At 79, David Gilmour FINALLY Confirms WHY Roger Waters DESTROYED Pink Floyd | HO!!!!

For decades, Pink Floyd has been synonymous with both musical genius and bitter conflict. Their albums changed the course of rock history, but behind the iconic sound lay a slow-motion implosion that fans only glimpsed through cryptic interviews and courtroom headlines.

Now, at age 79, David Gilmour is finally breaking his silence about Roger Waters—the man who, in Gilmour’s words, “destroyed Pink Floyd” from the inside out.

This is the untold story of how a band built on brotherhood and creative daring became a battlefield for control, betrayal, addiction, and public humiliation—a story that haunted its members for half a century.

The Rise: Friendship and Talent in Cambridge

David Gilmour’s journey began in Grandchester Meadows, Cambridge, a village steeped in academic tradition. The son of a respected zoologist and a teacher, Gilmour seemed destined for a life among scholars. But by age 13, he was skipping classes to play guitar in coffee shops. His parents hoped for textbooks; he chose a $30 Spanish guitar.

Gilmour’s musical obsession was clear in school reports, but he was no academic slouch. He scored 95% in French and spoke fluent Spanish and Italian, impressing Cambridge University professors. Yet, he filled notebook margins with chords and lyrics, using the rhythms of French verse to shape his future guitar solos—making his music feel almost like spoken language.

His first band, Joker’s Wild, auditioned for EMI in 1965, only to be dismissed as “amateur noise.” The rejection hit hard, but Gilmour persisted, playing blues gigs for $2 a night and modeling psychedelic shirts and velvet jackets in London to fund his first Fender Stratocaster.

Sid Barrett: Genius and Tragedy

Gilmour’s life changed when he met Roger “Sid” Barrett at Cambridge High School. The two bonded over guitars and tape loops, but Barrett’s brilliance was shadowed by mental illness. By 1968, Barrett’s breakdown forced Pink Floyd to recruit Gilmour—not as a replacement, but as a lifeline. For a brief time, the two performed together, but Barrett’s condition worsened, culminating in his haunting final studio visit in 1975, overweight and unrecognizable, asking Gilmour, “Why did you steal my band?”

Gilmour carried the guilt of replacing his friend for decades, admitting the emotional toll of performing Barrett’s songs—work that saved the band but haunted its soul.

From Collaboration to Control: Waters Ascendant

Pink Floyd’s creative peak was also the beginning of its unraveling. The recording of The Dark Side of the Moon in 1972-73 revealed the first cracks. Roger Waters, once the band’s lyricist and bassist, became increasingly controlling, insisting on a minimalist sound while Gilmour fought for the rich, reverberant style fans loved. Tensions flared as Waters interrogated staff about madness and death for the album’s spoken-word interludes.

The album’s success—45 million copies sold, 14 years on the Billboard charts—brought fame and fortune, but also a crisis of belief. Waters, a self-proclaimed socialist, chose money over ideals. It was the start of a rift that would tear the band apart.

By 1977’s Animals, Waters had taken near-total control, writing almost every track and sidelining Richard Wright and Nick Mason. Gilmour, distracted by family, contributed little beyond his co-writing role. The collaborative Pink Floyd was gone, replaced by Waters’ personal vision.

Addiction and Isolation: Gilmour’s Darkest Years

The band’s success masked a growing alienation. The Wall, released in 1979, was Waters’ concept from start to finish. Gilmour was reduced to session guitarist, fighting to include his own songs, like “Comfortably Numb,” only under producer pressure. The studio became a battlefield, with Wright forced out and the rest recording separately.

For Gilmour, the pressure led to cocaine addiction. He later admitted, “I drank a lot. I used a lot of cocaine. All that stuff.” His marriage collapsed, friendships suffered, and he nearly lost his career. The addiction was so severe that friends feared for his life. Only the intervention of Polly Samson, who demanded sobriety as a condition of their relationship, saved him. After a dramatic confrontation, Gilmour quit cocaine for good.

Legal Warfare: Waters Tries to Erase Pink Floyd

By the mid-1980s, Waters was done with Pink Floyd—but not with its legacy. In October 1986, he went to court to dissolve the band and prevent Gilmour and Mason from using the name. Waters compared a Floyd without him to “Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr making records and going on the road calling themselves the Beatles.” He wanted to destroy the band to protect his own legacy, even if it meant financial ruin for his former friends.

Waters launched a public campaign to present himself as the sole creative mind behind Pink Floyd, visiting studios and spying on sessions. As a shareholder, he blocked financial decisions, keeping Gilmour and Mason under constant pressure. The legal battles drained money and morale, forcing recording sessions to Los Angeles to escape London’s lawyers.

The emotional cost was immense. Gilmour described the fight as “crushing,” facing off in court against a man he once considered a brother. Waters dismissed their work as “a pretty fair forgery.” The bitterness was unbearable.

Finally, in December 1987, a settlement was reached. Gilmour and Mason kept the Pink Floyd name; Waters retained The Wall and the famous inflatable pig. The victory was bittersweet—the band survived, but the brotherhood was dead.

Rebirth and Validation: Pink Floyd Without Waters

Despite Waters’ efforts, Pink Floyd thrived. A Momentary Lapse of Reason (1987) and The Division Bell (1994) topped charts worldwide, proving the band could succeed without its former leader. Their tours broke records, drawing millions and earning tens of millions of dollars.

For Gilmour, it was more than commercial success—it was validation. The band’s creative spark remained strong, and the music resonated with fans across generations. The feud, however, was far from over.

The Final Collapse: Public Feud and Last Words

In February 2023, Polly Samson launched a furious attack on Waters via Twitter, calling him “antisemitic to your rotten core,” a “Putin apologist,” and a “megalomaniac.” Gilmour, for the first time, publicly backed her, tweeting, “Every word demonstrably true.” Waters threatened legal action, but the damage was done.

In October 2024, Gilmour, now 78, told The Guardian and The Independent he would “absolutely not” perform with Waters again, citing Waters’ support for autocrats and his treatment of women and the LGBT community. He added that he’d rather play with Rick Wright, who died in 2008, than stand beside Waters.

The digital battle raged as Waters accused Gilmour of erasing him from the official Pink Floyd website and social media—a fight rooted in the 1987 legal settlement. Waters, the original founder, was locked out of the band’s digital identity, despite earning over $300 million from touring The Wall.

Gilmour’s Verdict: The Truth Behind the Destruction

In 2024, Gilmour finally opened up about Waters’ “detrimental influence,” recalling how Waters dominated The Final Cut, turning it into a solo project under the band’s name. Gilmour dismissed A Momentary Lapse of Reason as “a pretty fair forgery,” but explained that selling Pink Floyd’s catalog was about escaping endless arguments and preserving the band’s legacy.

He described Waters’ obsession with control as the root cause of Pink Floyd’s destruction. Waters spied on sessions, forced out bandmates, and tried to legally erase the band. The betrayal was personal and professional, leaving scars that never fully healed.

Gilmour’s final words were cutting: “I’d rather play with Rick Wright than ever stand beside Waters again.” For fans, it was the end of hope for reconciliation—and confirmation that Waters’ quest for dominance had shattered one of rock’s greatest partnerships.

Legacy: Genius, Guilt, and the Price of Power

Pink Floyd’s music endures, but the story behind it is a cautionary tale about the cost of genius and the dangers of unchecked ambition. Gilmour’s journey—from Cambridge prodigy to rock legend, through addiction and betrayal—mirrors the band’s own arc.

At 79, Gilmour’s truth is finally public. Roger Waters destroyed Pink Floyd—not with one act, but through years of control, legal warfare, and personal attacks. The band survived, but the brotherhood did not.

For Pink Floyd, the wall wasn’t just an album—it was the barrier that Waters built between himself and everyone else. Gilmour’s voice, long silent, now echoes with the final verdict: some partnerships cannot be saved, and some wounds never heal.