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PAGE 1 • A VISIT TO BATTERSEA • THIS LITTLE PIGGY A Visit To Battersea A single-minded pilgrimage to the Floydian mecca By Johnny Valenzuela
But first, a little background on one Floyd fan's discovery of this fascinating album called Animals. It was winter, I think probably the first week of January, and probably around 1985, when I first saw the light that was Dogs, Pigs, and Sheep. I had moved to Los Angeles in the fall of 1984 to begin college, and my old band from high school was going to get back together in our hometown of Sun Valley, Idaho, to play a New Year's Eve show. My cousin made the 14-hour drive with me and brought along a few cassette tapes to pass the time, one of which was Animals. At the time, I had really only explored The Wall and Dark Side Of The Moon, so I was looking forward to going further into the Floyd catalog. We never got around to hearing Animals on the drive up, and my cousin flew back to Los Angeles the day after New Year's, but lo and behold he left behind his Pink Floyd tape in my Honda Accord, so I knew I had something to look forward to on the drive home. Somewhere south of Ely, it was time, so I pulled off to the side of the road, smoked a bit of the "it-grows-here-naturally-so-legalize-it", and headed south on highway 318 with Animals ready to go. What can I say? It was religious. That middle section of "Dogs" sent me into other realms. I mean, sure the concepts of The Wall and Dark Side were compelling, but this was something I wasn't prepared for. I was used to Yes doing 20-minute songs, but Pink Floyd? A-ma-zing. "Pigs (Three Different Ones)" and "Sheep" were equally stunning, and although it was the middle of winter and I was heading home after a productive New Year's Eve, the sun was out, the Floyd was on, the motor was running, the stereo was loud, the windows were down, the sunglasses were on, and I was there. I could never -- and still can't to this day -- listen to Animals without revisiting that day in the middle of Nevada nowhere. • • • Fast-forward 16 years to May of 2000. I'm producing radio shows for the SFX Radio Network, and Iron Maiden is about to release a new album. We were going to tape the interview with Maiden in London on Thursday, May 25, and I was going to fly home the next day. Luckily, I was able to finagle an extra day out of it and flew to London on Monday, so I had one day to hop around town and take in as many sights as possible. Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, Piccadilly Circus--they were all part of the plan, but Battersea was at the top of the list. I arrived in London on Tuesday afternoon, after an overnight flight direct from LAX on which I discovered the best way to avoid jet lag was to drink. So I did. And when I arrived in London on Tuesday afternoon, I discovered that the best way to acclimate to the local time zone was to drink. So I did. I'll skip past the blur that was Tuesday evening and start with Wednesday morning, because it was on this day, Wednesday, May 24, that I would stand in the shadow of the ominous Battersea. After a spot of breakfast at the Marriott Marble Arch, I asked the concierge, "Can you tell me where the Battersea Power Station is?" "Why on earth would you want to go there?" he asked. I replied, "Well, are you a Pink Floyd fan? Have you ever seen the cover of their album, Animals? That's why." I'm not completely sure he understood, but nevertheless, he circled on my map exactly where Battersea lies. He told me that the entire section of town surrounding Battersea was, in his words, "derelict," and that really there was nothing around it, but I had to go, and after his assurance that I wouldn't get mugged if I was walking in that part of town, I set out for it. Man, I was really missing my Walkman! Remember last issue's "Visit To Zabriskie Point"? Wow, I really would have loved to have had Animals on the headphones for the journey. Oh well. After studying the easy-to-read map of the London tube system, I boarded the train and made my way to the Sloan Square station. From there, it was a short walk to where the concierge had circled my map. I exited the train station. The area was quaint. Nice apartments--er, I mean flats--all around the place. I think there was a floral show going on nearby because there were flowers friggin' everywhere. I made my way around a corner, down a street, around another corner; past some guard school or something like that where there were a bunch of dudes in the tall, furry hats marching up and down the square. I couldn't help but think of the Monty Python sketch from The Meaning Of Life with Michael Palin barking orders at his troops. Now that I think of it, it's a bit of a shame that I tend to relate most things British to a Monty Python sketch, but that discussion is for another web site.
So, I continued down this road past the guards (I wish I could remember the name of the street), when all of a sudden, I looked up, and the most familiar pair of smokestacks peered out at me in the distance, almost as if they knew I was coming. I had to stop in my tracks. "Wow, Battersea, there it is, there it really is." I started "Dogs" in my head. It was driving me nuts, but there I was in the presence of what I consider the Taj Mahal to any Floyd fan, and the people all around me were just going about their business as if the relic wasn't even there. I wanted to stop someone and grab them by the shoulders, shake them and go, "My god, there it is, there's Battersea! Don't you see it?" But really, for the locals, it was just another day with the big, white smokestacks in the background. Amazing. I kept thinking, "You know, if I was working in Death Valley, Zabriskie Point would still be important to me," but the thing with Battersea is that it's been a derelict, non-functioning monument to the industrial revolution, and most locals don't know what the power station's function is these days, let alone the fate that awaits it.
I'll digress for a moment here to bring you up to speed about the future of Battersea. Frankly, after a search of the Internet on Battersea, I'm not totally sure if anyone knows what the future holds for the decaying power station. One faction wants to tear it down, one faction wants to make it a museum, someone else wanted to make it into a Disney-type theme park, and someone else wanted to make it a historical site. Who will win has, as far as I can tell, yet to be decided, but I have to hope that it will at least be a historical site. I mean, make it a museum or a park or a public pool, but don't tear Battersea down. It means way too much to too many people. And I also vote that, whatever they decide to do with it, they should raise an inflatable pig over it every day, just like they would a flag. Really, it wouldn't hurt anyone, I don't think it would offend anyone, and it's symbolic of the blue collar/white collar class system of which Animals speaks. But if you really want to research Battersea, rather than me rehash the info, I recommend you visit this website. So I headed forward towards the Taj Mahattersea, watching the intimidating white smokestacks get bigger and bigger. When I got to the road that parallels the Thames river, I stopped to take a couple of photos of the power station. I don't think I can reiterate enough how big this factory is. It's friggin' huge! I recalled the album cover and thinking, "Wow, it just doesn't do it justice."
I then walked over the Chelsea Bridge with the intent to see how close I could get to the Floydian monument. It was at this point that I began to realize what the concierge was talking about. Once I crossed the bridge, it was as if I left the human contact realm. No one was walking the streets. Barely any cars drove past me. I felt this eerie sensation of nothingness, which was actually working quite well for the moment. You know, that "comfortable emptiness" that most Floyd albums leave you with? That was it. Like, "well, I probably shouldn't be here, but I feel comfortable here regardless." Comfortable enough to venture into a lot adjacent to the power station for a photo. There was a guard at the entrance to the lot--possibly the only other human being around--and he probably was happy to have a bit of human contact. "Can I help you?" he asked. "Is it okay if I go into this lot and photograph the power station?" "Okay, just make it quick."
Like there was going to be any trouble with me walking across this lot to photograph a defunct power station! But it was all right, and next thing I knew, I was as close to Battersea as I was going to get. After I took the photo, I went back and asked the gentleman, "Is it possible to go inside the power station, or at least take a photo at the doors?" He replied, "No, you can't even get near it right now." And he was right. After my moment of dialogue, I walked around to the front of the station, which I should say is no short hop. In fact, from the end of the Chelsea Bridge, it's a good half-mile walk to the doors of Battersea. So I made my way around the roads, but I couldn't seem to find a road to the Battersea front entrance. Then I remembered the album cover. There isn't a road there. It's all railroad tracks. And it still is. I could go no further, and there was no way I was going to get a guided tour of the interior. Hell, I was lucky to have seen one human being there at all. It was time to head back.
One last stop on the Chelsea Bridge for one last picture of the mammoth temple. Oh, just before crossing the bridge, there's this tiny little food stand that makes the best grilled cheese sandwiches I've ever had. No kidding. It might be the grease, or the grill, or the fact that I was in one of the holiest of Floydian places, but damn if this wasn't the best grilled cheese sandwich and Coke I've ever had. It kind of brought me back out of my ethereal world, gently easing me back into the real world. I finished the sandwich on the walk over the bridge, and then stopped to snap one last photo. I was so glad to have visited Battersea Power Station-at least, as close as I could get-and have some kind of moment when everything came together. I mean, who would have thought in 1985 that I would be standing in the actual presence of this massive shrine? Not I. Would this kind of experience happen again for me? Tough to say, but I'm more than willing to give it a go (how about the pyramids?). Johnny Valenzuela is a staff writer for Spare Bricks. This Little Piggy By Mike McInnis
Take a moment to draw up a short list of Floydian symbols: images that the Floyds have used instead of plastering their faces all over album covers and promotional stickers and lunchboxes, the way Britney Spears or Sting or even the Beatles do. You might think of a prism, a pyramid, a cow, or maybe two enormous heads staring one another in the eye (and no, I'm not referring to Misters Waters and Gilmour's infamous battles). But the pig is one of the most enduring Floyd icons, and one embraced by the band and fans alike. Since 1977, pigs have been found at Floyd concerts often flying overhead, eyes aglow. It all started back in late 1976, when the band and graphic artist Storm Thorgerson started throwing out ideas for cover art for the upcoming Animals album. Roger Waters rejected one of Thorgerson's early ideas, which depicted a young child accidentally discovering his parents in bed. Waters, apparently drawing inspiration from the lyrics to "Pigs on the Wing", suggested that instead they fly an inflatable pig in the air above the Battersea Power Station.
The events of December 2-4, 1976 are fairly well known. First they couldn't get the pig fully inflated. Then, when they did, the pig broke loose and sailed away, tormenting airline pilots and making headlines. Then finally, on day 3, things went more or less as planned. The pig must have created quite a buzz in the UK and possibly abroad, especially since Pink Floyd was about the biggest thing in rock music at the time. When the Animals album was released just a six weeks later, and featured the now infamous pig on the cover, all the advance publicity probably helped burn the pig image onto the minds of fans everywhere. The band, however, certainly did its part to help make the pig a memorable part of the Floyd's visual arsenal. When the In the Flesh tour kicked off on January 23, 1977, not only were there the standard circle screen and projections, but there were also an inflatable family used during "Dogs" and paper sheep parachutes dropping on the audience. And during "Pigs (3 Different Ones)", finishing out the first half of the show, what should appear but an enormous inflatable pig, straight off the album cover (or so it seemed), flying out over the audience on a cable. And if that wasn't enough, after the first pig had retreated behind the stage, a second pig was allowed to float up some 300 feet in the air and explode in a ball of propane-fueled flame.
By 1977, audiences had come to expect a little excessive spectacle in the average rock and roll show, and the Floyds were the acknowledged kings of spectacle. But while the fans were eating it up, some critics thought that such things were only distractions, and that the Floyd's live performances were suffering. Roger Waters was also beginning to complain that the shows weren't as enjoyable as he wanted them to be. He was giving audiences all the spectacle they could possibly want, and they were repaying him with rowdy behavior, whistling, and fireworks. Many of these feelings of frustration went into the live shows for the Floyd's next album, The Wall. The Wall shows proved that Waters still loved to put on a good spectacle. More films, more props, and more inflatables were used. And while some of The Wall's story is told as a flashback, a good part of it ("In the Flesh?", "Young Lust", "In the Flesh", "Run Like Hell", and "Waiting for the Worms") is an inspired parody of rock theatrics. During the end of "In the Flesh" (named after the 1977 tour), the pig, adorned with the crossed hammers logo, flew out from behind the fully constructed wall and soared over the audience. As an introduction to "Run Like Hell", Waters bantered with the crowd, making tame jokes about the pig, about "Run Like Hell"'s disco beat, and on occasion about music critics. He encouraged the audience to clap along, sing, whistle, and make noise. The audiences dutifully obeyed, unaware that he was poking fun at rock stars and at audiences who make so much noise that they cannot hear the musicians they have paid to see.
In that sense, the pig's appearance during The Wall was appropriate: inspired by the unruliness of the In the Flesh tour, of which the pig was a big part, the band was recreating some of that rowdy atmosphere for dramatic purposes. But then came the rift between Waters and David Gilmour. When Gilmour tried to take the name "Pink Floyd" out on tour again in 1987, he was consciously looking for ways to connect with Floydian history. He hired Storm Thorgerson to design visual concepts. He floated an inflatable bed above London's Thames River. And he had an inflatable pig make an appearance at the Floyd concerts. Waters was not pleased. At the time he felt very betrayed, and was basically throwing up every imaginable legal roadblock in an effort to keep his ex-bandmates from capitalizing on the band's heritage. At one point, he won the right to receive $800 in royalties every time the inflatable pig (a sow) was used at a Pink Floyd show. Gilmour, not to be outmaneuvered, added testicles to the pig and claimed that this somehow exempted the band from making the payments.
And so it came to pass that in the mid-1980s the previously neuter pig became a male. (Waters, it should be noted, is still legally credited with the "original pig concept".) When Waters performed The Wall as a one-off concert in Berlin in July 1990, the pig again posed problems. Previous concerts featuring the pig were always performed in stadiums and arenas, and it was a relatively simple matter to rig a cable or aluminum track running from the back of the hall to the stage, along which the pig could be flown. But the venue for the Berlin show was essentially a public square with a temporary stage erected just for this show. There was simply no 'back of the hall' to which a cable could be attached. Waters might have been willing to sacrifice the pig, eliminating him (or *her*, as the case may be) from The Wall, since the pig really had nothing to do with the story or thematic content. But it seems likely that the recent legal and artistic battles between Waters and Gilmour may have reinforced Waters' determination to have the pig make an appearance. After all, Gilmour and company had been selling out show after show for a couple of years, while Waters' own tour at the same time had played half-empty venues and had fizzled out after a scant 3 months. So it is quite possible that Waters, in an attempt to connect himself with Pink Floyd's image, felt obligated to have the pig make some kind of appearance.
Speculation aside, Waters did find a way to use the pig. Redesigned by Gerald Scarfe as a nightmarish head with glowing eyes and giant tusks, he was stored in a special platform behind the top of the wall. At the appropriate moment during "Run Like Hell", the head was inflated and the pig peeked up over the wall. Perhaps taking a cue from the Berlin show, or perhaps in an effort to do something with the pig other than fly it overhead as had been done during the 3 previous Floyd tours, the group used half-pigs during the 1994 Division Bell tour. Halfway through "One of These Days", inflatable pigs with spotlight eyes were deployed from towers on either side of the stage, where they danced and flailed until the end of the song. Nicknamed "Syd" and "Roger" by the band and crew, these pigs and their accompanying pyrotechnics were well received by audiences, though by then the pigs had no connection to the music (no Animals songs have been performed by Pink Floyd since 1977). Fans at Pink Floyd shows expect to see pigs. Period.
Fans continue to associate Pink with pigs. Pigs appear in the titles (Dark Side of the Pig, Pigs on the Swing, Pigs On the Run, Pigs Over Beantown, The Whole Hog, and many more) and on the covers of numerous Pink Floyd bootlegs, and not just those from the 1977 tour. And Floyd-inspired fan artwork features pigs in a variety of imaginative ways.
Waters has played Animals material on all of his solo tours, but has never brought the pig along, except during The Wall at Berlin. Will the Floyds tour again? No one seems to know. But if they do, it seems a sure thing that the pig will make an appearance in one form or another. Maybe they'll justify it by playing at least one tune from Animals. Better yet, David, how about treating the fans to "Sheep" and break some new ground by christening an inflatable lamb (testicles optional)?
Mike McInnis is a staff writer for Spare Bricks. Special thanks to Bob Carey, Bob Cooney, Vernon Fitch, Rick Karhu, Stef Roberts, David Ross, and Dave Ward
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