Animals (1977)
1. Pigs on the Wing (Part 1)
2. Dogs
3. Pigs (Three Different Ones)
4. Sheep
5. Pigs on the Wing (Part Two)
By the time Animals came out in early 1977, it was pretty clear that Roger Waters had taken over as the de facto leader of Pink Floyd. Sure, there were always debates about how much each band member contributed, but Waters had become the primary lyricist, and now he was steering the ship—both musically and thematically. And let’s be honest: Waters was never exactly a ray of sunshine. If you were looking for something uplifting, Pink Floyd was increasingly not the place to find it. Especially not here.
This is probably the band’s darkest record. The mood is bleak, the lyrics are biting, and the concept is heavier than anything they’d tackled up to this point. Inspired loosely by George Orwell’s Animal Farm, the album suggests that all humans fall into one of three categories: dogs, pigs, or sheep. No heroes, no optimism—just a cynical breakdown of society through the lens of anthropomorphized animals. If that sounds heavy, that’s because it is. And with Waters now fully in control, it’s no surprise that the message doesn’t pull any punches.
The songs themselves are massive. There are really only three main tracks—Dogs, Pigs (Three Different Ones), and Sheep—with a short acoustic intro and outro (Pigs on the Wing Parts 1 and 2) acting as bookends. Each of the main songs runs well past the ten-minute mark, but the impressive thing is that they never feel bloated. This might be the band’s best album in terms of pure song construction. Gone are the extended spacey interludes and elaborate studio effects—what you get here is a tighter, more guitar-driven sound. Gilmour’s playing on Dogs is arguably some of his best, and the rhythm section never once lets the momentum drag.
Lyrically, though, it’s rough going. Waters was clearly angry, and while his observations were often sharp, they didn’t exactly leave you feeling great about the human condition. On Pigs (Three Different Ones), he lays into political figures like Mary Whitehouse and Margaret Thatcher with such venom that it borders on uncomfortable. And in Sheep, his dark parody of the 23rd Psalm is still as controversial today as it was when it came out. There’s brilliance in the writing, no doubt, but it can be a lot to stomach if you’re not in the mood for being told how bleak the world really is.
Interestingly, none of these songs ever really had a shot as singles. They’re just too long, too complex, and way too grim for anything resembling mainstream radio. Outside of classic rock stations, you’d be hard-pressed to hear anything from this album in rotation. That’s a shame, because musically this is some of the band’s strongest material. Unfortunately, the tension behind the scenes was also starting to build. Waters’ grip on the band tightened, and it became increasingly clear that the collaborative spirit that once defined Pink Floyd was starting to unravel.
In fact, Animals might be remembered as the point where things really started to fall apart. The tour that followed was infamous for its hostility—toward the audience, of all things. Waters became so fed up with the crowd’s rowdiness that he berated fans mid-show, and on one now-legendary occasion, actually spat on someone. That moment, as much as anything, planted the seeds for what would eventually become The Wall.
So yes, Animals is bleak. But it’s also brilliant. It might not be the easiest Pink Floyd album to digest, but for those who appreciate a little (or a lot of) weight in their rock music, it’s one of their most rewarding. Just don’t go in expecting a pick-me-up.
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