Porcupine Tree
Fear of the Blank Planet

The year was 1992, when in the psychedelic frenzy of VOYAGE 34, Steven Wilson asked himself: "Is this trip really necessary?". Back then, the trip in question was of the mind under the influence of drugs. Today, we might ask Mr. Porcupine Tree if the journey named Fear of the Blank Planet is really necessary. The judgment could be extremely different depending on the perspective.
Anyone discovering PT now would still be pleasantly surprised, while those who have loved them since their beginnings might find their latest work essentially unnecessary and not very exciting. 
For more than a decade, the British band has been a point of reference for many psych-rock enthusiasts, with a mix of extraordinary originality and great emotional impact. At a certain point, however, PT progressively took a different path, less rugged and safer, aligning with the taste of listeners who were less attentive to the emotional drive of musical experiences and more used to evaluating technicalities and the harshness of the sound. Fear of the Blank Planet is certainly a much more homogeneous and overall sensible album than the two that preceded it, well played and as usual impeccably produced, but it will probably not leave particularly memorable traces for posterity, especially for those who have loved and "consumed" milestones like Signify, Up The Downstairs, or Stupid Dreams, just to name a few.

It starts with Fear Of A Blank Planet, quite anonymous and flat, inviting a spontaneous comparison with the title track of the previous album Deadwing, also full of frills and incapable of conveying any emotion. This is when the most interesting part of the album arrives, the central part which starts with the splendid My Ashes, a delicate gem halfway between the old PT and Blackfield, with a truly sublime string arrangement. And here's Anesthetize, which starts by recalling Tool-like atmospheres in a swirling intro expertly led by the delicate (this time) drumming of Gavin Harrison and Wilson's lysergic guitar architectures. The piece grows in intensity, taking on more and more progressive characteristics and eventually being tinged with slightly metal shades to which the Porcupines have now accustomed us, only to descend in the finale into decidedly more Floydian atmospheres. Even here, one might wonder whether the metallic references in the central part are a bit calculating, designed to win over the sympathies of new fans, a sensation already perceived in past episodes like Arriving Somewhere...
The rest of the album consists of the sweet Sentimental, in which piano and voice dominate the scene and which ends with an explicit reference to Inabsentia Trains. Way Out Of Here is certainly valid in its initial intentions, with an interesting rhythmic section, but, here we go again, it gets lost in ineffective and incomprehensible heavy guitar riffs. Avoidable. The last episode of the album is Sleep Together, in which Wilson's boundless admiration for that genius of Trent Reznor emerges, and one must admit that despite there being only one Reznor, the piece is well-conceived and captivating in terms of sound exploration. 
Positive is definitely the renewed vitality of Richard Barbieri's keyboards, which, as hadn't happened in a while, have returned to play a central role and in some cases "lead" the porcupine's path. The impression is that the transition phase of PT begun with In Absentia has come to an end, and the English band has found its path, not always entirely convincing but perhaps, in the next chapter, could take on more defined and definitive features. One day we may be able to say that every stage of the journey was necessary. Maybe.