David Gilmour 5: Luck And Strange

Seemingly on something of a nine-year plan, David Gilmour emerged post-pandemic with only his fifth solo album. Luck And Strange apparently came together very quickly, for him, and he’s settled into his older voice, which we feared was on its way out last time. In co-producer Charlie Andrew he gained a foil who kept him on track, and didn’t let him fall back on old habits or tropes. That’s a tall order when the lyric, which focus on the familiar themes of aging and mortality, provided as ever by wife Polly Samson. Some familiar sidemen appear in the credits, and his now-adult children contribute to several tracks, but the biggest surprise is the legendary Steve Gadd drumming on half the album. Orchestra and choirs appear, but not excessively.

“Black Cat” is a haunting instrumental, Gilmour playing his signature tone over Roger Eno’s piano. If anything, it’s too short. The title track stemmed from a jam with Richard Wright a year before his death, and his distinctive electric piano adds all the color. If the verses seem a little simple musically, wait for the choruses and bridge, and daughter Romany’s harmonies are lovely. “The Piper’s Call” begins with a plaintive ukulele strum but soon builds, with another soaring chorus, then almost imperceptibly into a funky stomper with a solid solo taking it out. It’s a stark contrast into “A Single Spark”, which almost seems like a throwback to Beth Orton trip-pop, with some wonderful layers. “Vita Brevis” is all too brief for an instrumental, the title of which translates as “life is short”.

Romany plays the harp on that, and her voice is front and center on “Between Two Points”, a cover of an obscure (to us) song from 1999 originally written and recorded by the Montgolfier Brothers duo. It’s a haunting performance, and her take is exquisite. At this point the relative heaviness of “Dark And Velvet Nights” sticks out, opening with feedback and a bombastic fanfare. He spends a lot of time wailing on this, supported by another throwback in the ‘70s, almost Philly soul strings. Then it’s back to being pensive on “Sings”; after albums full of imagery and near-poetry, it’s striking to hear him sing of such things as “Portobello Road”. (Near the end we hear a snatch of his original hummed sketch for the tune, with his then-toddler son adding encouragement. It’s very sweet.) As “Scattered” crawls in, a Leslied piano recalls the effect on “Echoes”. A more successful version of the ruminating that slowed down Rattle That Lock, it all builds via some crazy cocktail piano to first an acoustic solo then a more archetypal electric one, but he’s wise enough to calm things down for a subdued coda.

As usual, the album was released in various permutations with extra material. The so-called deluxe CD added the one-off, gypsy-flavored single “Yes, I Have Ghosts” from 2020, sung with Romany and originally released on the audiobook of the novel Polly published that year, and the original 14-minute “barn jam” from 2007 with Richard Wright that was the genesis of the title track. (Vinyl and Blu-ray boxes also added two alternate “orchestral” mixes and sometimes a demo of “A Single Spark”.)

Possibly the best thing about Luck And Strange is that it doesn’t pointedly sound like Pink Floyd, yet it sounds completely like David Gilmour. It may not be, as he’s stated, his best work since The Dark Side Of The Moon—he’s certainly had several high points since then—but it is very strong, and perfectly timed for a fall release.

Though we still don’t know what Ozzy Osbourne is doing on the cover.

David Gilmour Luck And Strange (2024)—3½