My Life As an Air-Guitarist - Chapter 7: #4 "Time" - Pink Floyd

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Chapter 7: #4 "Time" - Pink Floyd

The beginning of Pink Floyd's "Time" could be the most annoying intro to a song of all time for anyone not expecting to hear Pink Floyd's "Time." It's sure to drive any non-Pink Floyd believer further to the edge of utter distaste and even those who are casual fans usually react as any average person would to one alarm clock going off at an unplanned moment, let alone eight or nine at the same time, especially at the high volume level I'm typically listening to "Time" at. Predictable reactions from the unsuspecting listeners are generally along the lines of...

"What the fuck?!"

"Jesus Christ!"

Or

"Fuckin' A, that scared the SHIT outta me."

It even scares the shit out of our dogs. 

All that to say, it's a great fuckin' intro.

The beginning of "Time" is dark and ominous. In fact, I'm willing to bet that when John Williams was tasked with writing the music for Star Wars in 1978, he was quite satisfied with his version of "The Imperial Attack" theme that he scribbled out, but there's no doubt in my mind that deep down he'd wished he'd written the intro measures to "Time" for that segment instead had Pink Floyd not recorded it several years earlier.

The reverberating roto-tom segment provides ample and obvious air-opportunities. But as much as I love to play air drums and air roto-toms, in this segment, I opt for the much more spacious, single-note guitar, bass, and keyboard part that accent the measures during this lead-in. 

These meaty notes are like tasty chunks of steak, just ringing out, being savored with each bite. At 1:49 there's our first sign of life as Gilmour adds in three tasteful notes. And he comes at us twice more at 1:59 and again at 2:15, striking a high accent note as if he's pairing the beef with a fine wine. It's British pretension at its best.

Truth be told, my decision to follow the subtleties of these sparse notes is mainly to calm my nerves in anticipation of what's to come. But it's difficult. Butterflies start to flutter in my stomach, and I battle to catch my breath, but before I know it, it's time for one of my favorite drum fill transitions in rock music. It's not quite as dramatic as, say, Phil Collins' famous drum fill during "In the Air Tonight," but for me, it's as equally auspicious, and I hit the toms and snare with much authority leading into... 

"Ticking away, the moments that make up a dull day!" 

Much of my air-guitar enjoyment in this song comes from the guitar accents at the end of Gilmour's vocal lines, such as the killer one after, "Fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way." 

And as I stand alone in my living room, ringing out these notes on an imaginary guitar, I try not to get too distracted by the thoughts of a pathetic version of myself, frittering and wasting the hours in an offhand way like playing air-guitar. No, I will never be frittering and wasting the hours with such nonsense.

And I keep going with these tasteful riffs that punctuate each line of verse until the prophetic line,

"No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun."

A line we've all felt applied to our own lives at one time or another, no doubt. But as low as we may feel in those moments, David Gilmour's guitar (and my air-guitar) solo(s) come swooping in to lift us all back up again.

Now, I'm not much of a thrill-seeker, so something like parasailing isn't really my thing. But I imagine the emotions and feelings parasailing brings on is exactly how David Gilmour's guitar solo in "Time" sounds. The notes come bleeding out of his Fender like the thrust of the initial take-off, carrying you weightlessly through the sky, weaving in and out amongst the clouds, and eventually leading you back to the safety of solid ground with the gentle landing as you catch your breath. If anyone ever asks me if I know what it feels like to go parasailing, I can say with confidence that I do, even though I never have, nor ever have any intention of actually doing it. 

This solo differs from any other solos on the list, most of which come at the listener with an urgency to take you through the fast-fingering and pinnacle of the song.

But not Gilmour. His playing is much more deliberate, and so is mine. Through one of the sweetest guitar tones achieved, (high-five to sound engineer, and eye in the sky, Alan Parsons) the notes cry out, giving us all they can as I bend imaginary strings in my left hand and occasionally reach for a whammy bar that does not exist with my right.

Unlike a much more notey solo, such as "Sympathy for the Devil," I rely more on body movement to express my understanding of where this solo is going and how I convey that to the audience. I could easily go finger-to-thumb with it, but instead, I opt for fingers-to-palm and use my right hand to sort of "shape" the notes, as if I'm signing the solo to someone who's deaf. You might categorize this as "interpretive air-guitar" due to the way in which I'm apt to bend and sway to the melody of this one.

As the solo initially cries out, from the waist down, I remain primarily stationary, feet about hip distance apart, left foot slightly positioned in front of my right, and my weight slightly forward as well. This solo draws feeling from the waist up, with much more shoulder and head movement than some of the other hip-shakers I groove on from the waist down (more to come on that later because, again, no spoilers). 

The playing and the air-guitar technique I employ are in a league of their own. I reach down deep to draw out the emotion this one requires. Like doing yoga, I look skywards for feelings of inspiration and to express my gratitude, doing David Gilmour proud in my own made-up yoga pose I like to call, "Rock God Status." It provides great mental clarity and does wonders to stretch the shoulder muscles and open up the chest. I suggest you add it to your yoga or air-guitar routine if you practice either.

At 3:47, I do a classic, crinkle-the-eye-brows move, to show just how much I'm feeling it as he climbs the scale. And then at 3:59, I pull my head and shoulders back and forth along with the three high-pitched notes. Yes, in just under four minutes, I've managed to become "that guy."

But at 4:15, when the backup vocalists come in with their "oohs" and "aahs," I shift my weight back on my right foot as Gilmour navigates us into the aforementioned soft parasail landing.

As he brings this monster in to a gentle conclusion, I wipe the beads of sweat from my forehead and sing along with the last verse until we head into the "Breathe (Reprise)," which is a chilling way to end this song. It's basically a two-for-one, belting out the solo in "Time" and closing it out with the slinky, groove of "Breathe." It's essential you own the jangling chord here, I think it's an E minor. 

And the line that segues into it really speaks to me and the type of person I am,

"Home, home again. I like to be here when I can"

As I am a self-described homebody (explains the exceptional air-guitar skills). And then finish it off with,

"And when I come home cold and tired, it's good to smoke a bone beside the fire."

Of course, the line is "It's good to warm my bones beside the fire," but it's more fun to sing it the other way, even though that's not what I do. I'm more of a beer beside the fire guy, but when you're 16, and you alter a lyric so cleverly, it's hard to ever let that go. Even at 49.

If you really want to take this one over the top, I suggest performing it outside on a balcony as a gentle breeze flows through your hair. Admittedly, it can be hard to line all of that up and ensure the environment is just so. But believe me, if you can factor that in with your air-guitaring to "Time," then, holy fuckin' shit.

This guitar solo performance by David Gilmour is one of my favorite guitar solos OF ALL TIME. And let's be clear, just because something lands in my favorite list of air-guitar songs doesn't mean it's a favorite guitar solo song. And a favorite guitar solo song doesn't necessarily grant automatic inclusion into my favorite list of songs to air-guitar to. I think that's an important distinction to make.

But David Gilmour is one of the few who's managed to have a recording that's landed on both. 

And let me say this; If I had to fight someone with only a guitar solo as my weapon (an unlikely scenario, I know), I would choose David Gilmour's solo in "Time." It starts with the sweetest uppercut punch that hasn't been seen since the likes of Don Flamenco in "Mike Tyson's Punch-Out," and it doesn't let up. His playing is relentless, but it's laid back. It's demanding, but it's gentle. It floats like a butterfly, but it stings like a bee. It is truly one of the greatest of all time.

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