Well, Roger, you made me cry you talented bastard! What started out as a joke between friends that I should do a little something on the song Mother, because I may be a tiny bit over protective of my boy, turned into my crying into my keyboard after you plucked at my heartstrings.. I try not to be overprotective Rog. I try. No dad, my only kid, my side kick. I’ll admit it, I need him to be ok, because if he isn’t ok, I can’t be. I need my baby, who is now a teen to thrive, and yes, Rog, I worry about bad girls – because I used to be one. I worry about girls who would treat him badly, girls who would control him, girls who would lead my little boy astray. I know, it and I try not to. I tell him to tell me to piss off if he needs to. I love him, and do you know something Roger….I love you too, man.
I love you like an old friend that doesn’t know me. I loved you from that arrogant hippy in the Syd Barrett daze, prancing round a park for the See Emily Play proto-music video, to the emergent leader in one of the most important bands of the golden age of music. Full disclosure, I’m younger than you, I’m a punk girl, a grungy n’er do well, not a flouncy trouncy hippy, but, Roger, darling, you weren’t much of a hippy either. Beneath that early acid soaked extravagant exterior lay a hard-edged ambitious composer of epic albums. You had your band, and what a band you were! Hands down, the most fantastic lead guitarist a band could ever wish for. You want soaring? You want evocative, get the Killer, his Careful with that Axe, David, and his fastidious, meticulous eye for a gut wrenching solo. You had the best keyboardist outside of The Doors, the fabulous Rick Wright, and a solid drummer, who drummed and didn’t get in the way, plus Nick always seemed like a nice guy, not the animal most bands had to put up with on drums. I actually fear for what would have happened had you had to contend with the likes of Keith Moon!
When I saw you wrote that you missed your band in the blurb for the youtube post, I admit, you tugged on my heartstrings. I had read the usual music mag fluff about personality clashes and fall outs between brothers, and I admit, I may have felt a pang of sympathy for the mild David. I still do. I am not easy to get along with either, but it doesn’t mean I don’t love or care about people. It just means that sometimes I can be a prick that likes things done a certain way, and when you are The Floyd, when you are Pink, Roger, I can see how that could get a little out of hand. If you didn’t take control of songs and albums who on earth was going to? David? Give me a break!
So I pressed play. I wasn’t expecting a huge amount, I’m not sure why – Roger Waters is never known to do things by halves. Perfectionism is the only mode for the man who was behind The Wall. You had me emotional by 2 minutes in. By the time you intoned the bands names, the sadness etched on your face, and announced you missed David, I was in tears. It was not wholly because I wished with all my heart that Dave would call you up and make amends and bring the band back together for one lucrative last hurrah, it was also because that was the single most powerful performance I have seen in many years.
People, Roger Waters isn’t just back, he never left.