CLUTCHING AT STRAWS

One would think, were I to describe an album to be progressive-rock influenced, drenched in keyboards and (mostly) riff-rock free, that I would be describing some post- Genesis/Pink Floyd hybrid of wimpy rock or Spinal Tap in their "Tap" free-form jazz odyssey stage. Not so in this case, though the description fits somewhat. In Marillion's earlier incarnation we have a band that definitely wants to be Genesis, down to the lead singer's unique voice and early predilection to paint himself before taking the stage, ala Peter Gabriel. Three albums later, their singular course had definitely charted.and was definitely divergent from the latter-day Genesis/neo-prog movement. Lead singer Derek Dick ("Fish") has just too damn much to say to be part of a beautiful musical tapestry-weaving machine, and that strong influence makes all the difference on "Clutching at Straws," Marillion's fourth studio album, and Fish's last, released in 1988. A barroom brawler, a two fisted scribbler of delicate beer-napkin poetic images, Derek Dick nurtured his alter ego of Fish on earlier albums into a larger- than-life figure, the iconic self-destructing rock star of massive talent, potential, and capacity for self-harm. On this album, he holds the cloudy mirror up to Fish (playing a character named "Torch" here), to point out his excesses and bad choices in sharp relief to the precise, and on the surface, light music. What at first is a confessional becomes a strangely schizophrenic and very personal monologue in two voices. The album is Derek Dick realizing that Fish is not just a construct, not just stage paint anymore.he intended to hold a mirror up to Fish and saw Fish holding the mirror up to him. Imagine the scene in Raging Bull where DeNiro is confronting himself in the looking glass.then imagine that scene in real life, but with Hemingway yelling at his reflection that it'd better sober up, before it did something stupid. The musicianship on this album is almost too good. It becomes such a perfect accompaniment to Fish's quick- witted and dour lyrics and vocals that it almost fades away behind the anger of it all. It is a testament to the writing that the music almost gets lost.they are playing to their strengths on this album best when they realize the music is the spotlight within which we are witnessing not the poetic representation of man's crisis of identity, but the very real breakdown of the very real lead singer. Torch/Fish/Derek Dick spew bile and writhe in the light of honesty and irony of the so-called happy hour, speaking in a voice familiar with but never accepting the last call that is this album. From the broad anxiety of "White Russian" to the denial and Walter Mitty-ish quality of "Incommunicado" to the quiet resign of "That Time of the Night" to the final, blistering acceptance of Hell on "The Last Straw," the album is harrowing in it's honesty and portrait of madness. Is this the best expression of the band that is Marillion? No. Like "The Wall" which is really less Pink Floyd and more Roger Waters with the best backup band in the world, this is not the place to begin to explore this early version of Marillion. I would say "Misplaced Childhood" is that stepping stone. This is an album that should not have been: The last gasp of a destroyed solo performer, who never (at that point) had a chance to go solo.