by Mark Blake
Aside from 1991’s Guitar Legends festival, Waters had played live only once since The Wall in Berlin: at a benefit show in aid of the preservation of Walden Woods, in Massachusetts in 1992. The Eagles’ Don Henley, whose band backed Waters on a handful of Floyd songs, had arranged the charity concert. This gig had been the catalyst for the current tour.
‘I really enjoyed the contact with the audience that night,’ admitted Waters, ‘and thought maybe I should have another go at it. After I toured Radio K.A.O.S., I stopped in the face of a lack of demand. I felt like I was banging my head against a brick wall.’
In the event, some of Waters’ gigs had to be moved to larger venues to accommodate the crowds, and also the size of the projection screen being used behind the stage. For some watchers, there was still the issue of rearranged Floyd songs to be overcome, especially a sprightly, funked-up version of ‘Another Brick in the Wall Part 2’, which concluded with a tag-team guitar solo by Snowy White and Doyle Bramhall II. Assuming his customary persona of the ‘tall guy in black’, Waters soon had a familiar routine: part circus ringmaster, part orchestral conductor, and part rock star. When Bramhall or Jon Carin were singing, he would mouth the words, smile dotingly from the sidelines, or loom over Andy Fairweather-Low, wringing the neck of his bass like a farmer seeing off a particularly plucky Christmas turkey. In a stark contrast to his onstage persona with Pink Floyd, Waters appeared to be having the time of his life.
‘He has his eye and ear on everything,’ said Fairweather-Low. ‘At the end of the show, if a single lighting cue is wrong, Roger’s aware of it. I have never worked with anyone like it.’
Jon Carin talked Richard Wright into attending one of the shows. ‘I found it difficult listening to him performing Pink Floyd songs because I wanted to be up there,’ Wright told writer Jerry Ewing. ‘When they were playing “Comfortably Numb” and “Wish You Were Here” it just wasn’t as good, but when it got to his solo work, I could relax.’
Carin and Wright’s wife Millie persuaded him to go backstage after the show. ‘I hadn’t seen Roger in, what, eighteen or nineteen years,’ said Wright. ‘So I shook his hand, said, “How are you?” and we both felt awkward. And that was it. There was no great meaningful conversation. But I thought: We’re grown men now; all this bullshit should stop.’
With the first leg of the tour over, Waters helped oversee a remastered version of The Wall movie, providing a running commentary with Gerald Scarfe. Director Alan Parker, the third ‘megalomaniac’ in the equation, also contributed. EMI and Pink Floyd had no intention of allowing the twentieth anniversary of The Wall album to pass unnoticed. March 2000 saw the release of Is There Anybody Out There? The Wall Live: Pink Floyd 1980–81, pieced together over seven nights at Earls Court.
In an unusual display of détente between the estranged parties, Waters and Pink Floyd were all interviewed about the album, though neither could resist the occasional snipe at each other. If the others weren’t quite so taken with it, Waters’ opinion of The Wall remained undiminished. He told everyone that, if pushed, he thought it was still his finest achievement to date. Back on tour throughout the US that summer, Waters would feature five songs from the album in his set, commemorated with a live album and video also entitled In the Flesh.
In 2001 there were some harsh reminders of everyone’s mortality. The year would see the premature deaths of Roger’s first wife, Judy Trim, Gilmour’s friend the author Douglas Adams, and the band’s former booking agent and tour manager Tony Howard. Gilmour would perform at a memorial service for Adams later that summer. Also that year, he would be invited by old friend Robert Wyatt to participate in the annual Meltdown Festival at London’s Royal Festival Hall. Wyatt was the curator of the week-long event that also featured performances by Elvis Costello and Tricky. In his first solo show since 1984, Gilmour mixed old Floyd faithfuls, including ‘Comfortably Numb’ and ‘Shine On You Crazy Diamond’, with the Syd Barrett gem ‘Terrapin’ and such oddities as ‘Hush-A-Bye Mountain’ from the movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Also included was a brand-new composition, ‘Smile’.
Gilmour would return to the Royal Festival Hall for three nights, six months later. Playing the same eclectic set, he was joined by Richard Wright for one song. A week later he played two further nights in Paris. Asked if Pink Floyd had now split up, Gilmour’s answer was the most decisive it had been: ‘I can’t see us doing anything in the near future. I have something else I’m doing, and that’s what my mind is concentrating on.’ He was now plotting another solo album.
The first hesitant steps towards reconciling the past and present members of the band would be taken in January 2002. At a beach party on the Caribbean holiday island of Mustique, Nick Mason had an unexpected encounter with Roger Waters. ‘I suddenly felt a forceful pair of hands grasp my shoulders and then my neck,’ Mason wrote later. The two old friends would spend the afternoon together, having their first proper conversation in years.
A month later, Waters was back out on tour, with two shows planned at London Wembley Arena in June. Mason was invited to play drums on ‘Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun’ at both shows. He accepted the offer, pattering around the kit on the Floyd’s vintage space odyssey. It was the first time the two former friends had played on stage since The Wall in 1981. Waters’ son Harry, whose voice as a three-year-old could be heard on The Wall, was now playing keyboards in his father’s band. Harry was Mason’s godson.
Playing live again was an opportunity for Waters to take his mind off events elsewhere in his life. He was going through another period of profound change. His third marriage, to Pricilla, had now broken down and they would soon divorce, but he now had a new partner, the actress and film-maker Laurie Durning.
Waters addressed the upheaval in his life with unflinching honesty. ‘Through twenty years of psychotherapy, I’ve finally managed to learn to live in the moment,’ he told The Times. ‘I had some very powerful feelings of abandonment when I was a child, which I’m only beginning to extricate myself from now. I’m nearly sixty and I’m just beginning to feel I can operate as an adult.’
Pink Floyd’s legacy would be revisited again before the year was out. In November, EMI released Echoes: The Best of Pink Floyd. Choosing the twenty-six tracks proved something of a chore. Interviewed just before the album’s release, Gilmour explained that Waters had all but given up on the song selection. ‘He gets very grumpy because he thinks I tell Nick and Rick what they’ve got to do and outvote him,’ said the guitarist. ‘But I don’t think six tracks from The Final Cut is what people want. I wanted “Fat Old Sun” on there but none of the others were having it. . .’
The final selection acknowledged all eras of the band’s history. Syd Barrett received a royalties boost with the inclusion of five of his songs. Waters, meanwhile, smarted over the presence of tracks from A Momentary Lapse of Reason and The Division Bell. ‘It pisses me off no end that tracks from those records get included. But there’s nothing I can do about it.’
Waters, nevertheless, had the opportunity to indulge himself with his own compilation, Flickering Flame: The Solo Years Part 1. Splicing together the best songs from each of his albums, it was a more inviting listening experience than any of the original records. As Waters wearily told interviewers when discussing his challenging solo albums, ‘I now realise that not everyone wants to go that deep.’ The one new song, ‘Flickering Flame’, included a stream-of-consciousness lyric that was in parts incredibly bombastic, especially when Waters likened himself to legendary Native Americans such as Geronimo and Crazy Horse, insisting that, like them, he’ll be ‘the last one to lay down my gun’. Elsewhere in the song, though, he acknowledged his marital problems and the death of his friend Philippe Constantin (whose 1976 interview with Waters remains one of the most revealing ever). The final telling lines offered a plea to his own ego to ‘let go of the bone’, with the hope that he might then, finally, be free.
The thirtieth anniversary reissue of Dark Side of
the Moon, now retitled The Dark Side of the Moon, was the only Pink Floyd activity in 2003. Instead of the album’s original engineer Alan Parsons, long-time Floyd collaborator James Guthrie oversaw the 5.1 Surround Sound mix. Waters, Gilmour, Mason and Wright roused themselves to talk to the press. For once, the backbiting was kept to a minimum. Instead, the band sounded genuinely proud of their achievement, even if only Waters claimed to have known all along just how good it really was: ‘One of the truly great moments in the history of rock ’n’ roll.’
David Gilmour, however, found himself in the newspapers for his non-Floyd activities. The year before he had sold his Georgian house in London’s Little Venice to Earl Spencer and publicly donated the money, £3.6 million, to the homeless charity Crisis. Just as surprising was his atypical willingness to talk publicly about the donation. ‘Quite frankly, I don’t need that money,’ he said, ‘I have more than enough.’ At the end of the year, Gilmour was awarded a CBE medal for his philanthropy and services to music. Photographed outside Buckingham Palace, immaculately groomed and impeccably dressed in a morning suit, Gilmour looked less like a rock star and more like a retired captain of industry.
However, the year would be marred again by the death of two more of the Floyd’s close confidants. In October, manager Steve O’Rourke had a stroke in Miami, Florida, and died soon after. O’Rourke had been the band’s sole manager since 1968. When Bryan Morrison sold the management wing of his agency to Brian Epstein’s company, NEMS Enterprises, O’Rourke went with Pink Floyd, later managing them through his own company, EMKA Productions. A fanatical motor racing enthusiast, O’Rourke had been competing until 2000 with his own EMKA racing team, when a heart problem forced him to stop driving. He was described by one former colleague as ‘a larger than life character, who knew both his own strengths and weaknesses’. Gilmour, Mason and Wright would perform ‘Fat Old Sun’ and ‘The Great Gig in the Sky’ at his funeral service. Waters, who’d fallen out with O’Rourke in the early eighties, did not attend. Barely a month later, orchestral arranger, composer and regular Floyd collaborator Michael Kamen would suffer a fatal heart attack. The deaths of his close friends would inform many of the songs on Gilmour’s next solo record.
Nick Mason’s long-delayed book about Pink Floyd would be published in the summer of 2004. Inside Out: A Personal History of Pink Floyd was a fascinating account of life inside the band. Later, Roger Waters would complain of Mason’s artistic licence in approaching the facts and a tendency to suggest that the band, rather than Waters alone, were responsible for many key decisions. In truth, there were enough points of trivia to appease the most committed fan, including numerous photographs from the drummer’s own archives, and enough witty, knockabout anecdotes to keep the less earnest reader interested. Film director Alan Parker, who, it seems, never quite got over the experience of working with Roger Waters on The Wall, claimed that the book made him laugh so much his wife feared he had Tourette’s Syndrome. There were plenty of places Mason’s book chose not to go – sex and drugs being two of them – but how much was down to his own decision or those of his bandmates was never revealed. To support its publication, the drummer also embarked on a most un-Floydlike promotional campaign; book signings, readings, meet-and-greets and numerous interviews.
News that his book was coming out prompted the commissioning of a special issue of Q magazine dedicated to Pink Floyd. David Gilmour twice declined a request for an interview. Richard Wright’s whereabouts seemed unknown (‘We think he’s sailing,’ somebody at EMI explained). Roger Waters was no longer on tour, but in the news again after declaring his support for War On Want’s campaign against the recently built Peace Wall, now dividing the Palestinian community in Israel. Waters had been pictured spray-painting the words ‘No thought control’ on the offending structure.
Waters agreed to talk, and his manager Mark Fenwick explained that he would call the magazine’s writer at some point over a given weekend and that he should await the call (a sly variation, perhaps, on the ‘Calculated Lateness Factor’). When it was pointed out that it might be a little harsh to expect someone to sit by the telephone for forty-eight hours, he relented and agreed to a specific time. Waters was as good as his word. At the end of the interview, when asked if he could anticipate any thaw in relations between himself and Gilmour, he replied, ‘I can’t think why. We’re both quite truculent individuals.’ Waters now had other matters to focus on. A month later, it was announced that he had sold the rights to develop and produce a Broadway musical of The Wall to the Miramax film company and music entrepreneur Tommy Mottola. ‘Great,’ Waters quipped. ‘Now I can write in some laughs.’
Nick Mason was his usual effusive self. Calling in from home, dogs snuffling and barking in the background, Mason joshed his way through the band’s history, carefully sidestepping questions about sex and drugs (‘I think that territory has moved from rock ‘n’ roll to football now’), but confessing that, yes, he’d love it if Pink Floyd played live again: ‘It would be fantastic if we could do it for something like another Live Aid; a significant event of that nature would justify it.’ A year later, that remark would come back to haunt him.
In May 2005, Tim Renwick, David Gilmour’s stunt double and Cambridge compadre, got married again. Gilmour was a guest at the wedding reception. ‘Dave said, “Live 8’s happening on 2 July, put it in your diary,”’ recalls Tim now. ‘I said, “Oh, are you doing it?” He said, “We are definitely not doing it, but just to let you know if you wanted to keep that date free.”’
On 31 May, Live 8 organiser Bob Geldof made the official announcement that ten benefit concerts would be staged worldwide to raise money for the Make Poverty History campaign. Looking for some suitably legendary names to join the likes of Madonna, U2 and Sir Paul McCartney at the gig in London’s Hyde Park, Geldof later recalled hearing about Mason’s comment that Pink Floyd might consider reforming for ‘another Live Aid’. In Geldof’s mind, this meant re-forming with Roger Waters, which was just the sort of historic reunion the concert needed.
Guy and Gala Pratt were on holiday in Formentera with the Gilmours when Guy read in the Daily Telegraph that Floyd were reuniting for Live 8. He had just signed up to play bass on the next Roxy Music tour, and was immediately contacted by Roxy’s tour manager. ‘I was like, “It is not happening!”’ laughs Guy. “‘I’m with David now. It will take more than Bob Geldof’s ego to get that lot back together.”’
Geldof telephoned Mason, who told him he thought he was probably wasting his time. Geldof called Gilmour and made his request outright. The guitarist turned him down flat. ‘I told him I was right in the middle of making my album,’ said Gilmour. ‘He said, “I’ll come down and see you.” So he jumped on the train …’
Gilmour phoned Geldof on his mobile phone and told him to turn back. Having now arrived at East Croydon station, in the heart of the Surrey commuter belt, Geldof was near enough for Gilmour to begrudgingly agree to drive from his Sussex farmhouse and pick him up.
‘He was a bit grumpy but he turned up in this lovely old Merc, and we went back to his place,’ Geldof told The Word magazine. Back at the farm, Geldof went into his pitch, while Gilmour listened attentively. Eventually, he asked for a few days to mull it over before making his final decision.
In the meantime, Nick Mason had e-mailed Roger Waters, cagily explaining that Geldof had approached them about re-forming Pink Floyd for Live 8. Waters took the bait and called Geldof directly. ‘Bob was just about to take his better half out for a birthday dinner,’ recalled Waters. ‘So our conversation was a little disjointed. Lots of saving the world interspersed with, “That looks great, try it with the other shoes …”’
Waters heard nothing more from Geldof for over two weeks, during which time Geldof wrote an impassioned letter to Gilmour asking him to reconsider. Mason believed that the only thing that would make the guitarist change his mind would be a call from Waters. Roger agreed and picked up the phone.
The last time he
and Gilmour had spoken since their final lawyers’ meeting in 1987 had been a couple of years earlier. Back then, they’d had an argument about a TV programme on the making of Dark Side of the Moon. According to Gilmour, ‘Roger’s memory had failed him slightly on one minor point, and we had to try to sort it out.’ The result had been a four-way conference call with the two shouting at each other. Since then, nothing.
‘It was … surprising,’ Gilmour admitted. ‘We chatted quite pleasantly for a minute or two and I said I’d call him back the next day when I’d thought about it. I thought about it, and thought that I’d probably always regret it if I didn’t do it.’ Twenty-four hours later he telephoned Waters and said, ‘OK, let’s do it.’
Bob Geldof was stunned. ‘I said to Gilmour, “You’ve made an old man very happy … Not that I can stand you cunts.” Cos I never liked their music really.’
With the arch-rivals reunited, Richard Wright immediately agreed to take part.
Back in London, Guy Pratt answered his phone to find Gilmour at the other end: ‘David said, “Are you sitting down?”’ Waters had told Gilmour that ideally he wanted to play acoustic guitar on two songs, meaning they needed a bass player. However, Guy was committed to the Roxy Music tour and would be playing a gig with them at the German Live 8 concert. ‘So I had two hours of pacing up and down thinking: What am I going to do?’ says Guy. ‘At one point, [Roxy’s guitarist] Phil Manzanera phoned up to see how my pacing was going.’ In the end, Guy decided to fulfil his commitment to Roxy Music.
David Gilmour, believing that the worthiness of the cause far outweighed a petty dispute between rock stars, issued a brief statement to the press: ‘Any squabbles Roger and the band have had in the past are so petty in this context. If re-forming for this concert will help focus attention, then it’s got to be worthwhile.’ Waters was terser: ‘The cynics will scoff. Screw ’em.’