MY NIGHT WITH ROGER WATERS
14 May 2011
The O2 ‘Dome’ is a strange thing. A monument to ego and vanity, now re-tooled and re-made for a new century and a new purpose, it is a fitting venue for the presentation of Roger Water’s grand statement ...
Deliberately having chosen seats at the back of the floor seating, the better to take in the scale of what was about to happen, we are not disappointed. At each side of the venue there are partially built sections of the wall, with the customary Pink Floyd circular screen suspended above centre stage. The lights go down and the ‘I am Spartacus’ dialogue fills the arena. Whatever is about to happen, the declared intention is that we are all in this together.
The slow mournful opening refrain is shattered by the crushing riff of 'In The Flesh' as fireworks explode against a black and red imperial backdrop worthy of Albert Speer. As the song reaches a climax the stage is strafed with pyrotechnics, the sound of gunfire swirls around the audience and a Stuka crashes in to the wall taking out the top righthand section in a ball of flame.
A picture of Waters’ father fills the circular screen accompanied by brief biographical details: date of birth, occupation, date of death. The image fades and another takes its place, and another ... victims of other conflicts, an arab woman “activist”, a child killed in Iraq, a 911 firefighter, Jean Charles de Menezes - “civilian”. Slowly each brick in the wall is filled with the face of a casualty - a giant montage spanning the stage.
This opening section serves as a taster for all that follows. The original concept has been re-worked and expanded to take in the anti-war, anti-corporate themes that have run through all of Waters’ work since 1980.
In ‘Mother’ - sung by Waters as a duet with his younger self - the lyric ‘should I trust the government?’ is answered by the giant graffiti “No fucking way!” scrawled in Gerald Scarfe’s distinctive hand. The inflatable pig that drifts slowly overhead is defaced with anti-consumerist slogans. The Banksy inspired projections take a clear swipe at Apple; and Shell & Mercedes logos substitute for the falling bombs.
A children’s choir arrives onstage for Another Brick In The Wall, as does a giant inflatable teacher. The performance is memorable not for the panto-style sing-a-long but for the crowd rising as one, craning their necks at the first note of the guitar solo ... but it’s not HIM. Everyone sits.
The projections are simply astonishing. Graphics flow and merge into one another, sections of the wall seem to disappear, the wall itself appears to twist and distort. I have never seen a show as impressively staged.
‘Goodbye Cruel World’ closes the first half, as the final brick slips into place. During the intermission the wall is filled with the photographs of victims of conflict - each donated by friends or relatives.
Everyone knows that the big will-he-won’t-he moment is coming with ‘Comfortably Numb’. Waters is standing at the base of the giant towering wall and sure enough, as the chorus arrives, the spotlights pick out a balding man in a black T shirt standing on the top of wall. Ladies and gentlemen, David Gilmour is in the house. It is a truly spine-tingling moment. Fittingly, the solo is accompanied by the most impressive visual effect of the evening as Waters turns and punches a hole in the wall.
It is a hard act to follow, and the original Gerald Scarfe animations make an appearance during The Trial section. (Is there any more thankless task in rock that being Roger Waters’ mother?) Now dated, by comparison with what has gone before these animations reinforce the impression that technology has at last caught up sufficiently to allow Roger Waters to realise his original vision.
Ironically the physical tearing down of the wall itself can only be anti-climactic after the dazzling display of projections and lighting effects that precede it. Nevertheless the enthusiasm of the crowd is not affected. We know what should come next - a simple acoustic marching-band reprise of that opening theme amidst the rubble. Instead Rog walks alone to the centre of the stage to acknowledge the applause, to thank David Gilmour for ‘honouring’ him by appearing tonight and to invite him back on to the stage. The entire crowd are on their feet.
As Gilmour, mandolin in hand, walks out on to the stage there is more drama in Waters leaning in to embrace him than in anything we have seen earlier. For a brief moment, in that heady atmosphere, the rubble surrounding these two smiling men seems to take on yet another meaning. Then Waters mentions that there is ‘another remnant of our old band’ in the house and Nick Mason, clutching a tambourine, joins the two onstage. Around me middle-aged men seem to have something in their collective eye.
And in the end Waters makes his peace ... with one hand on Gilmour’s shoulder he acknowledges that 30 years ago when they made The Wall, he was a grumpy, disaffected bugger, “as young David can attest”, but expresses his happiness at being on this stage with this former bandmates.
The musicians slowly file from stage playing that refrain, leaving the three survivors to take their final bow.
