1985, primo ascolto di questo disco:
<<Mamma mia che depressione, però cazzo che suoni!>>
Secondo ascolto:
<<Sembrano gli scarti di "The Wall", mhhh.>>
Terzo ascolto:
<<Si sentirà anche bene ma Gilmoure non fa un cazzo!>>
Quarto ascolto:
<<Ou, non mi entra in testa, devo accettare che il mio gruppo preferito ha partorito un pacco, però suona da paura, che peccato.>>
Quinto ascolto:
<<Sto pezzo però non è male, non fosse tutto così lento e paranoico.>>
Sesto ascolto:
<<No dai, alla fine è ascoltabile tutto sommato.>>
Settimo ascolto, arrivano i primi brividi associati alla memorizzazione dei pezzi:
<<Alla fine è un bel disco, non è The Dark Side Of The Moon, non è The Wall, ma è un buon disco.>>
Ottavo ascolto, lo ricordo quasi tutto a memoria:
<<Cazzo, meno male che ho continuato ad ascoltarlo, è stupendo.>>
Non ascolto più il disco per diversi mesi. Lo riprendo in un pomeriggio distratto. Cuffie, poltrona, buio:
<<Questo è il disco più bello di tutti i tempi. Come ho potuto non accorgermene subito? Con quanti altri dischi ho commesso lo stesso errore?>>
Dato certo: questo è il disco dei Pink Floyd considerato universalmente dalla critica il loro peggior lavoro.
Domanda; ma loro, lo conoscono come mi sono sforzato di conoscerlo io?
Conclusione: Questo è il disco a cui va dedicata più attenzione nella storia del rock, perché il nome e il marchio che porta, non permettono di sottovalutarlo.
Ascoltare fino alla completa assimilazione e poi, giudicare.
Elenco tracce testi e video
01 The Post War Dream (03:03)
Tell me true, tell me why was Jesus crucified
Was it for this that Daddy died?
Was it 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?
02 Your Possible Pasts (04:22)
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 should 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?
04 The Hero's Return (02:57)
Jesus, jesus, whats it all about?
Tryin to clout these little ingrates into shape.
When I was their age all the light 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 behind 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's 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 everyone's door.
We danced and we sang in the streets and
The church bells ring.
But burning in my heart
My memory smolders on
Of the gunners dying words on the intercom.
06 Paranoid Eyes (03:43)
Button your lip and don't let the shield slip.
Seek 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,
Behind petrified eyes.
You believed in their stories of fame, fortune and glory.
Now you're lost in a haze of alcohol soft middle age
The pie in the sky turned out to be miles too high.
And you hide, hide, hide,
Behind brown and mild eyes.
07 Get Your Filthy Hands off My Desert (01:16)
"Oi...Get your filthy hands off my desert!"
"What 'e say?"
Brezhnev took Afghanistan.
And 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.
09 Southampton Dock (02:08)
They disembarked in 45
and no-one spoke and no-one smiled.
There were too 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.
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...
10 The Final Cut (04:48)
...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 spiraling 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 shotguns in the hall
Dial the combination, open the priesthole
And if I'm in I'll tell you
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
11 Not Now John (05:02)
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 got to get on with these.
Can't stop
Lose job
Mind gone
Silicon
What bomb
Get away
Pay day
Make hay
Break down
Need fix
Big six
Click click
Hold on
Oh no
Brrrrrrrrrring 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?
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.
Not 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 abuse
Or it could be reusable shows.
Fuck all that we've got to get on with these
Got to compete with the wily Japanese.
No need to worry about the Vietnamese.
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!
"s'cusi dove il bar
(What?)
se para collo pou eine toe bar
s'il vous plait ou est le bar
(...say it in English!...)
oi, where's the fucking bar John?
(Oh, now you're talking!)"
Oh! Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the day
Down!
Go, Maggie!
Hammer, Hammer, Hammer, Hammer, now!
Carico i commenti... con calma
Altre recensioni
Di eclipse
La musica sa superare tutte le barriere poste dall’uomo!!!
Waters realizza l’album più “suo” sotto il nome Pink Floyd insieme a “The Wall”.
Di Em
"Tell me true, Tell me why Was Jesus crucified... is it for this that daddy die"
"Alla fine capisco ciò che pochi provano: diamanti e ceneri, amico e nemico, siamo tutti uguali alla fine."
Di floyd92
The Final Cut diviene un disco che utilizza la tristezza per la morte del padre del bassista e la sua qualifica di requiem come primo argomento per costruire una critica non solo politica ma anche emozionale.
Una volta che il bassista ebbe in mente il concept attraverso il quale svolgere The Final Cut, si gettò nella furiosa composizione di brani e musiche adatte a portare sul disco la propria angoscia.
Di claudio carpentieri
"Registrare The Final Cut è stata una vera impresa, perché fra noi non ci fu collaborazione, non c’era intesa; sul nome - almeno su quello - ci trovammo tutti d’accordo" (Roger Waters).
"Non ho mai avuto la forza di dare il taglio finale" (testo della title-track).
Di paolofreddie
The Final Cut non può essere definito dei Pink Floyd.
Un buon album, toccante e che fa riflettere.
