Tag Archives: David Gilmour
GOOD LUCK
Rock behemoths Pink Floyd cast a long shadow across popular music, from the 60s to the 80s and beyond. Perhaps that is why Floyd guitarist David Gilmour has produced just five studio albums in a six decade career; the band that bought him fame, fortune and friction has tended to dominate his creative life. Luck […]
A DAY IN THE LIFE (OF A TURNTABLE)
Today I thought it would be fun to dig a little deeper into the collection and spin some albums that haven’t seen the turntable for ages. Years. In some cases, decades. The only rule was to wait until (at least one side of) the record finished before choosing the next. 8:30 am We had friends […]
A MENTAL FOIBLE
It’s an album that looks both forward and backwards yet is entirely of its time. Infused with a spirit of exploration, it manages to sound uncertain and confused. A new player is feeling his way while the ghost of a departed leader haunts every groove. Flashback… Pink Floyd manager Peter Jenner was convinced Syd Barrett […]
TRANS GILMOUR EXPRESS
Imagine a smooth, well-engineered train ride. You glide along, half-watching the countryside slip past the window, awake but not really focussed on anything in particular, enjoying a comfortable rhythmic ambience that rarely intrudes upon whatever reverie colours your mind. Such is the seamless swish of Metallic Spheres. The Orb mapped this journey, laying down tracks […]
DRIFTING DOWN THE ENDLESS RIVER
SIDE ONE – NEEDLE DROP It’s the first week of summer but you wouldn’t know it. Skies are sullen and there is a sneering, chilly breeze. More like late Autumn, really. I’m sitting in front of the stereo, having just dropped the stylus on the first side of the final Pink Floyd album. On the […]
THE AMAZING PUDDING
David Gilmour reflected that Atom Heart Mother, Pink Floyd’s first album of the 70s, was “us blundering about in the dark” [1, p.92]. Keyboard player Rick Wright does not remember it fondly. “Looking back it wasn’t so good” [2, p.82]. For his part, Roger Waters would prefer the suite be “thrown into the dustbin and […]
THE WINDOW AND THE WALL
In the late 80s I was living alone in a small house in Footscray, an inner-west suburb of Melbourne nestling between industrial docklands and a waste management terminal. Bunbury Street was quite special not for any Oscar Wilde association but because a railway line ran underneath it, lengthwise. It was a goods line from the […]
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