It’s about time for another classic Will Bamber navel-gaze
as I wax fanatical about the albums that I adore, specifically albums that I’ve
always adored, over the greater part
of my music-worshipping life, particularly those I fell in love with as a
dreamy-eyed teenager, and what better place to start than with the most
underrated album from the first band I ever truly loved – the band that revealed to me how music could be so much
more than pop hooks and catchy choruses. Whether I do any more of these is up
in the air, but talking about this particular album has been a long time
coming. It’s the dark, the ambitious, the inimitable, the wild, the soaring,
the tragically cathartic masterpiece that is Pink Floyd’s Animals.
I’m dropping my usual charade of acting like a music
journalist – this blog post is gonna be fast and loose, straight from the
heart, of how and why this album captivated me, continues to floor me with
every listen, and why you shouldn’t risk going your entire life without at
least allowing it a chance to burrow into your soul. It may be cringe, but it’s
nothing but the truth.
