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TOM JONES + DAVID GILMOUR + PURPLE RAIN. THREE NAMES NOBODY EXPECTED IN THE SAME SENTENCE. June 13, 1992. Tom Jones walked out on the set of his ITV show The Right Time in a sharp purple suit. The song — Prince’s “Purple Rain.” The guitarist standing beside him? David Gilmour. From Pink Floyd. Nobody expected this to work. But something happened on that stage that people still can’t quite explain. Jones didn’t try to sound like Prince. He leaned into his own deep, heavy voice and made every line feel painfully personal. And Gilmour — he didn’t copy a single note from the original solo. He played something entirely his own. Long, slow, weeping notes. More Floyd than Minneapolis. Then around the 2:30 mark, Jones let out a raw scream — and Gilmour’s guitar just took off from there, building into something that gave the whole room chills. Two legends from completely different worlds. One night in 1992 that almost nobody talked about — until the footage resurfaced.

Tom Jones, David Gilmour, and “Purple Rain”: The Night Nobody Saw Coming

On June 13, 1992, something remarkable happened on the set of Tom Jones’s ITV show The Right Time. Tom Jones stepped out in a sharp purple suit and delivered a version of Prince’s “Purple Rain” that felt less like a cover and more like a private confession. Beside him stood David Gilmour of Pink Floyd, a guitarist whose style could turn a single note into a mood, a memory, or a warning.

It was not the kind of pairing people would have predicted. Tom Jones came from big-voice showmanship, soul, and stage command. David Gilmour came from expansive guitar landscapes and slow-burning emotional force. Prince’s “Purple Rain” lived in a space of its own, already iconic, already complete in the minds of millions. Bringing those three worlds together should have felt awkward. Instead, it felt strangely inevitable.

A Performance Built on Contrast

Tom Jones did not imitate Prince, and that was exactly why the performance worked. He sang the song with weight and gravity, giving each line a sense of lived experience. His voice sounded rich, bruised, and deeply human. Rather than chasing the original, Tom Jones made the song his own.

Then came David Gilmour. He did not reach for Prince’s famous guitar lines or try to recreate the song note for note. Instead, he approached it like a Pink Floyd meditation, drawing out long, aching phrases that hovered in the air. His guitar felt patient at first, almost restrained, but every bend and sustain added pressure to the moment.

Two artists from different musical planets met on one stage and found the same emotional language.

The Moment the Song Lifted Off

As the performance moved forward, the energy kept building. Around the 2:30 mark, Tom Jones let out a raw scream that seemed to break something open in the room. It was not polished. It was not carefully controlled. It was immediate, almost startling, and that made it powerful.

From there, David Gilmour’s guitar seemed to rise in answer. The notes grew larger, more searching, more intense. He did not simply accompany Tom Jones; he climbed with him. The result was a performance that felt less like a television segment and more like a shared emotional event.

Why It Still Matters

What makes this moment endure is not only the novelty of seeing Tom Jones and David Gilmour together. It is the way they respected the song while refusing to be trapped by its most famous version. They understood that a great song can survive reinvention when the performers bring honesty instead of imitation.

Years later, the footage resurfaced and viewers were reminded just how rare this kind of collaboration really is. It was a meeting of instincts, not styles. Tom Jones brought the fire. David Gilmour brought the atmosphere. Together, they created something that still feels bigger than the sum of its parts.

Some performances are remembered because they are perfect. This one is remembered because it was human, unexpected, and alive. In 1992, Tom Jones and David Gilmour turned “Purple Rain” into a moment that nobody saw coming — and that almost nobody forgot once they did.

 

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FOR NEARLY 50 YEARS, ONE DOCTOR KEPT STEVIE NICKS SINGING. SHE JUST MADE SURE THE WORLD KNOWS HIS NAME. Stevie Nicks just helped complete a $3 million donation to USC’s Keck School of Medicine. Not for a concert hall. Not for a music program. For a doctor — Dr. Joseph Sugerman, her longtime ear, nose and throat specialist. But here’s the part most people won’t tell you. This wasn’t just gratitude from a distance. Through late nights on the road, years of touring, hours in the recording studio — Dr. Sugerman was the one she always counted on to keep her voice healthy. Nearly 50 years of that kind of quiet, steady care. The donation created an endowed chair in his name at USC, dedicated to advancing vocal medicine. The first person to hold that chair is Dr. Michael M. Johns, director of the USC Voice Center. And Nicks’ connection to USC goes way back — in 1979, Fleetwood Mac brought 112 members of the USC Trojan Marching Band to Dodger Stadium to record “Tusk.” That collaboration became legendary. Some debts aren’t paid with money. But $3 million is a good start when you’re thanking the man who kept your voice alive for half a century.

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50 YEARS AGO, 7 COLLEGE KIDS STARTED ACTING IN AN 88-SEAT CHURCH BASEMENT. LAST NIGHT, ONE OF THEM HELD HER 3RD TONY. Laurie Metcalf just won Best Featured Actress in a Play at the 79th Tony Awards for her role as Linda Loman in Death of a Salesman — alongside Nathan Lane, directed by Joe Mantello. This is her 3rd Tony. Her 7th nomination. But what she did at Radio City Music Hall wasn’t about the numbers. She stood up there and named 6 people. Not agents. Not producers. Six college friends from Illinois State University who started Steppenwolf Theatre together — in a church basement. Gary Sinise. John Malkovich. Jeff Perry. Terry Kinney. Moira Harris. Al Wilder. “I still consider them family,” she said. “I still draw on lessons I learned from them.” After everything — the Emmys, the Oscar nomination, decades on Roseanne — the first people she thanked were the ones who knew her before any of it mattered. Some things don’t change, even after 50 years.

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“TWO TONY BOOKENDS WITH 53 YEARS BETWEEN THEM.” — JOHN LITHGOW That’s what he said on stage tonight at Radio City Music Hall. And honestly, let that sink in for a second. John Lithgow just won Best Lead Actor in a Play for “Giant,” where he plays Roald Dahl — the beloved children’s author facing a very uncomfortable reckoning over antisemitic comments he made in 1983. He’s 80 years old. And with this win, he became the oldest man ever to take home a competitive acting Tony. But here’s the part most people don’t know — this puts him in a club of only four performers in Tony history who have won in three different acting categories. The other names in that group? Kevin Kline, Boyd Gaines, and Audra McDonald. His first Tony was back in 1973 for “The Changing Room.” Fifty-three years later, he’s still here. Still on stage. Still making history.

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50 YEARS AGO, 7 COLLEGE KIDS STARTED ACTING IN AN 88-SEAT CHURCH BASEMENT. LAST NIGHT, ONE OF THEM HELD HER 3RD TONY. Laurie Metcalf just won Best Featured Actress in a Play at the 79th Tony Awards for her role as Linda Loman in Death of a Salesman — alongside Nathan Lane, directed by Joe Mantello. This is her 3rd Tony. Her 7th nomination. But what she did at Radio City Music Hall wasn’t about the numbers. She stood up there and named 6 people. Not agents. Not producers. Six college friends from Illinois State University who started Steppenwolf Theatre together — in a church basement. Gary Sinise. John Malkovich. Jeff Perry. Terry Kinney. Moira Harris. Al Wilder. “I still consider them family,” she said. “I still draw on lessons I learned from them.” After everything — the Emmys, the Oscar nomination, decades on Roseanne — the first people she thanked were the ones who knew her before any of it mattered. Some things don’t change, even after 50 years.

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FOR NEARLY 50 YEARS, ONE DOCTOR KEPT STEVIE NICKS SINGING. SHE JUST MADE SURE THE WORLD KNOWS HIS NAME. Stevie Nicks just helped complete a $3 million donation to USC’s Keck School of Medicine. Not for a concert hall. Not for a music program. For a doctor — Dr. Joseph Sugerman, her longtime ear, nose and throat specialist. But here’s the part most people won’t tell you. This wasn’t just gratitude from a distance. Through late nights on the road, years of touring, hours in the recording studio — Dr. Sugerman was the one she always counted on to keep her voice healthy. Nearly 50 years of that kind of quiet, steady care. The donation created an endowed chair in his name at USC, dedicated to advancing vocal medicine. The first person to hold that chair is Dr. Michael M. Johns, director of the USC Voice Center. And Nicks’ connection to USC goes way back — in 1979, Fleetwood Mac brought 112 members of the USC Trojan Marching Band to Dodger Stadium to record “Tusk.” That collaboration became legendary. Some debts aren’t paid with money. But $3 million is a good start when you’re thanking the man who kept your voice alive for half a century.

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“TWO TONY BOOKENDS WITH 53 YEARS BETWEEN THEM.” — JOHN LITHGOW That’s what he said on stage tonight at Radio City Music Hall. And honestly, let that sink in for a second. John Lithgow just won Best Lead Actor in a Play for “Giant,” where he plays Roald Dahl — the beloved children’s author facing a very uncomfortable reckoning over antisemitic comments he made in 1983. He’s 80 years old. And with this win, he became the oldest man ever to take home a competitive acting Tony. But here’s the part most people don’t know — this puts him in a club of only four performers in Tony history who have won in three different acting categories. The other names in that group? Kevin Kline, Boyd Gaines, and Audra McDonald. His first Tony was back in 1973 for “The Changing Room.” Fifty-three years later, he’s still here. Still on stage. Still making history.

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TOM JONES + DAVID GILMOUR + PURPLE RAIN. THREE NAMES NOBODY EXPECTED IN THE SAME SENTENCE. June 13, 1992. Tom Jones walked out on the set of his ITV show The Right Time in a sharp purple suit. The song — Prince’s “Purple Rain.” The guitarist standing beside him? David Gilmour. From Pink Floyd. Nobody expected this to work. But something happened on that stage that people still can’t quite explain. Jones didn’t try to sound like Prince. He leaned into his own deep, heavy voice and made every line feel painfully personal. And Gilmour — he didn’t copy a single note from the original solo. He played something entirely his own. Long, slow, weeping notes. More Floyd than Minneapolis. Then around the 2:30 mark, Jones let out a raw scream — and Gilmour’s guitar just took off from there, building into something that gave the whole room chills. Two legends from completely different worlds. One night in 1992 that almost nobody talked about — until the footage resurfaced.