David Gilmour – Self-Titled Review

Any band whose members suffer a vicious bust-up will find themselves entwined in a back-and-forth of one-upmanship. With David Gilmour, dissatisfaction with where Pink Floyd had headed in the latter days of Roger Waters’ stewardship was an inevitable push to provide work on his own. Gilmour was not the bigger pull name-wise but was the more talented instrumentalist at the time of this self-titled release. It is a great failure then to see his discography not well received by his record label at the time of release. The Johnny Cash treatment is a vile inevitability for those who must wait decades to rejuvenate their sound and continue with breaking new forms. Such is David Gilmour, a solid work from a man known better elsewhere. That was the trouble, but also the rewarding core of this album.  

Opener Mihalis is the expected guitar quality Gilmour is known for. Nice work and a neat introduction to the songs of his solo career. No qualms about it and a decent selection. There is little more to it – a heartfelt piece of instrumental sleekness, as was expected from the rhythm commander of Pink Floyd. It is not until There’s No Way Out of Here that we get to hear the vocal depths Gilmour can provide. Moments of shifting boundaries, the sands of time shifting into place as he rises above a Dire Straits-lite style. Gilmour’s self-titled effort is filled with deeply personal laments over his time in the Waters-featuring band. David Gilmour hits out at the claustrophobia which comes from any name in a band. It happened for Queen and Black Sabbath, and so too Pink Floyd. It is a rite of passage for a recognised name to branch off on their own, but at the time of this daring first album, Gilmour did not have that. 

Instead, he applies the tools which served him well during his tenure in Pink Floyd, before he took over that is. Blues-oriented tracks like Cry from the Street settle in well and rely on committed and repeated guitar structures, a chance for Gilmour to profile himself as a vocalist first, and instrumentalist second. This is a successful break from what is expected of him. He is not just tethered to his talents with six strings but gets a chance to break through with a voice of his own, and his writing is filled with solid, vivid imagery. Parts of this funk and blues appeal come from So Far Away – a song which successfully deploys session pianist Mick Weaver in a more prominent role. He creates a nice balance to the soppy lyrical work here. But then Gilmour manages to keep a consistency streaming through this one.  

There is an inkling of doubt looming over this piece. All those riffs and methodically timed blues punches are like the sounds of Pink Floyd. Expectedly so, Gilmour was the big, turning cog of the band’s instrumental impression. But when it comes to his solo work, a failure to truly explore further away from that sound (bar an impressive interlude on Short and Sweet) is a tad reductive. Where it may not divert from a working formula, David Gilmour does no harm with this sudden and necessary collection of drifting guitar numbers. The fade-out of Raise My Rent could not be better timed and the feed into No Way and Deafinitely is a wonderful occasion. Exceptional stuff from a guitar master – but it could have been so much stronger. Gilmour finds his footing in a sudden and long-running, rarely updated solo career.