THE INCIDENT

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!

4. 5 prickly branches.