Comfortably Numb: The Inside Story of Pink Floyd (64 page)

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 re-forming 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.’

A band meeting took place at London’s Connaught Hotel to work out a setlist. Waters brought video recordings of his own band; Gilmour showed up with recordings from the Floyd’s last two tours. There were, as Nick Mason later recalled, ‘smiles and jokes all round’, but also arguments over which songs to play.

‘The first meeting was pretty stilted and cagey,’ admitted Gilmour. ‘It was weird going into that same room. The songs that Roger wanted to do were not the same ones that I thought we should do. Roger wanted to do “Another Brick in the Wall”, but I didn’t think it was appropriate. This was a thing for Africa and I didn’t really think that little children in Africa should be singing, “We don’t need no education.” There was no argument about it. I was absolutely right.’

Gilmour said that Waters had also been keen to perform ‘In the Flesh’, while Nick Mason claimed Roger wanted to play ‘Run Like Hell’. Both were songs from
The Wall
: angry, confrontational rock ’n’ roll songs, appropriate in the context of the album’s unstinting tale of music biz psychosis, but rejected, according to Mason, on the grounds that ‘such fascist anthems might be bit brutal for the occasion’.

Waters relented and agreed to ‘roll over for one night only’. He was also acutely aware of the irony of the Pink Floyd situation when compared to the Live 8 cause. ‘It did seem that to be wandering around, espousing this idea of communicating and solving problems while not talking to Gilmour
was
hypocritical.’

Three days of rehearsals were booked at London’s Black Island Studios. In the meantime, Gilmour put himself through his paces, rehearsing the set several times a day on his own at home. Extra assistance was also needed. Invited to join the four on stage were backing singer Carol Kenyon (who’d sung on
The Division Bell
), saxophonist Dick Parry, keyboard player Jon Carin and guitarist Tim Renwick. Waters would, however, play bass himself. For Carin and Renwick this was history repeating itself: Jon had played at Live Aid at Wembley with Bryan Ferry, while Tim had backed Eric Clapton at the show in Philadelphia.

‘Two weeks before Live 8 I got this call,’ says Renwick. ‘And it was Dave, laughing. He said, “We’re doing it now, and we’re doing it with Roger.” I was completely gobsmacked. I never imagined it. Dave said, “It’ll be a real laugh” - except it wasn’t a laugh at all.

‘Roger was at least an hour late turning up each day. Then he’d turn up with this attitude of, “Right, I’m here now, we can begin” - which is what he used to do years ago. Then he’d be making wild suggestions about rearranging things because with his band he’d done things at different tempos. David, bless him, was very accommodating, but in the end he had to turn around and say, “Look, we’re doing four numbers and at the end of the day, people are expecting to hear the hits
exactly
the way they sounded in the old days.” ’

The setlist squabbles only served to emphasise the polar opposites that Waters and Gilmour had become. For the bass-playing ideas man, it was all about the concept, the grand idea. For the guitarist, the music, and the audience, came first.

‘It was awkward and uncomfortable,’ admitted Gilmour later. ‘My view was that I wanted it to be small, compact, the four of us with whatever help we needed, and Roger wanted to expand it a bit.’

‘There wasn’t a single person in that room that Roger hadn’t upset at some point in his career,’ laughs Renwick. ‘So there was a lot of people standing around, looking very tight-lipped and being incredibly professional but keeping their heads down.’

The night before the show, Floyd convened for a final dress rehearsal at Hyde Park. In the event, the setlist was decided with ‘Breathe’, ‘Breathe Reprise’, ‘Money’ (partly at Bob Geldof’s request), ‘Wish You Were Here’ and ‘Comfortably Numb’. Pink Floyd were slated to appear as second on the bill, just below headliner Paul McCartney; a reversal of the roles at 1990’s Knebworth. The Beatle would also open the show. Setting the tone for a day of one-off collaborations and fleeting reunions, McCartney struck up the opening fanfare of
Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
backed by a rather rusty U2. ‘Did that really happen?’ asked Bono afterwards.

Backstage, only Nick Mason would allow himself to be buttonholed by roving BBC reporters. While refusing to succumb to any diva-ish tendencies, Floyd also discovered that, for some of the day at least, they would have to share their dressing room with, according to Gilmour, ‘Snow Patrol or someone’. There was, as Tim Renwick recalls, ‘an awful lot of hanging around’.