Steven Wilson
Grace for Drowning

After reviewing Porcupine Tree's Stupid Dream, I couldn't resist the temptation to write something about what I consider its antithetical sequel, Grace for Drowning by Steven Wilson, leader of the band of porcupines, here with a work as a "soloist" (mandatory quotes). Is there a difference? Absolutely yes, since Wilson partially sets aside the typical PT sound to seek a more personal dimension, perhaps more intimate, but no less epic, indeed. We are facing one of the musician's most ambitious double albums, filled with songs, sounds, and moods that are very different from each other, and this is indeed not new. Almost continuing the verses of the last song of Stupid Dream, Stop Swimming, Grace for Drowning seems to explore the consequences of the suggestions of that album. If the "stupid dream" was an infatuation lived in the grip of innocent unconsciousness, this is a bitter balance of a love story now on the wane, as the twilight cover also suggests. There is still room for complacent romanticism and a poignant contemplation of beauty, but now a sickly air hangs over the record, the underlying theme of "Raider II," which menacingly peeks between the songs, patiently waiting in the ominous finale. This track is officially divided into two parts on the album, manifesting at the same times. The first is little more than an introduction, but it is easy to recognize the same often distorted diabolic choirs, also in other compositions on the album. An observation which leads to considering this double album as a real concept album, like those made in the happy years of prog rock. And in fact, it is precisely so, seeing that our hero is totally obsessed with bands like Pink Floyd and King Crimson, he is also helped by an army of musicians with credentials, capable of giving great depth to the compositions. Moreover, experiences matured with ambient projects - called Bass Communion - flow into Grace for Drowning, giving the album a singular stylistic tone, suspended between past and present.

The album opens in a very delicate manner, with the title track serving as an introduction, while "Sectarian" is already a perfect manifesto of the album’s intentions, aggressive and blatantly prog in nature, it is an eight-minute instrumental ride that already introduces Raider elements. "Deform to Form a Star" is an equally long journey but with a different direction, being entirely based on a melodic and dreamy structure, decidedly seventies, which leaves room for both the singing and the splendid instrumental part. Particularly effective is the concluding section, crescendoing with the help of truly evocative choirs, in pure Wilson style. "No part of Me" continues on a very sweet and relaxed line, this time relying on an orchestral arrangement of remarkable craftsmanship and even an electronic rhythmic base. The tones change radically halfway through the song, with the arrival of an electric guitar solo with an almost exotic aftertaste. "Postcard" is the typical Wilsonian ballad, a perfect pop execution as can be found in many of his other albums, with meticulous care in the search of captivating arrangements, even if in this case not very original, especially in the crescendoing finale. "Raider Prelude" is a simple preview of what we will find in the next album, leading to the final track "Remainder The Black Dog", long and entirely built on a piano structure, over which a kaleidoscopic parade of instruments performs. Ten minutes of pure prog rock, with accelerations and interesting rhythmic explorations.

The second disc is entirely dedicated to experimentation, with the last glimpses of light reserved for the opening "Belle de Jour," three minutes of pure sulfurous magic that takes us to a magical world, while with "Index" we plunge headlong into the underground, with a track dominated by artificial rhythms and heavy electric guitars. Wilson does not forgo disturbing sounds and filters on the voice, but we are only at the beginning since "Track One" is if desired even darker. With no hope of returning to the surface for a breath of air, we fall into the pitch black of "Raider II," the cornerstone of Grace for Drowning, a mammoth suite of over 23 minutes, where Wilson unleashes all his inner demons. The lyrics plainly make us understand that we are in the mind of a serial killer, a concept that gives great charisma to the composition and amplifies its dark spirit. After the beginning painted by a ghostly piano, we get into the heart of the piece thanks to a jazz rock jam of flute, guitars, and saxophone. The mood is truly bad, and Wilson really takes a big risk, even inserting hints of death vocals that turn out perhaps more awkward than threatening, but the overall result is certainly respectable, with an extremely articulated composition and constant progression, deserving all the minutes spent listening to it. There is some excessive length in the ambient parts, probably as said derived from productions under the Bass Communion moniker, but the track fully deserves the cult fame it has managed to achieve. It could have all ended in the cold of the night, but no. The final track of the second disc and the work is a surprise, revealing itself unexpectedly delicate, dreamy, and in total contrast to everything before. "Like Dust I Have Cleared From My Eye" seems to indicate a light at the end of the dark tunnel, as if to say there is a scar to seal even the most unspeakable suffering.

I recommend Grace for Drowning as an antithetical continuation of Stupid Dream, even if we are faced with an album profoundly different in intentions and effect, much less accessible, surely ambitious and aimed primarily at the terminal lovers of prog. However, the passion for Steven Wilson's music is truly contagious, in whatever form it is expressed, deserving all the listener's attention.