Dream Theater
Metropolis Pt. 2: Scenes From a Memory

THE REVIEW

When you start hearing the first notes of Regression and you realize they closely resemble the flow of Pigs on the Wing by Pink Floyd, you begin to have some doubts and ask yourself: "What on earth am I listening to?" The problem, however, comes later, as you continue with the album and those doubts turn into certainties: you really are facing a group so outdated and derivative that it seems at the very least irritating. And the point is, many have fallen for it, mesmerized by the celebrated super-technique of the group's four musicians, some even going so far as to rank them among the greatest bands in the history of music.

The problem with Dream Theater is that beneath the technical flourishes, beneath the pompous arrangements, beneath the now-famous tempo changes, there's absolutely nothing; despite having emerged from the famous Boston school, they literally can't write songs: the compositions border on ridiculous simplicity, and the arrangements aren't, as they should be, complementary to the composition part; instead, they are the center and the climax of the piece, which is consequently structured to have no substance, no content, but to be pure form, total speculation on what should be merely the framing of the piece itself.

And even this frame fails to be particularly convincing: much has been said about the greatness of the musicians, but where is the personality? John Petrucci, in the parts closer to progressive rock, dangerously approaches both Robert Fripp and Gilmour, while in the ballads he's almost indistinguishable from Brian May; Mike Portnoy is a bit John Bonham, a bit Ginger Baker, with an injection of Pete Gill from Saxon, but with a tendency to overdo it typical of Glam, very Roger Taylor, so to speak; Kevin Moore and John Myung are no less anonymous. Let's not even go there with James LaBrie, a singer no different from millions of others.

So even the more complex songs are nothing but a string of references: Overture 1928 or Beyond this life echo King Crimson and Rush, not forgetting Pink Floyd or Queen, and Home, with its Oriental riff, is just a pathetic attempt to seem more original; but with Dream Theater, there's never a true positive intent to innovate; everything halts at the surface, even the few interesting insights never touch the essence of the track; the ballads, relatively sparser from an arrangement standpoint, are an example of the band's total lack of creative nullity: Through my words or Through her eyes are just slightly puffed up and irregular renditions of the '80s ballads from non-essential bands like Bon Jovi or other horrible Glam Metal bands, while with The spirit carries on, the "theater of the dream" probably hits rock bottom: alongside a bland melody, comes a chorus of female voices that seems directly stolen from Dark Side of the Moon, and a little further in the piece here's Petrucci's solo that's at some points PRACTICALLY IDENTICAL to David Gilmour's in Shine on you crazy diamond. You decide, but for me, great musicians are a different story.