David Gilmour’s slender catalogue has been many things over the years: tuneful, mellow, thought-provoking, yet, at times, hardly invigorating. Luck & Strange definitely does not fall into that category. Wouldn’t it be fantastic to listen to new Gilmour material without knowing his back story? This is exactly what happened to Charlie Andrew, the co-producer of Luck & Strange. Gilmour reached out to him after being impressed with his production work with Alt-J, realising that, after being galvanised to work during lockdown, he wanted to change his approach to recording. By asking fundamental questions of Gilmour, Andrew was very happy to kick over the statues, questioning such Gilmour trademarks as the long fade-out or the positioning of guitar solos. Gilmour himself has talked about Andrew’s “wonderful lack of knowledge of, and respect for, my past”. By being direct, there seems little of the polite deference that has permeated Gilmour’s recent work. As a result, for the first time in years, a David Gilmour release is really quite exciting.
However, the baby is not slung out into the endless river with this transformation. The ghost of Gilmour’s old group, Pink Floyd, can be found throughout: their bassist, Guy Pratt, is on six of the tracks; an old improvisation with Richard Wright is incorporated; a heartbeat introduces Shattered; Polly Sampson’s lyrics refer, however obliquely, to the past – there are pipers, a fixer to numb the pain, and time is mentioned throughout. Even The Division Bell cover star Ely Cathedral was used to record the choir. However, although the listener knows some landmarks on their journey, there are enough diversions to make Luck & Strange refreshing. Andrew brought in members of contemporary jazzers Polar Bear and Melt Yourself Down to play, and Gilmour and Sampson’s family contribute. Roger Eno adds expressive piano work, while session royalty Steve Gadd guests on drums.
Many will be reassured by the familiarity of the brief instrumental opener, Black Cat, which crosses our path with its expressive lead guitar over a descending piano motif; but then things switch up with the title track, an urgent take on ruminative blues opening with Wright’s keyboard unpinning Gilmour’s sweetly aged voice. Sampson writes for who she knows best: it runs at high speed through Gilmour’s life, from post-war optimism to “soaring free from the bounds of the earth”. His vocals are completely off the chart. Energised, he moves toward falsetto, and before his solo is unleashed, the central tenet of Luck & Strange is offered: “time for this mortal man to love the child that holds my hand… and the woman who smiles when I embrace her; these eyes stay dry but my oh my guitar.” He is a homebody in love, but when the call arrives, he is still ready to play.
The Piper’s Call, a cautionary tale of Faustian pacts, starts as fascinating summer rock with a searing chorus, then Gilmour’s playing is reminiscent of his work on Dogs, an attacking boogie. A Single Spark visits the tolling bell across the fields, with choir recorded at Ely: for those who know the sacred space, its ambience permeates the song, adding to the album’s many textures. A 46-second harp-and-guitar interlude, Vita Brevis, continues the rumination on life and death, before a cover of The Montgolfier Brothers’ beautifully obscure Between Two Points with daughter Romany singing lead vocal; Gilmour’s bluesy guitar conclusion is reminiscent of his work on Paul McCartney’s No More Lonely Nights. Dark And Velvet Nights bursts out like metal, while the melancholic Sings finds Gilmour again not wishing to leave the cocoon of family, as time passes: Guy Pratt’s fretless bass runs are like a compilation of all his best playing of the 80s. The seven and a half minutes of closer Scattered is the most overtly Floyd: with its heartbeat opening and Echoes-like Leslie piano and keyboard accompaniment, Eno’s grand piano presages more fierce soloing. It ultimately bows out with a keyboard pulse rather than a guitar fade, with Gilmour still pondering the inevitable: “Time is a tide that disobeys, and it disobeys me – it never ends.” An intriguing end to a beguiling album.
David Gilmour knows he can never escape the past, but here, he offers it only in enticing glimpses, with energy, passion, and urgency. Luck & Strange is Gilmour looking back through the lens of today. It is a contemporary sounding album full of songs worth revisiting, out of love, not some old Floydian care
of duty.
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Available from Rough Trade Here
Reviewed by Daryl Easlea
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