Forget the Egos: David Gilmour Was the True Soul of Pink Floyd

For a fleeting moment in 1973, there was no band on Earth bigger—or better—than Pink Floyd.
Sure, it was a golden year for music. Stevie Wonder’s Innervisions, Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On, and Wings’ Band on the Run all reshaped the soundscape. But when The Dark Side of the Moon hit the shelves, Pink Floyd seized the crown. They were a band firing on every creative cylinder, capturing a once-in-a-lifetime spark.

It wasn’t an overnight success story. Pink Floyd had long flirted with brilliance, often burying their visionary ideas under heaps of experimental clutter. But with Dark Side, everything clicked: focus, ambition, melody, and madness, stitched together into something truly timeless.

In the decade of indulgence that was the ‘70s, unchecked genius became dangerous. As the narcotic fog began to lift, many artists found a new drug: ego.

Roger Waters deserves his share of the credit. His restless ambition pushed Pink Floyd into uncharted territory, redefining what rock music could say and sound like. Yet, the years following their peak tell a different story—one where Waters’s quest for artistic immortality increasingly blurred into self-importance and control.

This isn’t a contest about personalities, though if it were, David Gilmour would win in a landslide.

While Waters chased the spotlight, Gilmour let his music do the talking. Over time, he’s become the unassuming godfather of classic rock, casually dropping guitar tutorials online for solos that changed the course of music history.

And it’s Gilmour’s humility—both personal and musical—that cemented his place as the soul of Pink Floyd.

Before he joined, the band, led by Syd Barrett, danced on the edge of experimental greatness but lacked the melodic core to truly soar. Gilmour brought that essential human touch, anchoring the psychedelic chaos with emotion and melody. His genius wasn’t in showing off—it was in connecting.

Even Nick Cave once confessed that Gilmour’s playing “touches me in a very deep place.”

Listen to “Comfortably Numb,” arguably Gilmour’s greatest statement: it’s not just a guitar solo—it’s a story, a cry, a lifeline. And unlike many virtuosos, Gilmour didn’t strut; he simply let the notes bleed all the emotion the song needed.

In the end, David Gilmour was more than Pink Floyd’s guitarist. He was the gravity that kept the band from floating off into self-indulgent oblivion. Without him, all the ambition in the world wouldn’t have saved them from losing their way.