In 2005, twenty years after he convened Live Aid, Bob Geldof turned his his attentions to eradicating third world debt, and his target was the G8 summit. Live 8 was born. Many of the greats agreed immediately, but there was one particular band in Bob’s sights. Pink Floyd.
Bob tried to get him to do it. And he failed.
Rather than quit, Bob doubled down. Not only was he going to get Pink Floyd, he was going to get their former bassist, co-vocalist and major songwriter to play with them as well. Roger Waters. One of the most brilliant, truculent figures in music.
The thing was, though, Roger had quit the band twenty years earlier, ushering in one of the most acrimonious divorces in music history. And he hadn’t played live with the band since 1981. Gilmour and Waters hadn’t spoken in over fifteen years.
Bob pitched his plan to Gilmour. Gilmour said no. Not to be denied, Bob went to Nick Mason, Pink Floyd’s drummer, and far and away the most convivial member of the family. Of particular importance was that Mason and Waters were actual friends, and had been since childhood. Mason, whilst doubtful, agreed to pitch the idea to Waters. And to his surprise, Waters was up for it.
But Gilmour still wasn’t. Bob last shot was convincing Waters to reach out directly to him. He did.
And it worked. The band put their differences aside, and came together for one final stand.
It was brief - only four songs - but it was incredible. And the final song was this one. Comfortably Numb.
The perfect collaboration between this two starkly different men. Waters’ words, Gilmour’s music. A song of resigned indifference, but with soaring music that fought with tremendous feeling against the convictions it espoused.
And, quite simply, the band gave the performance of their lives. They enjoyed it, clearly, but they were giving it their all. Looks of intense determination of their faces. Waters, gritted with the steel that defined him. Rick Wright, Floyd’s musical soul, colouring the music with emotions that the man himself always struggled to express. Mason, drumming with in perfect, letting each beat like a gloved fist.. And Gilmour, playing with pure fire, his guitar a raging, weeping torrent of emotion. At just over the five and a half minute mark, the long truly lifts off. The looks on Gilmour's face are of a man playing with every fibre of his being. Music simply bleeding out of him. Notes soaring into the air like liquid lightning. To see Waters playing alongside him, face flecked with the concentration one would expect, but an admiration that the two did not allow themselves to share with one another for more than two decades, brought joy to millions. When I first watched it, I had tears in my eyes.
They played for the cause. They played for their fallen comrade, Syd. They played for their families, each man wanting their children see their fathers moving beyond resentment and into forgiveness.
And they played for themselves. They had a message for the world.
We are Pink Floyd.
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