Every musician hits a crossroads when success starts to knock. Playing music with friends turns into navigating contracts, corporate interests, and commercial expectations. For David Gilmour, being at the helm of Pink Floyd in the post–Roger Waters era meant carrying the legacy forward—but it didn’t always sit well with him, especially when things started to feel fake.
Many die-hard fans argue that the Gilmour-led version of Pink Floyd lost its soul. Albums like A Momentary Lapse of Reason are often dismissed as empty cash-ins, lacking the conceptual brilliance that defined their earlier work. Still, even on that record, tracks like “On the Turning Away” and “Dogs of War” showed glimpses of depth that were worthy of the band’s name.
The criticism wasn’t entirely unfounded. Without Waters’ bite, there was an undeniable shift in tone. But The Division Bell showed Gilmour at his best—finally creating a Pink Floyd album on his own terms, complete with a unifying theme of miscommunication that hit uncomfortably close to home, given his rocky history with Waters. If it was meant to be the band’s final statement, then songs like “High Hopes” served as a fitting, emotional farewell.
But as much as Gilmour tried to keep the spirit of the band intact, commercial realities crept in. On their Pulse tour, Pink Floyd went all out: full-album performances of Dark Side of the Moon, elaborate visuals, massive stadium crowds—and corporate sponsorships. That last part didn’t sit right with Gilmour.
One name in particular made him cringe: Volkswagen. While the automaker helped fund the tour, Gilmour quickly regretted the deal. “I confess to not having thought it through entirely, and I was uncomfortable with it,” he admitted. “Meeting and greeting Volkswagen people. I was not a popular chappy with Volkswagen. I don’t want them to be able to say they have a connection with Pink Floyd, that they’re part of our success. We will not do it again. I didn’t like it, and any money I made from it went to charity. We should remain proudly independent.”
It was a rare glimpse behind the curtain—one that exposed the tension between artistry and business. Waters had long accused the band of chasing money after his departure, and this sponsorship fiasco didn’t help Gilmour’s case.
In the years since, Gilmour’s commitment to staying true to his values has been clear. Whether it’s writing music for charitable causes like “Hey Hey Rise Up” or crafting personal statements on albums like On an Island, he’s chosen to focus on meaning over money.
Gilmour may have flirted with corporate influence once, but the experience only solidified his stance: Pink Floyd, and anything that bears his name, would never be for sale again.
