Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * *

It seems incredulous that one of the godfathers of Progressive Rock should witness his own solo career defined by what could only be described as inertia, even apathy as he struggled to live in the shadows of two of the biggest presences and one of absolute enigma as they created music that would span into the coming decades with brutal certainty.

Richard Wright’s 1978 debut solo album, Wet Dream, suffered in the wake of poor sales and a crowd response that he probably did not envisage, and as the weeks went by, as his fracturing of relationship with Roger Waters, and possibly a trigger of regret that his band mate Dave Gilmour’s own solo self- titled album was being talked of in high praise, so it might be thought of in hindsight to be one that sounded the tolling bell on the crisis he was to undergo until recharged he found a way to rejoin Pink Floyd; now Roger-less and undergo a renaissance in his own sheer an conclusive part of the hierarchy of Prog.

The appraisal of that album, long since out of print until now as the titan Steven Wilson once more casts his professional eye over the history of the genre, has perhaps been sparse, but which now deserves fully the attention of the listener as time insists. Not to find praise, but to understand, to allow the music to resonate and live in amongst the wide expanse of studio albums recorded by the five members that at one time or another inhabited the soul of Pink Floyd.

Whilst it could be argued forcibly that Rick Wright was not the personality dividing soul that Roger Waters, Dave Gilmour, or even the glue that once bound the early days of the band, Syd Barrett, like Nick Mason he was the non-vociferous member of the group, he was highly intelligent and creative, but it could be by not voicing his concerns in a manner that allowed him to be free, he suffered in silence; and Wet Dream on reflection echoes that sympathy of expression with passionate, but regretful eyes.

Taken out of context from the wider Floyd machine, the album is an enjoyable, if melancholic reminder of a period of time where the desperation of the U.K. was felt keenly, a dichotomy, a split personality that would drive the political nature and ultimately befoul the needs of the people for generations, would appear. The album taps into the sense of fracturing, but still remains audibly beautiful, almost haunting, a note of illumination from a man standing alone in a company of thousands.

With support from Mel Collins, Larry Steele, Reg Isidore, and the impeccable Snowy White, Rick Wrights’ Wet Dream takes shape, and in the pulse that encounters the initial burst of flavour to be found in the instrumentals Mediterranean C, Cat Cruise, Waves, Mad Yannis Dance, Drop In From The Top, and Funky Deux, and in the simmering collaborative expression with his then wife Juliette, Pink’s Song, what comes across in fresh retrospective is an artist, a man, finding ways to allow the voice to be heard without the words he so wishes to express to be spoken, either in anger, or in the implication of appeasement.

Steven Wilson’s generous time has been well spent in reaching into the depths of the album and one that allows the true emotion to surface. No longer a nightmare, the dream is allowed to be realised.

Ian D. Hall