Roger Waters had always struck me as cold — a morose type more inclined to scowl than smile, the kind of performer content to merely stand center stage all night, resistant to even the slightest hint of showmanship.
But when Waters performed Saturday in front of a sold-out crowd of 20,000 at Ford Amphitheatre in Tampa, it was clear from the get-go that the man was in good sprits and anxious to entertain. Yeah, Waters and his squad of seasoned guitarists, keyboardists, saxophonist, drummer and backup singers enthusiastically re-created The Dark of Side The Moon, the 1973 Pink Floyd opus for which Waters wrote all the lyrics and a good chunk of the music. The band also treated the audience to a slew of favorites from The Wall and Wish You Were Here, the two other Floyd albums that have wormed their way into the consciousness of a (mostly) male demographic that ranges from disaffected teens to nostalgic baby boomers.
Saturday's concert began with a bang. The ominous, opening strands of "In the Flesh?" — the same tune that kick-starts The Wall — whipped around the venue, eliciting screams from the audience. Waters adjusted the strap on his bass guitar and bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. The trim, 63-year-old rocker with a mane of gray hair flashed a smile, looking younger than his years in black slacks, shirt and a matching sport coat that he quickly shed. "So you, thought ya might like to go to the show?" he sang in fine voice. "To feel the warm thrill of confusion — that space cadet glow?"
One could feel the audience accepting the invitation. The Wagnerian opener was followed by another cut from The Wall, the coming-of-age saga "Mother." Here Waters switched from bass to acoustic guitar and once again took lead vocals. While he asked such familiar yet timeless questions as "Mother, should I trust the government?" an enormous screen showed a young man alone in his messy bedroom with a radio, a whiskey bottle, a pack of smokes and a notebook for his poems. The image could've been interpreted as a representation of Waters in his youth or of a good percentage of the young men who have identified with his songs over the years.
The opening salvo was relentless. "Mother" faded into the early Floyd cult fave "Set the Control for the Heart of the Sun," followed by a Wish You Were Here sampler that included the poignant title track, a spectacular "Shine on You Crazy Diamond" and "Have a Cigar."
The tempo slowed and the audience was temporarily disengaged when Waters opted for the moodier material of The Final Cut. Before concluding the first set, the famed inflatable Pink Pig was unleashed (it got stuck, blocking a screen facing the lawn), and Waters introduced a new song titled "Leaving Beirut." The tune features the lines "Oh George! Oh George! That Texas education must have fucked you up when you were very small," and was accompanied by images of George W. juxtaposed with the likes of Saddam and Stalin. It was during this song that a man seated behind me with a fake tan and ripped muscles walked into the aisle about six rows from the stage and shot Waters the finger before being directed back to his seat by security.
Following a brief intermission, Waters and company performed, as promised, Dark Side of the Moon in its entirety. And while the musicians took few liberties with the source material, there were moments when a certain guitar solo morphed into something distinct and original. The female vocal performance on "The Great Gig in the Sky" was a jaw dropper. Perhaps the biggest thrill of the Dark Side segment was the deep-space visuals that unfurled on screen, with lasers darting across the pavilion roof and a giant light prism floating down for the closing of "Brain Damage" and "Eclipse."
Just in case anyone didn't feel they got their money's worth, Waters and band returned for a five-song encore, highlighted by a thumping rendition of "Another Brick in the Wall Pt. 2" that found him bounding across the stage and leading the audience in a decadent sing-along of "We don't need no education."
Finally, the hired hand responsible for guitar solos and vocals originated by David Gilmour sunk his teeth into "Comfortably Numb." While the gauzy melody and escapist lyrics lulled the audience into a state of bliss, Waters mouthed the words he had written decades ago, beamed and made eye contact with those of us standing gratefully before him — both sides looking thoroughly pleased.
This article appears in May 23-29, 2007.