the end of broadcasting for Thursday, the end of broadcasting for 1970"
[?]
"Southwesterly, six to gale eight. Occasionally, severe gale nine"
"At the third stroke, it will be 11:24 and 50 seconds"
"At the third stroke, it will be 11:25, precisely"
"This is the British Broadcasting Corporation"
"At the third stroke it will be 8:57, precisely"
"[?] southwesterly, 4 or 5, otherwise variable [?] northerly in the southeast"
"A happy new year to you all"
"At the third stroke, it will be 11:25, precisely"
"Goodnight, everyone"

Lie with me now
Under lemon tree skies
Show me the shy, slow smile you keep hidden
By warm brown eyes
Catch the sweet hover of lips just barely apart
And wonder at loves sweet ache
And the wild beat of my heart
Oh, rhapsody tearing me apart

And I dreamed I was saying goodbye to my child
She was taking a last look at the sea
Wading through dreams
up to our knees in warm ocean swells
While bathing belles, soft beneath
Hard bitten shells punch their iPhones
Erasing the numbers of redundant lovers
And search the horizon
And you'll find my child
Down by the shore
Digging around for a chain or a bone
Searching the sand for a relic washed up by the sea
The last refugee

Picture yourself as you lean on the port rail
Tossing away your last cigarette
Picture your finger pushing the doorbell
Picture the skull and crossbones on the doormat
Picture yourself on the streets of Laredo
Picture the casbah, picture Japan
Picture your kid with his hand on the trigger
Picture prosthetics in Afghanistan
Picture a courthouse with no fucking laws
Picture a cathouse with no fucking whores
Picture a shithouse with no fucking drains
Picture a leader with no fucking brains

Follow me filming myself at the show
On a phone from a seat in the very front row
Follow Miss Universe catching some rays
Wish You Were Here in Guantanamo Bay
Picture a seat on a private plane
Picture your feet nailed to the floor
Picture a crew who are clearly insane
Picture no windows, picture no doors
Glued to a screen in the state of Nevada
To follow the dream gets harder and harder

Picture her wrapping a gift for the wedding
Picture her boiling the water for tea
Picture the kids climbing into the backseat
Picture my hand turning the key

Oh, picture that

Picture the dog in the pickup ahead
Picture the tree at the side of the road
Picture my hands growing steadily colder

Follow me down to a place by the river
Sold for my kidneys, sold for my liver
Why so weedy, so fucking needy
There’s no such thing as being too greedy

Sometimes I stare at the night sky
See them stars a billion light years away
And it makes me feel small like a bug on a wall
Who gives a shit anyway?
Who gives a shit anyway?

When World War II was over
Though the slate was never wiped clean
We could have picked over them broken bones
We could have been free
But we chose to adhere to abundance
We chose the American Dream
And oh mistress liberty
How we abandoned thee
How we abandoned thee
And oh Mistress Liberty
How we abandoned thee

Could have been born in Shreveport
Or he could have born in Tehran
It don't much matter wherever you're born
Little babies mean us no harm
They have to be taught to despise us
To bulldoze our homes to the ground
To believe that their fight is for liberty
To believe that their God will keep them safe and sound
Safe and sound
Safe and sound

We cannot turn back the clock
Cannot go back in time
But we can say "fuck you"
We will not listen to
Your bullshit and lies
Your bullshit and lies

So, as an example, your CNN
I mean it's story, after story, after story is bad
I won it, I won
And the other thing, chaos, there's zero chaos
We are running, this is a fine-tuned mach

The goose has gotten fat
On caviar in fancy bars
And subprime loans
And broken homes
Is this the life, the holy grail?
It's not enough that we succeed
We still need others to fail

Fear, fear drives the mills of modern man
Fear keeps us all in line
Fear of all those foreigners
Fear of all their crimes
Is this the life we really want?
It surely must be so
For this is a democracy and what we all say goes

And every time a student is run over by a tank
And every time a pirate's dog is forced to walk the plank
Every time a Russian bride is advertised for sale
And every time a journalist is left to rot in jail
Every time a young girl's life is casually spent
And every time a nincompoop becomes the president
Every time somebody dies reaching for their keys
And every time that Greenland falls in the fucking sea it's because
All of us, the blacks and whites
Chicanos, Asians, every type of ethnic group
Even folks from Guadeloupe, the old, the young
Toothless hags, super models, actors, fags, bleeding hearts
Football stars, men in bars, washerwomen, tailors, tarts
Grandmas, grandpas, uncles, aunts
Friends, relations, homeless tramps
Clerics, truckers, cleaning ladies
Ants, maybe not ants
Why not ants?
Well because it's true
The ants don't have enough IQ to differentiate between
The pain that other people feel
And well, for instance, cutting leaves
Or crawling across windowsills in search of open treacle tins
So, like the ants, are we just dumb?
Is that why we don't feel or see?
Or are we all just numbed out on reality TV?

So, every time the curtain falls
Every time the curtain falls on some forgotten life
It is because we all stood by, silent and indifferent
It's normal

We're sorry. The number You have dialed cannot be reached.
The time according to Your telephone compagny is
In a few moments You will hear Big Ben ringing out the old year

Are you blowing like a bird in a gale?
Does the pain of your loss
seep into your feathers like rain?
Do the bars of your cage feel warm or cold to the touch?
Were my caresses too gentle?
Did I love you too much?

Your dog is scratching at the door
The boy is drowning in the sea
Can I crash out on your floor?

The loon is howling at the sea
Can I crash out on your floor?
Is there room in the story for me?

She may well have been
The most beautiful girl in the world
Her life snuffed out
Like a bulldozer crushing a pearl

The secret committee
Deep in its lair
Conveniently far
From the cold desert air
Puts a tick in a box
Turns the key in a lock
To loosen the bonds in her hair

Sleep if you can
Wrapped safe in your cloak
The tumbledown twilight
Havana smoke
Caught in your throat
Mistress Liberty's dance
Held you in its trance
Her bosoms were loaded with nectar and lances
"Well, boys," she said
"You have broken the trust
Hold on to that stick if you must."

Take a fresh grip
On the crucible rune
The patchwork of ashes
Sweeps away love like a broom
Madness comes down
Like the crackpot of ages
The raging of angels
Cathedral of stars
Christopher Robin says
"Alice, go home now
They're no longer changing the guard"

"Hold on," she said
"You're breaking my heart."
It's weird how the steel rails
Disappear into the dark
They clung to the ivory tower on her braids
They were never afraid of falling
But the bomb hit the spot where the numbers all stop
And the last thing they heard was her calling...

"Home"
"I'm coming home"
"I'm the life that you gave"
"I'm the children you saved"
"I'm the promise you made"
"I'm the woman you crave"
So hold on
I'm comming home
So hold on
I'm comming home

There's a mad dog pulling at his chain
A hint of danger in his eye
Alarm bells raging 'round his brain
And a chimney smoking in the sky

Wake up
Wake up and smell the roses
Close your eyes and pray this wind don't change
There's nothing but screams in the field of dreams
Nothing but hope at the end of the rope
Nothing but gold in the chimney smoke
Come on honey it's real money

This is the room where they make the explosives
Where they put your name on the bomb
Here's where they bury the buts and the ifs
And scratch out words like right and wrong

Wake up
Wake up and smell the phosphorus
This is the room we keep the human hair
Don't ask, don't tell, it could mean a loss for us
Yeah, a little less cash in the stash
In the cupboard at the bottom of the stair
Money, honey

Wake up
Wake up and smell the bacon
Run your greasy fingers through her hair
This is the life that you have taken

Just a line in the captain's log
Just a whine from a rescue dog
Another kid didn't make the grade
Come on honey it's a fair trade

Wake up
Wake up and smell the roses
Throw a photo on the funeral pyre
Yeah, now we can forget the threat she poses
Girl you know you couldn't get much higher

With a glass inlaid with gemstones
On a pool around the evening
Among the perfumed roses
Wait for her

With the patience of a packhorse
Loaded for the mountains
Like a stoic, noble prince
Wait for her

With seven pillows laid out on the stair
The scent of womens' incense fills the air
Be calm, and wait for her

And do not flush the sparrows
That are nesting in her braids
All along the barricades
Wait for her

And if she comes soon
Wait for her
And if she comes late
Wait

Let her be still as a summer afternoon
A garden in full bloom

Let her breathe in the air
That is foreign to her heart
Let her lips part
Wait for her

Take her to the balcony, see the moon soaked in milk
Hear the rustle of her silk
Wait for her

Don't let your eyes alight upon the twin doves of her breast
Lest they take flight
Wait for her

And if she comes soon
Wait for her
And if she comes late
Wait

Serve her water before wine
Do not touch her hand
Let your fingertips rest at her command

Speak softly as a flute would to a fearful violin
Breathe out, breathe in

And as the echo fades from that final fusillade
Remember the promises you made

She was always here in my heart
Always the love of my life
We were strangers, oceans apart
But when I laid eyes upon her
A part of me died

The part that is envious
Cold hearted and devious
Greedy, mischievous
Global, colonial
Bloodthirsty, blind
Mindless and cheap
Focused on borders
And slaughter and sheep
Burning of books
Bulldozing of homes
Given to targeted killing
With drones
Lethal injections
Arrest without trial

Monocular vision
Gangrene and slime
Unction, sarcasm
Common assault
Self-satisfied heroic killers
Lifted on high

Piracy adverts, acid attacks
On women by bullies and perverts and hacks
The rigging of ballots and the buying of power
Lies from the pulpit
Rape in the shower
Mute, indifferent
Feeling no shame

Portly, important
Leering, deranged

Sat in the corner watching TV
Deaf to the cries of children in pain

Dead to the world
Just watching the game

Watching endless repeats -
Out of sight, out of mind
Silence, indifference:
The ultimate crime

But when I met you, that part of me died

Bring me a bowl
To bathe her feet in
Bring me my final cigarette

It would be better by far to die in her arms
Than to linger
In a lifetime of regret