Honestly, if you missed the original Pink Floyd shows in 1980, you probably thought you’d never see that wall go up for real. I mean, the logistics alone were a nightmare. In the early eighties, the band only played 31 dates because the overhead was so high it literally bled them dry. Fast forward thirty years. Roger Waters decided to dig it all up again. Between 2010 and 2013, he didn’t just revive a rock opera; he built a $459 million juggernaut that redefined what a "concert" actually looks like.
Roger Waters The Wall Live wasn't just a nostalgia trip. It was a massive, mechanical middle finger to the status quo.
People tend to lump the 2010 tour in with the original 1980 production or the 1990 Berlin show, but they’re completely different beasts. The 2010-2013 run was the first time the show became truly "global." We’re talking 219 shows. Over 4.1 million tickets sold. At the time, it snatched the record for the highest-grossing tour by a solo artist, even beating out Madonna.
The Technical Madness of Building a 240-Foot Wall
You’ve got to appreciate the sheer engineering idiocy—in the best way possible—of this set. Mark Fisher, the same guy who designed the original 1980 set, came back to head the project. He once remarked that it was the most complicated show his firm, Tait, had ever built.
The wall itself was staggering. It stood 35 feet high and stretched 240 feet across. That’s nearly the entire width of an arena.
During the first half of the set, stagehands (and some clever automation) would manually slot in 424 individual cardboard bricks. Each brick was roughly 5 feet wide. The goal? To completely obscure the band from the audience. It’s a literal manifestation of isolation. By the time "Goodbye Cruel World" hits, there is only one tiny hole left. Roger sings the final note, the last brick slides in, and the lights go black.
It’s an incredible gut punch.
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Why the 2010 Tech Changed Everything
Back in 1980, they used 35mm film projectors that were prone to melting. In 2010, they used 15 Barco FLM HD20 projectors. These things didn't just show "movies." They used a process called projection mapping.
Because the wall was being built while the show was happening, the software had to track which bricks were present and project images only onto the physical surfaces available. If a brick wasn't there, the light didn't spill into the empty space. It looked like the bricks were being "painted" with light as they were laid.
It Wasn't Just About "Pink" Anymore
The original Wall was deeply personal. It was about Roger’s dad dying in WWII, his overprotective mother, and the "bricks" he built to survive fame.
But for Roger Waters The Wall Live, the message shifted. It got loud. It got political.
Roger started asking fans to send in photos of loved ones lost to conflict. During the intermission, the wall became a memorial. Thousands of faces—soldiers, civilians, activists—were projected onto the cardboard. He even included a tribute to Jean Charles de Menezes, the Brazilian man killed by London police in a case of mistaken identity.
Some fans hated it. They wanted the music, not the "lecture." I’ve heard people in the crowd grumbling about the symbols dropping from the plane during "Goodbye Blue Sky"—dollar signs, sickles, stars of David, and corporate logos all falling like bombs.
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Roger’s response? Basically, if you don’t like the politics, you haven’t been listening to the lyrics for the last forty years.
The "Comfortably Numb" Moment
If there is one image that defines this tour, it’s the guitar solo.
Dave Kilminster (and for one legendary night in London, David Gilmour himself) stood on top of the wall. He was 30 feet in the air, silhouetted against a kaleidoscopic explosion of light. Underneath him, Roger was down in the "pit," pounding on the bricks in frustration.
That contrast is the heart of the show. The wall is a barrier, but the music is the only thing that can scale it.
The Night the Feud Paused
On May 12, 2011, at the O2 Arena in London, the impossible happened. David Gilmour appeared on top of the wall to play "Comfortably Numb."
The crowd lost their minds. It was a brief thaw in one of rock’s frostiest relationships. Nick Mason even joined them later for "Outside the Wall," playing a tambourine. For a few minutes, the wall didn't just come down; it felt like it had never been there.
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What Most People Miss About the Ending
The "fall" is the climax. After the "Trial" sequence—which used the original Gerald Scarfe animations—the wall literally tips forward and collapses.
It’s loud. It’s messy. There’s dust everywhere.
But the real ending is the song "Outside the Wall." The band comes out with acoustic instruments—banjos, accordions, shakers. They walk through the rubble. The message is simple: once you tear down your defenses, all you have left is the person standing next to you.
It’s surprisingly vulnerable for a show that just spent two hours being a high-tech assault on the senses.
How to Experience "The Wall" Today
Since the tour ended in 2013, you can't see the physical wall anymore. However, if you want to understand the scale of what Roger Waters pulled off, here are the essential next steps:
- Watch the Documentary: Look for Roger Waters: The Wall (2014). It’s a mix of concert footage and a road trip Roger took to visit his father’s and grandfather’s memorials. It explains the "why" behind the tour better than any review.
- Listen to the Live Album: The Roger Waters The Wall live soundtrack is beefier than the 1979 studio version. The drums are heavier, and the soundscape is much wider.
- Compare the Eras: Find the "Is There Anybody Out There?" live recordings from the 1980-81 tour. Notice the difference in tempo. The original shows were more frantic; the 2010 tour was more calculated and cinematic.
- Check the Credits: If you’re a tech nerd, look up the work of Sean Evans (Creative Director). He’s the reason the projections look so crisp even on a 200-foot surface.
The 2010-2013 tour proved that The Wall isn't a museum piece. It's a living, breathing thing that changes depending on who is standing in front of it. Whether you think it’s a masterpiece or a massive ego trip, you can't deny it was the last of the great, high-concept rock spectacles.