This is the difficult "last" album of Pink Floyd's world-domination run. There are a handful of phases--the early, indulgent experimental albums, with and without the contribution of Syd Barrett, and then the albums released in the 1970s, which topped the charts and made everyone look like an also-ran. The Final Cut was supposed to clear the air in the band and deliver the leftovers from The Wall. It simply ended the band and failed to impress the public.
I've loved it since I first heard it and I have always regarded it as a lost treasure. It should never have been a concept album. It could have had a looser theme, and it would have been more successful as a series of songs about Thatcherism in the early 1980s. It did not have to be the primal scream from Roger Waters, but it was. And it was the only modern geopolitical commentary any major group issued during that time. The superficiality of the 1980s stands in stark contrast to the darkness at the heart of this album.
It's a shame that no one bought this album (relatively speaking, of course). It was superbly executed and played and it still has a relevance that stands out. It should have been played at Margaret Thatcher's funeral and it could very well be resurrected and played one day.