The reunion

On 2 July 2005, at Hyde Park, something materialized that for over twenty years had seemed unimaginable: Roger Waters, David Gilmour, Richard Wright and Nick Mason back together on the same stage under the name Pink Floyd. A one-off event, destined to remain so, born of a chain of circumstances, thanks to an external motivation strong enough to crack mutual suspicions and hostilities built up over the years.

The origin of the so-called "impossible reunion" is to be found a few months earlier, in the autumn of 2004. Mojo magazine published a retrospective on the English band and gathered statements that would carry more weight than expected. Asked about a possible reunion, Waters replied bluntly: "It would be like going to bed with my ex-wife." Mason, more cautious, left the door slightly open: "It would be wonderful if we could do it for something like a new Live Aid: an event of that kind would justify it."

Those words came to the attention of Bob Geldof, already the man behind the historic Live Aid in 1985 and busy organizing Live 8, a series of global concerts in support of the Make Poverty History campaign ahead of the G8 summit in Auchterarder. To replicate the symbolic impact of twenty years earlier, an equivalent coup de théâtre was needed. The Pink Floyd reunion was the perfect target.

The first obstacle to overcome, however, was David Gilmour, who had shown himself immovable in the face of the idea. Geldof contacted him and was immediately turned down, but he didn't stop there: he got on a train to go and see him in person. Gilmour called him back during the journey to tell him to forget it, but the answer was blunt: "I'm coming anyway." Not even the face-to-face meeting changed the situation.

At that point Geldof brought in Nick Mason, asking him to act as mediator. The drummer refused, fearing the opposite effect, but found an alternative route: contacting Waters, with whom he had patched things up. He sent him an email hinting at a project to "save the planet", without going into much detail. The reply came quickly, and unexpectedly. Waters wanted to know more. A phone call with Geldof followed, confused and almost chaotic at first. Only after a few weeks did the organizer lay out the project clearly: a global event, political as well as musical, with a precise goal. Time was extremely short, less than a month.

This is where the turning point happened. Waters himself, who a year earlier had ruled out any possibility, unexpectedly decided to say yes. As he would later recall: "Geldof called me and said: 'I'm trying to convince him [David Gilmour] to do it, but he keeps telling me to fuck off and so on. Will you help me?' He said: 'You're the only person who can make that phone call and make it happen.'" And Waters agreed: "Well, I'll do it. You'll have to give me his phone number. I have no idea what it is. But I'll definitely call him."

The call to Gilmour, however, didn't start well: the guitarist seemed determined to hold his ground. But something then changed quickly. As Waters himself sums it up: "I called Gilmour and he immediately said no, but - of course - it didn't take long before he changed his mind and said: 'Yes, all right.'"

In Mason's account, the moment is just as direct: "Roger offered to make the decisive move and call David. 'Hi,' he said when he got him on the phone, 'I think we should do this thing.'"

Gilmour remained doubtful, worried about not being ready, about having too little time to rehearse. He asked for twenty-four hours. And the next day the yes came.

At that point everything fell into place quickly. Richard Wright, initially left out of the negotiations, accepted without hesitation, albeit with "a small shiver of concern at the prospect of voluntarily re-entering what had once been, for him, a kind of gladiatorial arena."

With the most delicate issue resolved - the relationship between Waters and Gilmour - old tensions immediately resurfaced, especially over the setlist. "The first meeting was unnatural, loaded with suspicion," Gilmour would recall. The disagreements concerned the songs: Waters proposed "Another Brick In The Wall", but Gilmour objected: "We were talking about a concert for Africa, and I don't think the local kids should be singing: 'We don't need no education'. There was an argument. I was absolutely right." In the end they settled on an essential selection, representative but consistent with the context. The setlist was finalized ten days before the show, at the Connaught Hotel in London. Rehearsals were held at Black Island Studios, with the support of additional musicians.

On 2 July the wait finally came to an end. The band took the stage late in the evening. Mason describes the moment with precision: "When we walked on stage, at eleven at night, we were charged up by all that anticipation, adrenaline was boiling and nervousness had firmly taken hold of us. But when, in the darkened arena, the recorded tape of the heartbeat kicked in, launching 'Breathe', I was already starting to relax, giving in to the familiar feeling of being part of a band."

The dynamic surprised the participants themselves: “Getting back on stage with the others was wonderful: Rick rolling out his parts one after another, David reliable as ever, spot-on and poetic, and Roger, despite his advancing years, remarkably lively—livelier than I could ever remember seeing him.”

Before launching into “Wish You Were Here,” Waters addresses the crowd: “It's quite emotional, standing up here with these guys after all these years... Anyway, we do it for all the people who aren't here, and particularly, of course, for Syd.”

The performance lasts just over twenty minutes. Below is the setlist and the full video of Pink Floyd's set:

• Breathe (In the Air)
• Breathe (Reprise)
• Money
• Wish You Were Here
• Comfortably Numb

But that impossible reunion, precisely because it was impossible, would have no follow-up. The idea of a tour was ruled out immediately. “I don't really need it,” Waters would say. “I didn't mind giving in for a day, but I certainly couldn't do it for a whole tour.” Gilmour would be even more blunt: “Just thinking about it makes me break out in a cold sweat.” Still, it left behind a fleeting sign of thaw: “David sent me an email shortly afterwards. It said: 'Hi Rog, glad you rang. That was fun, wasn't it?'” Waters, for his part, would add: “I'm really pleased I did it—it was twenty magical minutes, or whatever it was, up there with Dave, Nick and Rick one last time. It was really great.”

Three years later, in 2008, the death of Richard Wright would give that concert an even deeper meaning: a final farewell from the band to their audience, with the inevitable exception of Syd Barrett. “I've always thought it was one of our best shows,” Mason went on, “partly because everyone knew there was tension between Roger and David, but each of us decided that the occasion mattered more than any disagreement, more than the band itself or the music. I think it was a real show of maturity.”

A chapter closed, then, in much the same way it had opened. All that remains is the memory of that unforgettable July 2, 2005—the sole counterpoint to the chill that would later settle between Waters and Gilmour, sealing a rift now irreversible, one that no new Live 8 could ever heal.

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25/04/2026