Nothing Glass Hammer does is unimportant. Steve Babb posted a teaser preview of the new album this morning and the two words that spring to mind: delicate and intricate.
Call me very excited about this. 20 years of Glass Hammer certainly leaves much to celebrate.
[N.B. Due to weather, our internet is out, and I’ve typed this and posted it using our cell connection. Spotty at best. If there are errors and typos in the post, please don’t let it reflect on all of progarchy. When I have a real connection, I’ll clean it up. Promise!–Brad, ed.]
I hate to admit it, but I didn’t know the music of Galahad until about a year and a half ago.
Alison Henderson, first lady of prog and a fellow progarchist, introduced me to the music at the time that Battle Scars (April 2012) came out. “Brad, you have to check out the new Galahad album. It’s brilliant.” Actually, I’m paraphrasing, not quoting. But, I bet I’m really close when remembering her email that day.
I never fail to follow the advice of Lady Henderson, and I downloaded the music that day.
From the opening plaintive words to the direct pleading lines of “Battle Scars, Battle Scars,” I was rather taken. I wrote back to her almost immediately, “This is what Ultravox should’ve been!” She replied that she would have to take my word for it.
Granted, I really dislike it when reviewers compare Big Big Train to Genesis, as though Genesis needed completing or as though Big Big Train exists to fill the void left by 1977 Genesis. So, please don’t take my comparison as anything more than a joyful comparison. Stu Nicholson’s voice has, in the best sense, a Midge Ure quality—bringing just the perfect amount of emotion and emphasis to a song. So, imagine if Ultravox had decided to explore the farthest reaches of its potential after releasing Rage in Eden (especially side 2 of that amazing work). Imagining such a beautiful thing, I can see—far into the distance—Battle Scars or Beyond the Realms of Euphoria.
After the brief discussion with Alison, being the obsessive prog fan that I’m sure many progarchists are, I looked up everything I could find regarding Galahad. I’d heard the name, many times, of course, before April 2012, but always in the context of “neo-prog.”
Neo-Progressive Rock
As much as I pride myself (always dangerous) on my knowledge of prog, ca. 1971 to the present, I’m really weak on what’s called “neo prog” or “second-wave prog.” At the time that second-wave prog emerged, my junior high, high school, and college years (Class of 1990), I was listening to so-called new wave such as Thomas Dolby, The Cure, and XTC, presuming them to be the rightful inheritors of Yes and Genesis. For me, the ultimate prog album of the 1980s is Talk Talk’s Spirit of Eden. Next to Talk Talk, Rush was my favorite band. I didn’t even know about Marillion until a friend introduced me to them in 1993. He handed me a copy of Misplaced Childhood, and I was stunned such a group had existed without my knowledge (there’s that pride again). I very much liked what I heard, but this was just before Brave, The Light, and The Flower King appeared—which almost completely stole my attention.
Needless to write at this point, my knowledge of Pallas, IQ, and Galahad—all supposed neo-prog—was pretty poor. About eight or nine years ago, I started collecting the back catalogues of Pallas and IQ, but Galahad still remained off my radar. I’m pretty much a complete “newbie” when it comes to other neo-prog artists.
I’m not sure if neo-prog is a sub-genre of progressive rock or really the “second wave of prog.” Whatever it is, I like what I’ve heard. . . .
Battle Scars
. . . . especially when it comes to Galahad. I like it very much. Indeed, this is an understatement. From the moment I first heard Battle Scars, I knew this was a band I would come to cherish. And, I have. Though I regret having missed out on so much since 1985 when it comes to this band, I’m also really happy to have it all to explore again. As I love to tell my students, I’m jealous that so many of them get to read The Lord of the Rings for the first time. I would give a lot for that “first time” again. I feel I’ve been given a gift by coming to Galahad late in life.
I really have no idea if Battle Scars is a “proper” neo-progressive album or not. I don’t have the tools to judge, and I’m more than content to know it’s brilliant music, whatever label might adhere to it.
In terms of tone, Battle Scars is the Grace Under Pressure of our present age In 1984, Rush explored—in a rather dour, harried, poetic fashion—the final days of the Cold War, though most of us didn’t know the days of the Soviet empire were numbered. Gulags, holocaust camps, the loss of a friend, fear, acid rain, and rabbits running under are squealing wheels all haunted Grace Under Pressure. Listening to this album while devouring various dystopian novels fundamentally shaped my perceptions of what I saw in the news.
With Battle Scars, Nicholson has equalled Peart in quality and tone, asking what a post-9/11, a post-Bush, world might mean. But, just as with Grace Under Pressure, the events of the world offer a symbol for the events of the soul. Disorder in one is disorder in the other.
The album opens with haunting words—even in delivery—of St. Paul. Do our actions reap corruption and death or life everlasting?
I’m not sure if Nicholson wants his listeners to take these words literally or not, but they fit ominously and perfectly, setting the stage for some of the most important and meaningful questions we can ever ask ourselves, Greek or Jew, male or female, bond or free.
How to you want to live in this world. With integrity and purpose or without? Do you want to achieve and strive or do you want to glide and get by? Do you want the message on your tombstone to read “he lived” or to read “he lived well”?
Though only seven tracks at 44 minutes, Battle Scars packs a serious punch. After the contemplative opening moments quoting St. Paul in hushed tones, Battle Scars becomes relentless. Indeed, a wave of strings and respectful vocals become pounding bass and drums, crying against vanity. “Hollow words count for nothing.”
An explosion or implosion ends the first track, and it glides into some nice reverb and more pounding bass, guitar, and drums in the shortest track of the album, “Reach for the Sun,” the lyrics reminding the listener that “battle scars are real.”
Track three, “Singularity,” begins with some appropriate spacey ethereal washes of keyboards, and the distant angular guitar is especially good. It breaks into a full rock song a little over a minute into the track, and the listener is propelled forward again. Having reached beyond the pain and suffering of this world, the protagonist of “Battle Scars” has transcended reality in his imagination and integrity. “You can’t touch me now.” The track ends with some beautiful, romantic piano.
“Bitter and Twisted,” track four, brings the listener back to the world, with every instrument back in full, driving play. It’s in this track that the band displays their full strength, as individual players and as an artistic whole. This is one very tight band. Lyrically, it’s difficult to know if Nicholson is identifying with the protagonist here, expressing shock at betrayal, or if we’re given the standpoint of an observer misperceiving and misunderstanding the protagonist. “You’re just a little piece of nothing at all.”
With track five, “Suspended Animation,” the protagonist identifies the evil that is in himself and the world around him. Here, we find a movement toward reconciling the order of the inward and outer person. The protagonist must reconcile his own troubles and problems, seeking some kind of forgiveness and atonement. Another driving rock song. Nicholson’s vocals are particularly good, especially as he proclaims and enunciates the words, “suspended animation.”
My favorite song on the album is the sixth, “Beyond the Barbed Wire.” As one would expect with such a title, the song is not a happy one, though it might be a resigned one. One of the quieter songs on the album, at least for its first minute or so, it reminds the listener that though the Nazis and Soviets might be gone, other evils remain in the world. At least, as I’m understanding the lyrics, this is what I’m hearing. The holocausts and gulags have just taken on new shape and new form, but the essence of such evils remains. “I’m just thinking, just thinking, beyond the barbed wire.” The protagonist, however, finds great strength in those who came before him.
The spirits of the lost reinforce my will
Their souls reunite in pure defiance
We will not disappear in mournful smoke.
This is a stunningly beautiful lyric, and Nicholson delivers it not just ably, but expertly. The voice reminds the listener of the opening lines of the album, the words from Paul.
The final song, “Seize the Day,” is the longest track and it successfully ties the whole work together, allowing all to end in real joy. The track also prepares the listener for the second Galahad release of the 2012, Beyond the Realms of Euphoria. Still very much a rock song, “Seize the Day,” also embraces, very well, forms of electronica. “Seize the day/relish every moment.”
Thank you, Stu, Roy, Spencer, Dean, and Neil. You have created a thing of beauty. Long may the creativity and virtue of Galahad continue.
Our friend, Cailyn (she of Four Pieces fame), just released information today about her fourth album, VOYAGER. Here’s a bit of what she has to say:
I am in the studio, working on a new project called Voyager. This project arose from my interest in the Planets Suite by Gustav Holst. Problem was, the music as it stood did not easily lend itself to a rock interpretation and the opening movement, Mars, had already been explored extensively by better artists than I. The idea gradually evolved from there to a musical interpretation of the Voyager Space Project.
Voyager will include excerpts from Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune from the Planets Suite as well as ten original pieces of music (see track listing below). I have finished the composition for all of the tracks and I am now working on the instrumentation and programming.
While I originally imagined this as a progressive rock suite, it will be more eclectic, not adhering to any single genre. Much of it is classically inflected symphonic prog, particularly the Planet Suite excerpts as well as Io, Titan, and Triton. Europa and Pale Blue Dot are more New Age with blues inflections. Enceladus is free form without time or key signature. Ariel and Miranda are classic-progressive rock hybrids.
Voyager will primarily be an instrumental work though I have sketched wordless vocals for several of the tracks. Most of the drumming will be recorded on an acoustic set and I am now looking for the right a session drummer for this project. The bass guitar and keyboards will be more prominent, especially the keys as much of the original music is being written at the keyboard.
Run time: about 56 minutes. Track listing with brief descriptions:
Voyager – A quiet symphonic introduction leads to a bluesy guitar progression followed by a powerful progression of chords that builds to a grand crescendo before a return to the opening theme complete with synths, voices, guitars, and drums.
To find out more (and you should!), including a full track description, click here.
As we close 2013, I thought it would be fun to go back to some earlier writings. Here’s my take on Steven Wilson’s first solo effort, Insurgentes. I wrote this December 31, 2008. As is obvious, I was rather smitten.
***
The most prolific and interesting musician of 2008, however, has to be Steven Wilson of Porcupine Tree, Blackfield, and No-man. A true audiophile, Wilson loves perfection and innovation as much as he loves beauty and tradition. Born November 3, 1967 (three days less than two months after I was born), Wilson is a masterful songwriter, singer, and lyricist. This year, Porcupine Tree released the EP “Nils Recurring”—outtakes from the outstanding 2007 cd, “Fear of a Blank Planet.” Like the members of Rush and of Riverside, Wilson takes his art very seriously. Even the outtakes are brilliant. I was especially struck by the third track, “”Normal,” an alternate take of “Fear of a Blank Planet”’s fifth track, “Sentimental.” Frankly, as good as “Sentimental” is, “Normal” is a much better and more interesting song. And, I’m sorry Wilson chose “Sentimental,” as “Normal” would’ve made “Fear of a Blank Planet” a nearly perfect album. As it is, it’s a great album. `
But, what struck me most about “Normal” was how similar it is to Kevin McCormick’s “Soleares” from several years back. Wilson claims to listen to nearly 10 new CDs a week, and he travels the world over playing and collecting music, so it’s possible he’s heard McCormick’s music. The similarities between the two men and their music is startlingly enough, even without “Normal” sounding like “Soleares. Only a week apart in age, they obviously listened to the same music growing up, and they each have an amazing ear for complicated, beautiful music. I can only imagine what astounding works the two of them might create if they ever worked together. They might very well re-make the music scene.
Wilson’s true genius, though, revealed itself in late November with the preliminary release of his solo album, “Insurgentes.” From the beginning to the end, it move ebbs and flows, but it never fails to captivate the soul and the mind. It is, to my mind, the best non-classical album of 2008, and it is the best thing Wilson has made. This is in no way, shape, or form minor praise, as 2008 has been a great year for progressive music, and Wilson has made some truly outstanding albums. The opening track, “Harmony Korine,” reminds me of what U2 might have done, had they ever embraced—fully—seriously complex and progressive music. The third track, “Salvaging,” is a worthy successor to Talk Talks “The Rainbow.” The fifth track, “No Twilight within the Courts of the Sun” has a Robert Fripp feel to it. The vocals (Wilson and Irish singer, Clodagh Simonds) on track six, “Significant Other,” are simply heavenly. Wilson’s guitar work on “Insurgentes” feels fresh, but it also reminds me of Robert Smith’s guitar work on The Cure’s 1993 live album, “Show”—but especially “From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea,” “Never Enough,” “Cut,” and “End,” some of the finest 30 minutes of live music I’ve ever heard. The musicians on “Insurgentes” include bassist Tony Levin and keyboardist Jordan Rudess. The entire album grabs a hold of the listener until the last note plays. Even after, the music and the ideas linger.
Every once in a while, an album from my past jumps out at me. How much thought, perspective, and perception went into it, I wonder? What did these folks think as they were making it? Did they think of it as a job? Did they think of some abstraction such as Art, Beauty, Truth, Goodness, hoping against hope for the approval of the gods? Did they make it to satisfy themselves or their friends or their families or their producers or their record label or their fans or some combination of all of these things?
Did they know it would still be touching the lives of others thirty-four years later?
Thank you so much, Phil, Tony, and Mike. Whatever your intentions, Duke still speaks to me. In volumes. Yours, Brad
It is written in the book.
A gift from progarchist, Russell Clarke, this morning.
The piece in question: https://progarchy.com/2013/12/26/steven-wilson-a-minority-report/
The ever-wonderful David Longdon, lead singer of Big Big Train, looks back at his life, 2013. A fine reflection.
Here we are at the end of another year and what a fantastic year it has been, not only for Big Big Train but also for Progressive Rock Music in general. There have been some tremendous releases in our genre this year.This post is intended to be a brief overview of our year, from my ‘behind the mic’ viewpoint.
On the 2nd of January 2 2013, we found ourselves on location at theEastleigh Railway Works in Southampton. As you would expect, it was cold despite the addition of an industrial heater. The works were in use by the railway carriage engineers and we were in awe of the sheer scale of the work that these men carry out, as if it was nothing. It felt most strange performing along to our track in the midst of all this dramatic industrial scenery. Eventually though, after a few runs through, we began to get used to the absurdity of it and we adjusted to the weirdness of it. The video was made to give those who are interested in us, a glimpse of what it might be like, when we perform live. The video was directed by Peter Callow and upon it’s release in September this year, it has helped to opened up new possibilities for us.
To keep reading, go here: http://soundemporium.blogspot.com/?spref=fb
Muse has been one of my favorite bands for a while now. In fact, they were probably one of my first introductions to the progressive genre, although I didn’t know it at the time. (My first real introduction to prog was through Rush when I was in sixth grade.) Over the years, Muse has been called many different things, including progressive rock, space rock, alternative rock (but what isn’t called that these days? Mumford and Sons is even called alternative rock. Ok.), and symphonic rock. Ok, so that all sounds like it fits nicely into prog. But there is one strange thing about Muse that does not quite add up. They are popular. Very popular, in fact. These days, it seems that if a band is popular across wide audiences and continents, they are making pretty bad music (there are obviously exceptions, and I am probably being too pessimistic), but Muse has been making excellent music for over ten years now.
Muse’s best albums are Origin of Symmetry (2001), Absolution (2003, with cover art by the great Storm Thorgerson- Dark Side of the Moon), Black Holes and Revelations (2006), and The Resistance (2009). Their first album, Showbiz (1999), and their most recent album, The 2nd Law (2012), did not thrill me, but maybe I should give them another go around. Their sound is defined by singer/guitarist/studio keyboardist Matthew Bellamy’s magnificent voice. Bellamy is also an artist on the guitar, able to manipulate it to make almost any sound he wants. Often times, what sounds like synthesizer on the album is actually guitar in concert. Christopher Wolstenholme is no slouch on bass either. Many of their songs feature bass as the melody driving the song (ex. Starlight off of Black Holes and Revelations). Dominic Howard on drums is also an excellent percussionist, able to deliver both hard rocking drum riffs along with quieter, more technical drumming. Their use of keyboards and piano, along with a symphony on The Resistance, showcases their ability to explore different areas of the musical realm. They are more than willing to experiment with many different sounds, and more often than not it is breathtaking. Their technical, musical skill is some of the best in the modern, popular rock world.
Muse’s lyrics tend to deal with vague political ideas. They can be described as libertarian/anarchist, much like Rush. Origin of Symmetry deals with the dangers of new technology and what can happen when it is misused. Absolution is apocalyptic in nature, with songs ranging from the urgency of “Time is Running Out” to the symphonic beauty of “Blackout.” Black Holes and Revelations, probably their most popular album, deals with themes of science fiction and oppressive governments (Ayn Rand?). The Resistance discusses ideas of resisting governmental overreach, along with what the world would be like under a one world government. They end the album with a stunning three part symphonic piece that is very relaxing. All in all, Muse’s lyrics make the listener think, like all good prog should.
Going back to Muse’s popularity, this is a band that can sell out arenas anywhere. From the 02 in London, to Lollapalooza in Chicago, Muse sells out venues to people who cannot get enough of their music. Is this a sign from God that the people are hungry for prog?! I certainly hope so. Deep down inside, every educated, thinking individual loves prog, and if Muse is a path by which millions of young people can be introduced to this wonderful genre, then more power to them. Here is to hoping that people listen to their Muse and are directed toward the beauty found in the genre of progressive rock.
In almost every way, Steven Wilson is widely regarded as the current leader of progressive rock music. It’s a title he claims he did not seek, does not want, and, in fact, fought against time and time again.
And yet, he is, for all intents and purposes, “Mr. Prog.” “No discussion on progressive rock is complete without mentioning Steven Wilson,” Tushar Menon has recently and rightly claimed at Rolling Stone (June 24, 2012).
Having turned 46 this year [I’m just two months older than Wilson], Wilson has been writing and producing music for over two decades. Best known in North America for his leadership of the band, Porcupine Tree, Wilson came to the attention of the American and Canadian public through the appreciation offered by North American prog acts, Spock’s Beard, Rush, and, most especially, Dream Theater.
In addition to the thirteen studio albums released under the name of Porcupine Tree, Wilson also has played in No-man, Bass Communion, and, most recently, has released three well-received solo album. Last year, he and Swedish progressive metal legend, Mikael Akerfelt, wrote a brooding folk-prog album under the name of “Storm Corrosion.”
He has also leant his talents–for he is one of the finest audiophiles alive [though, I much prefer the talents of a Rob Aubrey]–to re-mixing a number of classic but often forgotten or misunderstood progressive albums from the 1970s and 1980s, including works by Jethro Tull, Yes, XTC, and King Crimson.
Porcupine Tree music is very very simple. There’s nothing complex about it at all. The complexity is in the production. The complexity is in the way the albums are constructed . . . . And that really is why I have to take issue when people describe us as progressive rock. I don’t think we are a progressive rock band.–Steven Wilson, 1999 interview with dprp.net.
Porcupine Tree albums probably cannot be classified, at least not easily. Beginning as somewhat of a satire on psychedelic music, not too far removed from the fake history of XTC’s alternative ego, The Dukes of Stratosphear, Porcupine Tree invented its own history when Wilson first released music under the name. Since then, Porcupine Tree albums have crossed and fused a number of genres, including space rock, impressionist jazz, hard rock, AOR, New Wave, pop, and metal. Wilson has been open about his influences, and he has prominently noted the work of Talk Talk, Tangerine Dream, Pink Floyd, Rush, The Cure, and a whole slew of others.
What Wilson claims to like most is the creating and maintaining of the “album as an art form, [to] treat the album as a musical journey that tells the story,” rejecting the importance of an individual song. “That’s what I’m all about,” he told a reporter for the Chicago Tribune (April 26, 2010).
In hindsight, he believes that his fear of being labeled “progressive” was simply a fear of being associated with those he considers the wrong type of people (interview with Dave Baird, dprp.net, June 2012)
And, yet, almost and anyone connected in any way with the progressive rock world would immediately identify Wilson as its most prominent face and voice. One insightful English fan of the genre, Lisa Mallen, stated unequivocally, “Steven Wilson is THE most highly regarded person working in the prog industry right now.” Though a long time devotee of progressive rock, Mallen has only recently started listening to Wilson’s music. Wilson is also shaping and defining music in a way that probably only Neil Peart could and did for a generation coming of age in the late 1970s and 1980s. A graduate student in the geographic sciences in Belgium as well as a musician, Nicolas Dewulf, writes, “Steven made me appreciate music in a totally different way, as an art form.” Another long-time prog aficionado, serious thinker, and prolific reader, Swede Tobbe Janson (and fellow progarchist) writes, “I respect SW for being very serious about this wonderful thing called music.” Still, with a mischievous Scandinavian twinkle in his eye, Janson asks, Wilson “is fascinating but sometimes I can wonder: where’s the humour?”
Most recently, Wilson has claimed the golden age of rock music to be 1967 to 1977, the years during which rock realized it could be an art form as high as jazz and classical but before the reactionaries of punk gained an audience through their simple, untrained, and unrestrained anger. “I was born in ’67/The year of Sergeant Pepper and Are You Experienced? It was a suburb of heaven,” Wilson sings in 2009’s “Time Flies.” Wilson’s dates are probably more symbolic than literal. For example, he cites “Pet Sounds” (1966) and “Hemispheres” (1978) as essential albums in rock.
For his part, Wilson believes it critical to maintain his independence as much as possible. “The moment you have a fan base, is the moment you start to lose a little bit of your freedom. The greatest thing of all is to make music without having a fan base because [it’s] the most pure form of creation.” (interview with Menon, Rolling Stone India, June 24, 2102) Reading Wilson’s words, it’s difficult not to think of a younger Neil Peart writing the lyrics of Anthem (1975). As Wilson recently told Menon, “For me, it’s still about being very selfish and doing what I want to do.”
Wilson even refuses to read reviews of his music, and he asks those around him (including his manager) not even to hint to him what been written, good or bad. Wilson admits to becoming just as upset by good reviews as by bad, as he thinks even the good reviewers rarely understand him. With the good reviews, Wilson especially despises when the reviewer “compare[s] you to somebody that you don’t like.” Further, Wilson claims, he’s a “kind of idiot-savant” and “I think I’m incapable of making records [ ] for anyone else than myself.” (interview with Dave Baird, dprp.net, June 2012).
Wilson has proclaimed repeatedly that he is a “control freak,” and, frankly, it would be difficult for anyone to listen to any of his music without realizing the perfectionist side of him immediately. It’s one of the greatest joys of listening to his music. It’s never flawed in anyway. Indeed, if there is a flaw in Wilson’s music, it comes with fatigue of immersing oneself in such perfection.
As Canadian classical philosopher and fellow progarchist, Chris Morrissey, has so aptly described it, “His use of 5.1 mixes perhaps shows us the way forward for prog’s future. The beauty and complexity of prog music seems to demand the sort of treatment that Steven Wilson has shown us it deserves.”
None of this, however, should suggest that Wilson is without his critics. An American mathematician and highly-skilled artist of wood and glass, Thaddeus Wert (another progarchist!), offers an appreciative but equally objective appraisal of Wilson’s works: he “seduces the listener with beautiful music, but there is often an undercurrent of menace and despair in his lyrics that can be disturbing.”
Wert is correct. One of the most jarring aspects of any Steven Wilson song is its gorgeous construction on top of very dark subjects and lyrics. In interviews, he claims to give as much attention and detail to his lyrics as he does to the beauty and perfection of the music. “I try to make the lyrics have some depth, yes, I mean I don’t want the lyrics to be trivial” (interview with Brent Mital, Facebook Exclusive, April 28, 2010). His lyrics deal with drug (illicit and prescription) use, cults, the banality of modernity, commercialism (Wilson believes “Thatcherism” accelerated the western drive toward hollow materialism), serial killing, death in an automobile, and mass conformity.
Widely regarded as his best work, Porcupine Tree’s 2007 “Fear of a Blank Planet” offers one of the most interesting critiques of modern and post-modern culture in the world of art today. Based on Bret Easton Ellis’s novel, Lunar Park, the album explores the banal world of the “terminally bored” and features the disturbing front cover of a teenager, zombified by the glow of the T.V. Screen. Wilson’s album is effective and artful social criticism of the best kind. Even the EP released shortly after Fear of a Blank Planet, “Nil Recurring” offers some of the most interesting rock music ever produced.
Outside of being labeled and “forced” to conform to the expectations of fans, Wilson’s greatest fear comes from the irrationality and demands of religious belief, as he sees it. In his lyrics and in interviews, Wilson speaks at length about his opposition to religion. “Anything to do with organized religion really makes me really f***in’ angry.” Even non-cultish ones are “living a lie, but, you know, ok, if it makes them happy, that’s fine” (Interview with Mital, FB Exclusive, April 28, 2010). One can probably safely assume that Wilson has never read Augustine, Aquinas, More, Bellermine, or Chesterton. Would they still appear so bloody stupid if he had?
Usually far more articulate than this, Wilson expresses his greatest Bono-esque opposition to televangelists who use faith to create power and promote self-aggrandizement. In the same interview, Wilson states that Christians of all kinds must find the need to divorce his lyrics from his music if they’re to appreciate his work. “I’m sure we have fans that are Christians and . . . . [in original] I know we do, you know. That’s not something lyrically I think they could ever find sympathy with or I could, but musically they must love the music” (Interview with Mital, FB Exclusive, April 28, 2010).
Wilson’s most blatant statement of skepticism comes from the video for a single from his Storm Corrosion album, “Drag Ropes.” Stunningly beautiful and haunting gothic folk prog–akin to some of the earliest work of The Cure–drones, while stained glass images of Tim Burton-eque creatures defy the Catholic Church and embrace some form of paganism. A Catholic priest, under the bloody image of a Crucifix, laughs diabolically as a pagan is dragged to the gallows. Paradoxically, not only is the art and animation of the video utterly dependent upon the iconography of the Christian tradition, but the music also carries with it an intense if elegiac and funerary high-church quality.
Whether Wilson recognizes this explicitly or not, he’s correct about what a Christian might find appealing about his music. Whether he’s writing a solo work or working in Porcupine Tree, No-man, or Storm Corrosion, his music exudes the liturgical despite what genre he employs on any given song or album. Consciously or not, it’s almost certainly one of the qualities that most draws listeners to Wilson’s vast corpus of work. Liturgy predates Christianity, of course. It dates back to the public performances of the polis of ancient Greece, a way to incorporate all through art and performance into a community. Every person–no matter his or her race, ethnicity, or religious (or lack thereof)–desires to be a part of such a thing. It’s worth remembering that we define a sociopath precisely as this because he or she refuses to be a part of community.
As is clear from the Storm Corrosion video, Wilson does not understand the mass of Christians (at least Catholic and Eastern Orthodox ones) and their desires or their serious failings. In this, he’s not much different from the rest of the modern world, and probably few serious Christians will get upset with the attempt to upset them. Christians have endured far, far worse than Wilson’s video, and, of course, sadly, they’ve dealt out far worse than the priest of Storm Corrosion’s imagination.
Theology aside, if there’s one essential thing missing in Wilson’s art, it’s his inability to present something in a truly organic form. One sees this most readily when comparing his work to that of other progressive greats (though, to be fair (well, honest) to Wilson, he’s claimed that there really is no competition within progressive rock; of course, he’s completely wrong). His most Talk Talk-eque song, for example, is his two-minute “The Yellow Windows of the Evening Train” (2009). In almost every way, with one vital exception, it could have appeared on Talk Talk’s 1991 masterpiece, “Laughing Stock.” Porcupine Tree’s most Rush-eque song is the 17-minute masterpiece, “Anestheize” (2007). Each song, though, remains an abstraction, a stunning mimicry. As great as each song is, each is missing the very soul that made Talk Talk and makes Rush so good. And, this despite the fact that Rush’s Alex Lifeson performs the guitar solo on “Anethetize.” It might, interestingly enough, be Lifeson’s best solo, ever.
Compared to other prog greats of this generation, Wilson’s music seems impoverished. Not because it’s not great, but because it lacks a sense of the human and of the humane. Even at his best, Wilson remains abstract and disconnected. When one hears the music of much of the last two decades, one feels the very depth of the soul and being that each of these groups/artists brings to the art. Five minutes of listening to Big Big Train, Matt Stevens, The Tangent, or Cosmograf makes me realize how human and humane these artists are. They give their very selves to their art. Listening to Wilson, as much as I appreciate the precision put into the music, the lyrics, and, especially, the audio quality, I can’t help but think he’s reading a treatise from the most rational person of the 18th century. Where are the kids? Where are the relationships? Where are the foibles? Where is the greatness?
What hit me hardest came not with Storm Corrosion, with its blatant anti-Christian posturing, but with Wilson’s third solo album, The Raven That Refused to Sing, released this year.
From Jerry Ewing to Greg Spawton to Harry Blackburn to Richard Thresh to Anne-Catherine de Froidmont to a number of other folks I respect immensely, The Raven has received almost nothing but praise.
For me, though, it’s almost 55 minutes of parody—cold, perfect, distant, abstract. From the opening few lines and minutes of the album, I thought, “This is simply Andy Tillison’s work without the humor, the warmth, the depth, the breadth, or the sharp-witted intelligence.” I thought this on my first listen, and I thought this on my most recent listen (today). I certainly don’t want to put Tillison in a bad spot, and I don’t want to praise one while knocking down the other. But, the comparison between Wilson and Tillison, I think, is a fair one. Listen to the 55 minutes of The Raven (2013) and the 60 minutes of The World That We Drive Through (2004). While it’s not a note for note similarity, it’s clear that Wilson has found his style (compare The Raven to his first two solo albums) in what Tillison has so wonderfully cultivated over the last decade.
I have absolutely nothing against honoring or borrowing from the greats. But, it does rankle a bit thinking about the genius who has spent most of his career separating himself from his brethren while the thinking of the other genius who has struggled so seriously in the very name of his brethren.
Honor should go where honor should go. Really, who deserves to be Mr. Prog?
Please don’t get me wrong. I’m a fan of Steven Wilson. I own everything he’s produced (even the more obscure stuff from early in his career), and I almost certainly will continue to do so. But, his own self-admitted quirks will always keep me at a distance. And, from what I’ve read from him, he’s perfectly fine with this. In fact, he’ll almost certainly never even know this article existed.
Progarchy 