We watched the tragedy unfold
We did as we were told, bought and sold
It was the greatest show on Earth
But then it was over
CLINTON — I discovered "Amused to Death" as a high schooler close to a decade after its 1992 release.
Across more than 70 minutes of play, Roger Waters weaves through some of the day's political and social issues through a framing of some television viewer — possibly a chimpanzee — randomly flipping through channels.
And in the title track, which concludes the album, Waters described the husks of humanity gathered around boob tubes across the globe, with aliens analyzing our remains and determining that we had amused ourselves to death.
This album remains one of my favorites, and I consider it a good listen today.
Not everyone agrees with me. Chicago Tribune entertainment reporter Mark Caro wrote that "self-importance doesn't equal profundity, and the world's most mind-blowing engineering couldn't cover up the deterioration of Waters' singing and melodic sense since his days with Floyd."
Wait — there's something wrong with self-importance?
And while sequestered to my home, I recently revisited this track. Why? Blame Carole Baskin.
Like nearly every other person alive today, I have watched "Tiger King." I've read stories seeking to answer the hard-hitting questions about the show, from "Where are they now?" to "Who really killed Don Lewis?"
And yes, the memes. So many memes.
Now there's a rumored reunion show, a possible movie and even an investigative series into, what else, the disappearance of Carole Baskin's former husband, who is presumed dead.
It has me wondering if this pandemic-fueled Netflix phenomenon will fulfill Waters' apocalyptic vision and lead to our entertainment-driven demise — perhaps with sardine oil as a contributing factor.
Guys, I think maybe I'm spending too much time indoors. If I go outside for a walk, can y'all stay at least six feet away from me?