Porcupine Tree
The Tivoli, Brisbane
Friday 5th February 2010
After a successful first-time Australian jaunt in April 2008, English prog rock four-piece Porcupine Tree are in Brisbane tonight for the first of three east coast capital city shows over consecutive nights. Though labelling the band as “progressive rock” isn't entirely representative of the scope they attempt to portray - in singer Steven Wilson's words, they play "a very ambitious form of rock" – interest in the band lies in their refusal to genre-associate. Not to mention managing to forge a 20-plus year career via dedication to an outsider craft and the ensuing word-of-mouth loyalty of their gradual, ever-growing fanbase. All this achieved in a nearly complete absence of anything approaching commercial airplay.
Resultantly, there are very few pedestrians among the thousand-plus in attendance tonight. Patience is a virtue when witnessing a band with a fondness for long, roaming song structures, so while casual fans of rock, metal and the sub-genres in between could find enjoyment in the occasional passage of blazing four-four, an admirable fluidity that opposes such simple structures is central to Porcupine Tree’s appeal. Case in point: 'Time Flies', the centrepiece of the band 10th and latest album, The Incident. Over 12 minutes it encompasses acoustic balladry, Floyd-inspired space rock and wailing slide-guitar theatrics. If you're a diligent music journalist, it'll send you looking up synonyms for 'epic'.
Though song lengths can be used as a fair marker of an act's pretension - that is, the longer the song, the larger the sense of self-infatuation - when you're making music this beautiful, one might see little point in conforming to convention. Porcupine Tree hope to create music whose attraction crosses boundaries; the wide array of humanity assembled at The Tivoli tonight reflects this. Emotive, considered and dramatic, this is music that demands your full attention if you're to begin to reciprocate.
The performance begins with a pre-recorded American voice repeating the message displayed on posters around the room: “no photography and no video recording”, as these acts are apparently “distracting to band and audience”. Curiously, the voice attempts to instil a kind of tattle-tale mob mentality by asking fans to notify security if they witness anyone holding a camera aloft. Understandable when considering the band's desire to create a kind of closed-world, unrepeatable experience, though odd when you consider that the entire reason Porcupine Tree have been allowed to cultivate a niche audience is through fans' willingness to share their music and videos with each other.
Ideological divides aside, last year’s The Incident – perfomed tonight in full - is a remarkable body of work. It's a concept album based around Wilson witnessing a car accident and being struck by the impersonal, dissociative language used by the police to describe a traumatic circumstance. The five musicians’ arrival (an extra guitarist is added live) is heralded by the confronting three-chord flourish of album opener 'Occam's Razor', which segues – as on record - into 'The Blind House'. We're witnessing not so much an album as one song split into fifteen segments, each performed with the level of intricacy and studiousness one expects from a band of perfectionists. Every second that was pressed to disc is recreated; even the plaintive piano moments, during which drunk audience members take the opportunity to regale nonsense at inappropriate volumes.
Wilson and his band are nothing if not the quintessential polite Englishmen. The singer thanks the crowd genuinely at the conclusion of 'I Drive The Hearse', the album's final track. He explains that they'll take a 10 minute break and return with some old material. Hilariously, a countdown timer appears on screen to ensure he sticks to his word. The final seconds are chanted by the audience, and bassist Colin Edwin mock-runs to shoulder his instrument in time. Of the core four members - the others being singer/guitarist/pianist Wilson, drummer Gavin Harrison, keyboardist/sound manipulator Richard Barbieri – the bald, beret-wearing Edwin is the most expressive; or “least serious”. His prolonged smiles, closed eyes and transparent emotions provide a warm counterpoint to the assured, icy demeanour that Wilson presents.
Edwin’s pulsing bassline introduces 'Start Of Something Beautiful', a slow-burner from the Deadwing era. 'Lazarus' is the other track from that 2005 release to make an appearance; Wilson states they've got a "nice video" for us to watch while they play it, and then bemoans the fact that The Tivoli's projector is unable to render at anything higher than a "postage stamp-sized" resolution. It's the first time that the visual accompaniments are mentioned by the band - these pieces provide some context to their interpretations of recorded material, as well as being a nice gesture for those not close enough to eyeball the instrumental chops up close.
'The Pills I'm Taking' - which features some impressive fretwork from touring guitarist John Wesley - is the heaviest, hardest-hitting composition aired tonight. It's one of three Fear Of A Blank Planet-era tracks, the others being 'Way Out Of Here' and 'Normal'. The promise to revisit earlier material stretches as far back as 'Russia On Ice' from their 2000 album, Lightbulb Sun. Upon returning to stage for an encore, Wilson explains that some fans outside the venue named 2002 breakthrough album In Absentia as their favourite, so they opt to play 'The Sound Of Muzak' from that release. It's another sweet gesture, though discounting the fact that they’ve played a similar setlist throughout their last six months of touring. 'Trains', perhaps their best-known track, closes the two-hour set; the audience mimics en masse the clickity-clack acoustic breakdown section. It's a fittingly exhilarating close to an achingly beautiful song, into which the singer interjects a heartily-applauded full band introduction.
Like Steven Wilson sang - time flies.
Andrew McMillen