I’m somewhat mystified by the accusations of arrogance and hubris against Steven Wilson. The remarks I read him making don’t strike me as being uttered in that spirit.

He strikes me, rather, as more of a Peartian “most endangered species”: viz., “the honest man.” The evidence brought forward against him, as evidence of his alleged ego, seems to me, rather, to be evidence for his lack of ego.

He frequently stresses how art holds up a mirror in which we can find a common experience. This seems to me to be the opposite of an egoist who insists on his own special uniqueness.

Here is Wilson’s spiritual apologetic for how he operates; I think he does quite well correcting the unfair misunderstandings about him with his own words:

With Grace for Drowning, I was moving into the next phase of my creativity, which is a balance between me as a producer, editor or architect, and being able to draw on musicians that are more spiritual in how they approach music.

I suppose as a catch-all, you could say “spiritual” just means “done for the right reasons.” What I mean by that is there is no attempt on this album to fit the music into a specific market or genre, or appeal to the existing base, managers or record companies. I’m not suggesting I’ve ever done that, because I’m pretty much incapable of doing that. [laughs] I think I have a willful streak in me in that whatever I do, I have to do it in a way that ultimately pleases me. So, being spiritual in that sense is a need to get in touch with my own soul to fulfill my own creative needs.

The music industry is full of people that are clearly not being fulfilled by their work. They do things for reasons that are perhaps different from when they started or when they first fell in love with the whole creative process. There are plenty of people doing it for the same reason as when they fell in love with music—I’m not suggesting I’m unique in that respect. But the industry all too often crushes people into thinking they have to make music to please other people. That situation is the antithesis of spiritual music. The bottom line is spirituality means something that touches you and can touch other people as well. It’s the idea that art is a kind of mirror. You create something in a very selfish way and then when you release it into the world, it becomes a mirror. If other people see themselves reflected back in what you’re doing, then there is a sense of touching people. Touching people means making people understand that they’re not alone in feeling the emotions they’re feeling. In that sense, spiritual music is about making people feel they are part of a collective consciousness. None of the things we feel in this world are unique to us, no matter how bad or good they may feel.

I think that if one listens to Wilson’s new album sine ira et studio (to use Tacitus’ apposite phrase) then one might conclude this is the finest album of the year (nota bene: Dave Kerzner’s New World is excluded only on the technicality that it was half-released last year already, in order to avoid any conflict between these two masterpieces).

Wilson is hardly some small-minded egoist who merely steals from others and recycles without attribution. People are free to prefer the work of other artists, but it is hardly fair to make invidious comparisons that pronounce Wilson merely a lesser version of one’s own favorite artists. He does not seem to be jockeying for position or rank, but rather has loftier, more spiritual goals.

The words I have quoted above, I think, are truly spoken in the spirit of Rush’s “Spirit of Radio,” and thereby illustrate that Wilson is not simply an artist with talent, but also an artist with unusual integrity.

No wonder he finds himself a target.

Some of my initial thoughts on Steven Wilson’s five-star masterpiece, Hand. Cannot. Erase.:

The title track, Hand Cannot Erase, which is already available, explores the theme of the transcendence of love. Significantly, it is a hopeful affirmation, albeit a fragile one, offered amidst the brokenness unflinchingly explored by the album’s other songs.

Perfect Life, for example, depicts the main character’s ecstatic discovery, at the age of 13, of a sister she never knew. They become best friends, but their “perfect life” together lasts only for six months.

The narrative relates how their family life is again shattered. Once more, brokenness eclipses the moments of bliss: “For a few months everything about our lives was perfect. It was only us, we were inseparable. Later that year my parents separated and my sister was rehoused with a family in Dollis Hill. For a month I wanted to die and missed her every day.”

Wilson’s album also includes a lengthy track, Ancestral, that to my mind offers the most frightening sonic depiction ever rendered of the weight of original sin, of the weight of the guilty dragging down the innocent. Remarkably, Wilson’s song cycle ends by presenting the main character’s death in the luminous context of a celestial boys’ choir breaking though a rainstorm. There is a return to the happy sounds of innocent children playing in a playground, sounds first heard at the beginning of the album.

Listen to this excellent interview with Steven Wilson.

Wow! Dave Gregory plays on the new album too!

12 August 2009:

When I was 13 I had a sister for 6 months. She arrived one February morning, pale and shellshocked, from past lives I could not imagine. She was 3 years older than me, but in no time we became friends.

We’d listen to her mix tapes; Dead Can Dance, Felt, This Mortal Coil…

She introduced me to her favourite books, gave me clothes, and my first cigarette.

Sometimes we would head down to Blackbirds moor to watch the barges on Grand Union in the twilight.

She said “The water has no memory”.

For a few months everything about our lives was perfect.

It was only us, we were inseparable.

Later that year my parents separated and my sister was rehoused with a family in Dollis Hill.

For a month I wanted to die and missed her every day.

But gradually she passed into another distant part of my memory.

Until I could no longer remember her face, her voice, even her name.

HandCannotErase.com:

1ST JANUARY 2015

Streets pretty deserted this morning, just me and the dog walkers. The detritus of the night before, and something else, I pick it up. A handwritten letter fluttering amongst the cans, bottles and fast food packaging. The ink has been washed away by the rain in places, and elsewhere parts have been crossed out. A love letter, possibly unrequited.  Either it was never sent or the recipient simply threw it away.

“I love you but I’m lost…”

Hand cannot erase this love.