"The Album Covers of Pink Floyd"

By Storm Thorgerson, Hipgnosis Design, London.




The cover of UMMAGUMMA is a visual play on the impossible where the
receding perspective is theoretically infinite yet practically finite. The photos of the 
whole scene plus an empty picture frame are printed progressively smaller and 
montaged into place. The positions of the band members have been rotated for 
fun. We were also interested in the comparison of mental perspective (the picture 
on the wall) with physical perspective (the picture on the wall) with physical 
perspective (the people in the garden). One source for this picture was a line 
drawing in a psychological text book which showed a similar infinite regression -- 
we just wanted to try it photographically since it would then be more real and more 
incongruous. It was designed in conjunction with Libby January.




DARK SIDE OF THE MOON is one of seven or eight suggestions we submitted
to Pink Floyd. It relates to the Floyd's concerts and their use of light shows. 
Specifically it was sparked off by Rick Wright who wanted something very simple, 
clinical and precise. It's not a particularly original design but I do feel that it is very 
appropriate and highly effective. The artwork was mainly mechanical -- the 
spectrum was drawn up in black line and the colours indicated. The prism was 
airbrushed, black on white, and the separator reversed it out of a mechanical 
(printer's) black background. We purposely omitted one colour, purple, since we 
thought it would not "read" clearly. The continuation of the light onto the back of 
the sleeve involves an impossible diminishing of the spectrum when it enters the 
second (inverted) prism so as to form a thin white beam again which then enters 
the first prism on the front sleeve. The inside spread has been designed to join up 
with either end of the outer spread. Thus when the sleeves are opened out and 
placed next to each other they form a continuous pattern. This is, of course, 
unlikely to happen to the individual person in private, but it may happen in shops, 
concerts or other places where the group or their records are being promoted. The 
continuous pattern is quite striking when viewed from a distance, however one of 
the nice things about it is that it doesn't alter the effectiveness of the single 
sleeve nor the integrity of the design. Roger Waters of Pink Floyd helped us design 
this inner spread. 




Pink Floyd first talked about the sleeve for WISH YOU WERE HERE on their
West Coast Tour in April 1975. At that point there was no specific brief because 
they didn't have a clear idea of what they were going to record. "Shine On You Crazy 
Diamond" was a definite starter but the rest of the material was undecided. "Shine 
On" began as an introspective piece -- a few haunting bars from Dave and a lyric 
from Roger. The words were initially about Syd Barrett, but as the work progressed 
they became more universal. When I read them they seemed to be about unfulfilled 
presence in general rather than about Syd's particular vision of it -- and he certainly 
had his own unique brand. The idea of a presence withheld, of the ways that people
pretend to be present whilst their minds are really elsewhere, and the devices and 
motivations employed psychologically by people to suppress the full force of their 
presence eventually boiled down to a single theme -- absence; the absence of a 
person, the absence of a feeling.

Two whole months passed and it was still not cracked. We'd been searching for a 
powerful metaphor or symbol of absence. We were especially interested in the 
absence which involved pretence, something supposedly genuine but that was in 
reality as phoney as a Nixon denial. Roger was particularly critical of the music 
business at this time ("Have A Cigar") and we finally came up with a handshake. 
Simple, clear and very familiar. An ordinary handshake can be a physical, touching 
presence, warm and definite, but it can as easily be a meaningless ritual. It is 
often an empty gesture, present but absent.

It was decided that the record and sleeve would be covered in a removable black (or 
blue) shrink wrap which would hide the sleeve design from the public eye, with a 
sticker for labelling of identification. Our idea for the sticker was a mechanical pair 
of hands shaking ("Machine Song") which traverse a circle divided into quadrants 
(the four elements, which have mystical and alchemical references that would, in 
part, reflect aspects of the Floyd's music). The title appears round the outside and 
the illustration is very colourful, to stand out against the opaque cellophane wrap.

In further group discussion we arrived at the diving man. This idea is a reverse of 
the imprint left on a bed by someone who has just vacated, where there is trace but 
no presence. In our picture there is a diver (presence) but no splash (trace). Lake 
Mono in California was located only after extensive aerial reconnaissance of the area 
in a private plane, but it was well worth it. The diver is performing a yoga headstand 
in the bucket shaped frame embedded on the bottom of a shallow part and remaining
submerged for as long as humanly possible so that the ripples died away.

The fire man was shot in Los Angeles at the Burbank Studios lot. It was meant to 
symbolize a particular notion of mine about people people who retreated and withdrew 
their presence from others. If they were to expose their full nakedness (their full 
sensitivity) to any experience their sense receptors might become overloaded and 
thus impaired, perhaps forever. I reckoned that people were frightened of getting 
scorched at the nerve ends, of getting burnt, especially if they had been burn once 
before. Like falling heavily in love, and then suddenly being jilted. I knew this would
be a startling image, especially if we were to do it for real. And the person on fire 
could be a businessman shaking hands with a colleague, standing in some slightly 
bizarre yet empty setting. It struck me also that "getting burned" is a phrase used in 
and about the music business for not getting paid, or for not making a profit from 
some risky but colourful adventure.

Hipgnosis staffer John Blake suggested using a veil -- a symbol of absence (departure) 
in funerals and also a way of absenting (hiding) the face. The last study in absence 
was a salesman selling his soul. His physical presence is not there -- no wrists, no 
ankles and no face. He is pushing forward a blank record (clear plastic) for he is, in 
fact, a Floyd salesman, his briefcase bedecked with appropriate stickers. All the
pictures were to be atmospheric like the record and the whole package was intended to 
have several meanings and to evoke, hopefully, several different moods commensurate 
with the breadth of the music. The rationale behind the pictures is only relevant for us 
and for those who want to know -- the pictures have to be evocative on their own.

The black shrink wrap covering the sleeve was not such good news for it turned out to 
be very difficult to produce and to cost an awful lot of potatoes. Added to which, the 
American record company couldn't for the life of them understand why we were 
covering up "such great" graphics. In England the shops hated it because they wanted 
to show the sleeve (especially without a record in it, for fear of pilferage) but when 
they took the shrink wrap off they couldn't put it back again -- this was very frustrating 
because the cardboard sleeve had no name on it but the shrink wrap did. EMI neglected 
to send the dealers a whole load of empty sleeves for display.

The title was ours, as was the logical suggestion of a postcard, as an insert. The 
American version had a different photo of the fire man from the English one but there 
was no reason for this other than whim. If we had our time over we might have made 
the photo of the diver larger on the actual cover, and either the veil or desert man 
small to accompany the lyrics, and would probably have omitted the frame breaks. A 
satisfying but flawed piece of work and one of the better examples of the entire 
Hipgnosis staff working together -- sharing the designing, shooting, graphics and 
artwork. One of the nicest things was that we showed the Floyd only this idea, mocked 
up as if shrink-wrapped, and they accepted it very graciously and with a warm round of 
applause.




Perhaps our most publicised fiasco at Hipgnosis Design was the Great Pig Escape, 
early 1977. Pink Floyd had rejected our suggestion for their ANIMALS cover in 
favour of Roger Waters' idea of a pig hovering over Battersea Power Station. Despite 
serious misgivings about such a notion (shades of Monty Python and the Goodies -- 
was it not intrinsically silly?) we offered to shoot the pictures and put the cover together. 
Contrary to our advice the band didn't want the pig "stripped in" which would allow us
to photograph the pig anywhere, but wanted it shot for real, the pig actually floating 
above the power station. Thus the forty foot zeppelin was crated to London and 
assembled on location. Timetable as follows:

Day 1. Still camera crew of eleven positioned at all good vantage points, plus eight man 
film crew, helicopter, roadies, group and manager, and one marksman with telescopic 
rifle to gun down the Pig in case it should escape and fall on someone's noggin (an 
insurance problem). Much puffing and blowing, many gas cylinders etc. but the pig was 
not launched. A beautifully moody sky, perfect photographic conditions, apart from 
being a bit chilly.

Day 2. Eleven still cameramen, eight man film crew, helicopter, one or two of the 
group, manager but no marksman (?). Pig launched successfully on bright clear 
morning. Hauled slowly up side of building, everyone snapping away. Near the top, 
betwixt the towers, a fateful gust of wind. The pig turned suddenly, broke mooring 
cable and lurched rapidly towards the heavens. No one had told the marksman to 
return. The pig sailed away and was lost from sight in five minutes. Absolute horrors. 
All that time and money and it had simply disappeared in front of our eyes. The police
trailed it to thirty thousand feet and then gave up, the cowards. That evening, the 
dirigible came down on a Kent farm. The farmer was reported to have said he thought 
it "a bit unusual"! Actually the Press made a bundle out of the whole thing: "flying pig 
interrupts international flight patterns," "weird UFO spotted," "flying pig heads for 
home" (it was made in Holland). But the Floyd don't give up that easily and the roadies 
rescued it from Kent, repaired the puncture and we started again.

Day 3. Only four or five still photographers this time, plus depleted film crew but 
everything went really well. Pig stayed in position perfectly and everyone clicked away, 
the helicopter zoomed about, and we were all delighted.

The band were equally delighted. The material, movie and still, was fine (as it should've 
been after three whole days), but there was a snag. As if the whole event hadn't been 
enough of a fiasco, and very funny at that, it transpired that the band liked the sky and 
power station from Day 1 (but there was no pig) and the pig from Day 3, but the sky 
was boring. Well, well. What could we do but strip it in after all? Pig from Day 3 
dropped into sky of Day 1 and retouched. It is true that we were seen to smile 
somewhat when they decided to do that.


-- excerpted from The Work of Hipgnosis: Walk Away Rene by Storm Thorgerson, 
(New York: A & W Visual Library, 1978), ISBN 0-89104-105-2.

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