Review Summary: That’s right, I’ve never been able to play very fast, so I compensate by playing well ©
“Rattle That Lock” was the first David Gilmour solo album that I actively disliked. His first two LPs were very obvious products of their time, with Gilmour following the then-current trends rather than setting them, but they were enjoyable collections of songs. “On an Island” was the sound of an accomplished musician playing to his strengths. Speaking of “Rattle that Lock,” though… My initial negativity towards that album is certainly attributed to my bitterness towards “The Endless River” that was published not long before “Rattle that Lock” (I still don’t get why that overlong snooze fest of half-baked outtakes was released under the Pink Floyd name). In time, I’ve reassessed my attitude towards the album, moving from complete rejection to a divisive stance, but something still feels off with that record. There are genuinely great parts in almost every song. At the same time, almost all of them, save for the two bookending instrumentals, start to feel drawn out, repetitive, and, worst of all, toothless.
Anyway, I wouldn’t have moved even halfway towards appreciating “Rattle that Lock” if “Luck and Strange” didn’t happen. The album is so good that it made me doubt my initial skepticism towards its predecessor. After all, Gilmour stays Gilmour even as he ages. His singing is still impressive, and his playing is still incomparable and easily recognizable. It does take some time, though. At first glance, “Luck and Strange” is a typical album made by a veteran rock musician: a very consistent effort with shallow lows and low peaks. But there are a few things that make the album stand out.
You would expect the guitars to sound good, and the songs to be well-written, but let me shed some light on the lyrics. They are consistently good this time, not overly complicated, but truly wise and extremely relatable. As can be expected, Gilmour reflects a lot on his own mortality, but without despair or rejection. It’s more about wistful, level-headed contemplation of the matter. Naturally, he wonders how mortality affects his relationships with his loved ones, specifically in “Dark and Velvet Nights.”
How will we part? / Will I hold your hand / or you’ll be left holding mine?. I think not only older people can relate to that, but anyone who was ever afraid of losing someone they love. One thing that I noticed only now about the song is that there are loud and persistent knocks on the door that can be heard periodically in the background. The most obvious interpretation I can give is that they represent death announcing its imminent arrival. The topic is approached again on the closer “Yes, I Have Ghosts,” albeit from a different angle.
Yes, I have ghosts / Not all of them dead / and they dance by the moon / millstones white as the sheet on my bed. Don’t we all have ghosts like that? Not those of dead people, but of words unsaid or said too loudly, of decisions we came to regret, of things we never had the courage to do… The lyrics add some weight to the songs, compel you to listen more attentively, and delve deeper into the nuances.
For it is the nuances that matter. The basis for all the songs is a distinctly bluesy guitar sound that remains the one defining constant of the album, but all or most of them have a catch to make a listener stay for now and revisit in the future. The chorus for “The Piper’s Call” should get you straight away, while other songs may take some time to reveal their treasures. Still, with just a little patience, you’ll soon start noticing the little quirks. Maybe “A Single Spark” will get to you first with its guitar solos that you don’t want to end and simple but captivating symphonics in the background. Or, “Signs” with its sweet nostalgic synth/piano melody, or “Scattered” with its darker, somber mood conveyed again by the piano and the orchestrations. Then, there’s “Yes, I Have Ghosts” with a heart-wrenching violin matching the thoughtful lyrics, and “Between Two Points” which seems to channel Roger Waters lyrical style. It is also the only song fully sung by David’s granddaughter Romany Gilmour, who also performs backing and co-lead vocals on several other songs. I can’t shake off the feeling that the song was initially written for David’s voice; at least I keep imagining him singing it himself, but Romany does a fine job. Her voice is pleasant, and she inherited her granddad’s restraint and wisdom to know when not to over-sing.
Anyway, that was just me wondering out loud. David can relinquish the singing duty to whomever he wishes, as long as he remains in creative control. The most important thing with an album like “Luck and Strange” is your ability to harmonize with its vibe. “On an Island” has the vibe of quiet contemplation. “Rattle that Lock” projects the vibe of decrepitude. “Luck and Strange” is more or less a reset to “On an Island” parameters with added catchiness and emotional impact. David Gilmour has given us a remarkably honest and reflective record with that spark of inspiration flickering brighter once again.
