#13: Steven Wilson – The Raven That Refused to Sing (and Other Stories)

(Kscope, 2013)

(Image from Artswrap)

I don’t know Steven Wilson all that well. I have listened to a Porcupine Tree album or two (I remember distinctly enjoying “The Sleep of No Dreaming”), but never got very in-depth with what is considered to be one of the cornerstones of modern prog. As a prog fan, I’m beginning my penance by listening to Steven Wilson’s 2013 offering, which grabbed me with its name as much as anything else. Who doesn’t love a good story?

Right off the bat, “Luminol” seemed to confirm my worst fears. It’s the longest track on the album, at 12 minute and 10 seconds (doesn’t mean it’s bad, but modern prog musicians seem to have a ridiculous obsession with song length, which I frankly don’t share), and is an inconsistent mishmash of aggressive drumming with a jazz-like structure of each instrument taking a solo in turn. The only vocals that appear in the first half are leaning far forward, seemingly as if they can’t wait to get out of there and back to more instrumental passages. The mood changes several times throughout the song, and none of them seem to match that of the lyrics describing a young boy learning the licks of his guitar idols. The track wasn’t horrible, but just struck me as “typical” modern prog, where the emphasis is on musicianship and noise rather than any melodic content – the guitar solo in it is quite nimble, however. It’s not the histrionics that I mind – indeed, they’re peppered throughout the album to great effect (in particular, the sax stylings of Theo Travis on “The Holy Drinker” and “The Pin Drop”). It’s the virtuosic and rapid playing that comes in at the expense of the mood of the piece.

Luckily for me, “Luminol” is the exception. The rest of the album creates great moods/soundscapes, thanks in no small part to Wilson’s piano playing. The subtle runs create a great foundation on which to pile bass, guitars, flutes, saxes, mellotrons, drums and the rest of the considerable arsenal at his disposal. The best part of “Luminol” occurs when the intro to the song returns and is underpinned with a simple, deft piano line that provides a nice soft counter to the earlier assault. On the rest of the album, these lines lead the mood with frequent restraint, the freakout sections being doled out in short bursts between. The guitar work is where the leash is let out, but the skeleton provided by the piano playing left a much bigger impact on me.

The mellotron used here is almost used as an instrument secondarily. There’s no doubt that that those sweeping four-and-five-finger chords lend an air of grandeur to the proceedings, but the use of the instrument seems to work chiefly as a reference/homage to the prog classics of old (chiefly, In the Court of the Crimson King) – it’s a quick way of adding that sort of ‘classic’ flavour, though much of the texture here, songwriting-wise, seems to be influenced by conjuring that era specifically. Many of the intricate guitarpicking waves that occur throughout evoke that sort of ponderous, thoughtful bedrock that underpinned many of the classic late 60/early 70s records.

This is not a cohesive album in terms of sound. There are general themes and styles that occur multiple times across the different tracks, but, as the title suggests, the albums is a collection of stories, each of which exists in its own world and soundscape, and Wilson is very good at employing a different, thoughtful style for each one. For a look at what prog still has to offer in this day and age, The Raven That Refused to Sing is a great glimpse into what one of the big names can produce with a considered but flexible band and at his disposal.

8/10

#12: Tegan & Sara – Heartthrob

(Warner Bros., 2013)

(Image from Wikipedia)

I’m going to be honest, the first couple of times I listened to this album, it came as a shock to me when it ended. A lot of that I can chalk up to the relatively short running length of the album (it falls a few minutes short of the 40-minute mark). It bears the hallmarks of a classic pop album in that way – sub-40-minute running time, no songs past 4 minutes (“I Couldn’t Be Your Friend” and “Now I’m All Messed Up” being the exceptions, tipping the scales at 4:19 and 4:09, respectively), and each a solid, densely-packed little nugget of catchy melodies and ear-catching tones exploring personal themes of love and heartbreak. It also all kind of sounds the same.

There is an insistent beat that moves throughout every track of the album, moving it along at a reasonable pace, doling the bass drum out fairly and liberally which serves to sort of flatten a lot of the proceedings – you never get a chance to forget you’re listening to a pop song; there’s no sort of “out” moment that makes you cock your head and say “wait a second…”, there’s no sharp chord or quail that juts out.  It’s all determined by the straightforward beat.

The glossy production has a lot to do with the uniformity of the sound. The details within the tones of the songs have been tweaked to within an inch of their lives. The synthesizers are buzzing with just enough gain to be noticed, very occasionally pulling back their lips and baring their teeth, but never with malice. Every corner of the aural space is filled right up most of the time, leaving no space for extra emphasis or ‘heightening’ come the chorus (the slower piano-based “I Was A Fool” provides a couple moments of respite).

Having a homogenous sound is detrimental in some ways, but can afford the listener a different perspective on things. Since each song is using the same set of instruments – the same constraints – it’s easier to focus in on the differences that do exist between each song. In the case of the sisters Quin, it’s the melodies.

The melodies themselves are quite engaging – swooping down, stopping and starting, charting an actual interesting course through each song, in sharp contrast to the ‘bed’ upon which the melodies sit. These comprise the heart of the album and the rewards to be taken away from it. They are surprisingly heartfelt and would sit just fine on top of a threadbare acoustic guitar as they do in their original context.

When blended together, Tegan & Sara’s voices actually sound like a patch on a very articulate synthesizer, which provides a solid vehicle for delivering the melodies – a very rounded, whole sound with the harmonies woven into the structure as opposed to just sitting on top of the ‘real’ melody.

Overall, I found this album fairly disappointing. The core of the songs are quite good, and would not be out of place in a singer-songwriter context, but are confronted on all sides by instruments taking up the vast amount space that exists between the headphones and a glossy sheen that lays on top that would rather you dance instead of getting too close.

6/10