On Friday Richard and I, and a bunch of other people, are going to see Roger Waters perform The Wall. According to the tour website, the show will feature Waters, backed by a full band, performing The Wall from start to finish. Added to the mix will be an enormous wall, state-of-the-art video projections, a quadrophonic sound system, and puppets and inflatable objects.
I’m looking forward to the show because I like listening to live music and because some of the songs on The Wall are among my favorite songs, ever. The album came out when I was in college, when Pink Floyd was a staple on every stereo system. Dark Side Of The Moon and Wish You Were Here were generally recognized, then and now, as two of the very best rock albums ever recorded, and Animals wasn’t chump change, either. Then years passed without a new Pink Floyd album. When the word got out that The Wall was in the offing it became one of the most eagerly anticipated album releases ever. When it finally hit the record stores I immediately bought a copy and listened to it from beginning to end and most of my friends did, too.
After repeated playings I fell into a pattern of listening to the first three sides of the album where my favorite songs — Mother, Young Lust, Don’t Leave Me Now, Hey You, and particularly the epic Comfortably Numb — were found. Side four fell into disuse, like side four of the Beatles’ White Album. In a way, listening to Roger Waters and his band perform side four will be like running into an old friend that I haven’t seen for years.
As any reader of this blog knows, one of the TV shows I watch regularly is House. I’ve followed the acerbic diagnostician as he has dealt with a crush from Cameron, tried to rekindle his romance with Stacy, endured an unreasonable chair of the hospital board and a vengeful police detective, and ultimately spiraled down into drug abuse, hallucinations, and institutionalization before kicking his Vicodin habit. All the while, his friend Wilson tells House how miserable he is.
The challenge for a long-running series like House is to avoid falling into an uncreative rut while not ruining the characters that fans have come to know and love through ridiculous plot contrivances. This season’s big story arc has Dr. House grappling with a torrid affair with his boss, Dr. Lisa Cuddy. So far, I don’t really know what to make of House and Cuddy — called “Huddy,” for short, by fans. At times, it seems that the primary purpose of the plotline is to have an excuse to show some skin in the bedroom scenes. Sparking romances between characters also is pretty trite TV fare. But then the writers will toss an interesting idea into the mix, like how the relationship causes both House and Cuddy to act differently in their sparring about House’s outlandish proposed treatment of the patient of the week, that indicates that the plot line could work.
The most recent episode introduced House to Cuddy’s adopted daughter. I was glad to see that when the girl chewed on House’s cane, Dr. House didn’t dissolve into misty-eyed wonderment at being around a toddler. Instead, in true House fashion, he looked upset that the bratty kid had slobbered on the cane. Maybe this could get interesting.