Rock and roll isn’t always about escape. For every feel-good anthem, there’s another song that stares reality straight in the face. Artists like John Lennon reminded us that music can—and often should—reflect the chaos and conflict of the world around us. Pink Floyd knew this better than most. But even in their darkest, most experimental moments, keyboardist Richard Wright had his limits.
In the early days, especially with Syd Barrett at the helm, Pink Floyd were unpredictable and raw. But once David Gilmour and Roger Waters took control, their sound became more ambitious—cosmic epics like Echoes and the sonic juggernaut that was Animals pushed boundaries few bands dared cross.
Still, amid all the musical madness, Richard Wright didn’t always feel aligned with Waters’ increasingly heavy-handed direction. The band was once a democracy. That illusion faded fast when Waters forced Wright out during the making of The Wall. And when Floyd released The Final Cut without Wright, the void was glaring—it sounded like a band missing its soul.
Wright wasn’t against experimentation—far from it. But even he had to draw a line. One of Pink Floyd’s most bizarre creative detours came in the form of Household Objects, an abandoned album concept in which they attempted to craft music entirely from everyday items.
Wright later recalled the moment he hit his breaking point:
“We would spend days with a pencil and a rubber band until it sounded like a bass. I remember sitting down with Roger and saying, ‘This is insane.’”
It was a line only Pink Floyd could dream of crossing—turning wine glasses, rubber bands, and elastic bands into instruments. While Household Objects was never finished, it served a strange purpose: processing the band’s grief after achieving massive success and losing Barrett’s creative spark. For Wright and the others, it may have been less about the music and more about grounding themselves again.
Still, something from those sessions survived. The eerie, resonant tones from the wine glasses became the haunting intro to “Shine On You Crazy Diamond,” the emotional center of Wish You Were Here. Wright eventually replaced the glasses with lush synth pads, bringing the song to life in a way no rubber band ever could.
In hindsight, Household Objects was a dead-end—but an important one. It reminded them of who they were, where they came from, and, perhaps, where they shouldn’t go. Sometimes, the greatest breakthroughs come not from pushing forward, but knowing when to stop.
