Original image of Roger Waters concert by There Stands the Glass.
I’d never been to a Pink Floyd or Roger Waters concert prior to Saturday, September 3. There’s a perfectly good reason for my neglect: I never acquired a taste for the musicians’ post-Syd Barrett form of grandiose art-rock.
Yet the combination of Waters’ age- he was three days shy of 79 on Saturday- and a bargain price of $22 for seats in the upper rafters of the T-Mobile Center- compelled me to give in. I spent portions of the night wishing I wasn’t there.
Not even the crystal-clear contributions of jazz saxophonist Seamus Blake and drummer-to-the-stars Joey Waronker in the immaculate sound field could alter my assessments of songs from Dark Side of the Moon and The Wall I’ve always disliked.
Much of the audience of about 10,000 consisted of the same people who attend home games of the Kansas City Chiefs. But marijuana smoke rather than beer vendors filled the aisles. And instead of football, fans took in a torrent of Bernie Bro screeds.
The laundry list of demands and grievances displayed on the massive video array quickly became tiresome. I may agree with sentiments including “Yemeni rights” and “free Julian Assange,” but relentless hectoring is always a drag. Yet Waters had the last laugh.
Presumably inspired by Saturday’s rendition of "Us and Them", I dreamed I lived in a gated compound in a war-torn country later that night. As insurgents were about to break down the door of my home, I contemplated how much I’d miss air conditioning.