The dominant double-tracked bass guitars are actually played by both Waters and Gilmour, on either side of the stereo image. With double-tracked guitars hard-panned to the left and right speakers, the aural effect is akin to a duel – albeit one with himself. As the track tunnels forward, some high leads begin to dance around the periphery, before David fully invades the spotlight as we pass the five minute mark, unleashing a flowing firestorm of tension-releasing brilliance. Kickstarting their decisive sixth record with a springy bass-dominated intro, One of These Days initially finds Gilmour’s low-mixed guitar whirling mechanically in the background. Waters last year posted a video to his YouTube channel, criticising the official Pink Floyd website’s lack of coverage for his work and claiming that a recent ‘Camp David’ for surviving Floyd members, hoping to resolve the tension, bore no fruit. Though they put their bad blood to one side for that legendary Live 8 performance back in 2005, Waters and Gilmour remain at loggerheads to this day. Though the record was beset with conflict behind the scenes, this emotive track underlined the supreme musical alchemy of Waters and Gilmour – even if they couldn’t bear to be in the same room as each other. Wrenching out every square millimetre of heartbreak from the song, Gilmour’s solo routes his Stratocaster tone through an Electro-Harmonix Big Muff, occasionally doubled up to provide emphasis. The grandiose title track from Roger Waters’ final contribution to the Floyd canon, and a treatise on the horrors of the military, The Final Cut still allows Gilmour the space to shine, gatecrashing the largely guitar-free arrangement near its conclusion. While the studio version is an underrated gem, the live version pushed the musical ideas even further, extending the song’s run time and developing that beastly solo into an evolving electric blues jam.įat Old Sun was a David Gilmour track through and through, with Richard Wright being the only other Floyd member to appear on the studio recording. The lead part morphs from hefty low E-string riffing to vibrant scale runs. As we sail past the three-minute mark, Gilmour unchains his inner beast and stomps on his Arbiter Fuzz Face pedal. Fat Old Sun (Atom Heart Mother, 1970)Īn early example of Gilmour’s guitar dexterity, Fat Old Sun’s hypnotic acoustic arrangement works to lull the listener into a state of placid serenity, with a few delicate licks atmospherically fluttering at the edges of the mix. Consequently, Nick Mason found it a tricky one to record, and a session player had to come in to lock down the final drum track. Though it sounds softer on the ear than many other Floyd arrangements, Mother skips between a variety of odd time signatures, including 5/8 and 9/8. It’s a prime example of Gilmour’s genius for making the sophisticated sound completely effortless, and is among the most wondrous guitar moments on The Wall. The solo manoeuvres around the G, C, D chord structure with awe-inspiring grace – emphasising the root notes of each chord and guiding our ears to further chordal transitions. It’s an ideal musical footing from which to showcase a similarly restrained, yet undeniably gorgeous, Gilmour solo, which launches out of the mix at the 2:50 mark. Gradually building outwards from a fragile acoustic arrangement, Mother develops into a beautiful standout, ejecting much of The Wall’s pervasive themes of oppression and representing a tender (but cynical) nod to conventionality. Shades of Run Like Hell can still be found on Gilmour’s eponymous debut, as elements of it pepper the track Short and Sweet – just compare the intros. It’s an irresistible listen, and a notable mood-enhancer. The verse lurches us dramatically between Em, F, C and B, before we’re once again back with the feel-good jog of that central riff. With its springy, palm-muted single notes rooted in D, flashes of light illuminate this foundation via some stirring, descending chord shapes which take us on a colourful drive back to the tonic. Originating as a piece of music Gilmour had earmarked for his first solo album, Run Like Hell is a masterclass in tension and release, its tight arrangement allowing for minimal musical flourishes (the only solo here, being Richard Wright’s dazzling synth centrepiece). As we pace towards The Wall’s climax, the dark funk of Run Like Hell primes us to close the book on 1979’s dystopian double-album.
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