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Review:
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Calling all stations: "Broadsword to Danny Boy, Broadsword
to Danny Boy, the Incident has occurred " intones the gravelly
English voice of Sir Richard Burton (a slight fantasy interpretation,
if I may). The prog grapevine is now abuzz with all kinds
of puzzled glances In Absentia, another panicked Fear of
a Blank Planet while others opt for flaming Deadwings blasted
from the Sky that Moves Sideways. Oh well! Must have been
another Stupid Dream, thankfully there is the Lightbulb
Sun to keep the torch ablaze. Now, we have crashed unexpectedly
into the Incident.***
With this new shocking album , time has come for a name
change in going from Porcupine Tree to Porcupine Forest
, as this work is engulfed in gloomier expanses, where thick
and dense musical shrubbery vie with the luxuriant sonic
vegetation, the primal dissonance of jungle noises, cold
breezes whistling through the tall trunks and gnarled branches.
This is primitive, raw, unstable and inherently disturbing
modern rock music that has eschewed immediacy in melody
and replaced it with paced moodiness and barely camouflaged
contempt. For those of you who expected a more commercial
"let's hit the bigtime" adventure, well, you do not really
know Mr.Wilson, do you? He ain't no castaway fedexed basketball,
lost on some Oceania atoll with a tooth-ached and desperately
hirsute cuckold! Just scanning at the titles, you really
get the opaque message : from the unsteady "Flicker" to
the eerie "The Séance", via 'The Yellow Windows of the Evening
Train" and the submissive "Kneel and Disconnect" , all is
aimed at a revolutionary insight into our modern society's
deep malaise. Not even greed can anesthetize the apathy:
"I Drive the Hearse" for "Your Unpleasant Family", "Drawing
the Line". Ouf!!! This is dire lyrical stuff, wading deep
into negative emotions and corrosive nostalgia. Even on
the sprightly "Time Flies", an unsettling impression pervades!
So what's the music like, eh, guv? It's certainly not pretty
psychedelia like in the early Pork days, nor is it some
suave swirl into harder edged musical testaments of recent
recordings. It is highly correct to assume that Wilson's
2009 solo venture "Insurgentes" has served as a platform/turnstile
of change, infusing a moodier electro feel that SW had mastered
in the past with Bass Communion and No-Man but given a darker,
more somber coloratura blanket. There are still those huge
collision contrasts between sweet and harsh , even more
sudden and abrupt than before .The best word to describe
it would be using the French word "angoisse": a combination
of anguish and angst, as if De Maupassant's schizophrenia
had shared a bed with a delirious Kafka.***
The fourteen acts that permeate disc 1 are incredibly
disjointed collages of atmospheric sounds, alarming stories
wrapped in deep foliage, with occasional explosions of melody
(the guitar solo on "Time Flies" is perhaps one of SW's
most tortured) , no need for any track by track descriptive.
This entire suite gives off a 21stCentury schizoid man's
Thick as a Brick impression if you will, undoubtedly creating
massive controversy, ridiculed by some, exalted by others
and yet deeply respected by all for its courage, audacity
and fearlessness. I know that fans and neophytes alike will
need multiple spins in order to digest, comprehend and only
then drop some kind of familiar buoys into the prog ocean,
as the Incident has progressed again way beyond the established
boundaries on which many pundits have lavished at times
their slovenly praise. Wilson has balls, regardless whether
you like or no like, he takes chances and stands by his
craft. Corporate slut he is not! I have a feeling that initially
the hardcore fans will swear by this Incident while the
run of the mill hangers-on will find a way to eventually
crucify the obvious (and intended) lack of accessibility.
I for one have always admired rebels, underdogs and iconoclasts.
Here are the new heroes of the Modern Age. Gavin Harrison
has already anointed himself as the next Neil Peart (See
him only once live, you will convert!), a tectonic drummer
that has the rare combo of power and grace under all circumstances,
adding the required oomph and bravado as well as knowing
when to be silent. The steady rumble from bassist Colin
Edwin never ceases to amaze but always in a modest manner,
never too flashy or mindless. What can be said about Barbieri
who frankly keeps improving steadily, never a flamboyant
Wakeman or showy Emerson, preferring to introduce a cubist
tendency in his keyboard imprints that give both concrete
and abstract colorations to the whole scene. Disc 2 is even
more cerebral on one hand yet keeps the last song as the
"coup de grace", the magnificent Remember Me Lover, anointed
with master class right from the first run through , perhaps
SW 's acme in terms of heartfelt personal emotions expressed
by his rather unique vision.***
Yeah, it's dense and occasionally comatose, reflecting
the doldrums society we live in and the absurd pretense
of contemporary music's deep abyss of sonic feces. I have
read meaningful descriptions of this record as the expression
of weekday tragedies and media fueled paranoia, mixed with
sound bites of a crumbling society and decaying artistic
frustration. If my Fedex flight crashes in the middle of
the Pacific, I would rather have a copy of this than some
silly basketball anyway! But then I would need some kind
of nuclear powered player to hear it. No win situation I
guess!
Tszirmay
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