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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