Porcupine Tree
Fear Of A Blank Planet

The silence is broken by the beat of a hand on a keyboard, yet I haven’t started writing. Paradoxical, incredible to begin one's first review this way. The keyboard plays already, and I haven’t begun yet. However, on closer inspection, I will never really start.

"Fear of a Blank Planet." I won’t start writing, paralyzed in front of a screen, like the protagonist, this kid, this more badass rock version of Mark Renton. Yes, I’m talking about the text, this text that, for the first time, I'm trying to analyze just for you. Because, you know, I don't really care that much.

Music. From Steven's first guitar stroke, you recognize them, these Porcupine Tree. "Sunlight," the first word. The light that doesn’t enter the room, so what's to be done? Fight the fear with an endless barrage of riffs that, well, can adapt to everything, to every shift of a mood addicted to who-knows-what. A slight interruption at minute 6, just to gather speed, to prepare for another surge against our empty planet. What a start this is! There’s even a solo at the end, the pedal effect, Harrison's delightful passages. Add a pinch of satisfaction, a sort of contained orgasm when hearing bespectacled Wilson pronounce "X-Box!" so wildly. Lucky him, who truly is not afraid to be who he is. While the planet fills up with crap and is emptied of humanity. The usual stuff that repeats itself daily in my head. I can’t help but continue not to remain indifferent to the “generation that simulates” (-oid, as defined by the blonde wonder, protagonist of one of Welsh’s raw wonders). Maybe I’m not right to do so, and one day, when this good, angry, and despondent self of mine is inflated, all I will be able to do is admire my ashes. What a fantastic move to announce the second track, don't you think? "My ashes." Wonder, a start that, well, is enough. I can become ash to spread in the sky, fly lightly and feel it vibrate at each of their concerts. A slow track, with almost aching melancholy, but just when it seems like some tears might fill the rough emptiness of radioactive cheeks, the chorus resolves on major chords, and the ending is comforting, full of hope. Perhaps there won’t be a need to cry to fill the void. For now, it’s just a dream, and I know it too, but I can let myself be lulled as much as I want. While the track accompanied the kilometers on the highway, the friend said, “See, even a slow one like this works wonders“. Not sure if he said it exactly like that, but the fact is it was a clear dig at the last attempt by the weak cousins, the Opeth, at homogenization. To hit and break through... which market? Which? Here I am again, dejected and angry in a second, because, after all, a thought doesn't take longer to be there. Re-Sol! (come on, smile.) Of course, how could I not vibrate with pleasure? Now comes the greatest wonder. Oh God, all the comfort of the last few minutes fades away in the first 10 seconds, or will it be 30, an eternity of unmatched anxiety. "Anesthetize." These are their best atmospheres. There is everything, really everything, in this track. Waiting, endless and absurd waiting, for who knows what, then. It lasts a long time, but you know it has to lead somewhere. And this drum riff, well, you know it has to resolve at some point. And indeed, it happens at 2:37; however, the atmosphere doesn't change, the riff returns. The surges, however, become nastier, and here comes the solo that trashes everything that was heard. And now it’s more than a pleasure, this wait. I wish it would never end. The keyboard, oh listen! Mega passage by Harrison, and this is where it leads, to the dear old death from which Akerfeldt has always been inspired. Now it almost sounds death-funky, but at minute 8, you understand that, well, now you just have to enjoy... was that what you were waiting for? Or were they the riffs at 9:30? It doesn’t matter, now you don’t understand anymore. You’re more anesthetized than before. As with every good light progressive death track, after many choruses, there is a violent discharge that, well, you can picture Steve. Oh yes. All perfect, a 10 and praise closure. And yet not. An incredible second part emerges. Delicious. It comforts and delights the palate after the previous indigestion of contrasting emotions. Almost a rock ballad, but less conventional. Even there something is awaited... and here it is! Here it is, the unprepared suspension chord, the chord of minute 16:23, the chord that gives life to a tremendously, really too tremendously Pink Floydian finale. (almost a citation from the other friend) Not to mention the closing chord! Which then is not a real closure, because they have to plant a bit of final anxiety, these bastards. This and much more, believe it or not, is Anesthetize.

The piano reintroduces us to what we had almost forgotten, the tears. And this time, they really come. "Sentimental." "I wasted my life, I'm hurt inside." Dream of a life that can no longer return. And who knows then, whose fault it is. A heartbreaking song, beautiful choruses, everything wonderful. But perhaps "Way out of here" is more convincing, more decisive, if nothing else more determined to empty the container of this sometimes oppressive anger. It’s up to you, anyway. The best is over, and now there’s only, or almost, to resolve the themes of the concept. The song itself is fantastic, only it’s felt quite a bit that the end is near. "Sleep together," far from being a masterpiece like others, is still a beautiful, decisive epilogue, with this rhythm that doesn’t hesitate and concludes everything in more than a respectable manner. At least one doesn’t have to get angry because it's over. Great idea. "Let's sleep together, right now," which almost seems like the furious version of the Beloved's theme.

Well, even my conclusion is anything but a masterpiece, I prefer to leave everything in doubt, the indefinite which is just a continuation of the aforementioned bright start, and then it's the disadvantage of not being able to do everything at once. Now I’m paralyzed. Me too.