Steven Wilson
Hand. Cannot. Erase

I had decided not to return to reviewing Steve Wilson, but the enthusiasm sparked by his latest work made me change my mind. Even though I discovered it relatively late, it managed to touch me like no other album by the musician, including the Porcupine Tree project. Although the high standards of Wilson's production demand caution, I can personally consider it his greatest masterpiece, because, alongside the now astounding technical perfection, there's an album more fluid and inspired than the previous ones. In short, it is a work that is highly enjoyable to listen to, despite the usual excessive length, managing to find that balance which was not completely achieved in Grace from Drowning, of which this Hand. Cannot. Erase seems a direct sequel. There are several points in common: a basic concept that tells the story of alienation and the descent into the abyss of a fractured soul. In this case, Wilson is even inspired by a news story, the death of the English Carol Joyce, found in her London apartment almost three years after her passing. Although there are no direct references, it is understood that the album narrates the story and emotions of Carol in her progressive and inexorable withdrawal from society, also representing a very profound reflection on urban alienation and how it is possible to be completely forgotten. A sort of painful warning of the risks of oblivion.

The album starts as expected with a sunny atmosphere and compositions leaning towards the pop universe, the title track is delightful and 3 Years Older comes close to the epic with its whirlwind 10 minutes, where instrumental and vocal parts find perfect balance. Shadows of the past emerge through "Emersonian" organs, but we know that Wilson's records always pay tribute to the old school of prog. Perfect Life continues with a dreamily contemplative pop line, adding refined electronic sounds, almost trip-hop. On this occasion also appears a second female voice, perhaps the biggest novelty of the album, which will have much more space in Routine, another ten minutes between melancholy and dream; the protagonist has now cut off any contact with the outside world and lives a progressive, mechanical alienation, interacting only with her dwelling. This concept is sublimated in the subsequent Home Invasion and Regret #9, the best tracks on the album, both technically and conceptually. The mood begins to veer downwards and signs of an inexorable instability caused by isolation are felt. A disorienting, almost metal start opens up to a sort of poignant homage to the seventies, where Wilson sings about how it's possible to use the computer to fill existential voids by downloading an ideal life, but the end of the day represents a bitter return to reality, where only the stars remain to be contemplated through a window. Truly effective, original, and touching. No less impressive is the long instrumental part, on keyboard and electric guitar, so incredible as to evoke the imposing shadow of Pink Floyd, not surprisingly Wilson's fixed obsession. Perhaps derivative, but it's not a feat achieved every day. Ancestral comes shortly after, with its 13 minutes of despair. It is undoubtedly a crucial track in the conceptual economy of the work, a sort of female equivalent of Raider II, ideal pretext for Wilson to unleash all his obsessions through the protagonist's psyche. From a first melancholy and subdued part, another comes, scourged by waves of violence and anger. Here too we witness a splendid guitar solo, but the emotional impact comes in the last, very violent minutes, a dark ocean that seems to echo the same mechanical structure of Routine, a great touch of class denoting truly exquisite compositional skill. The closure of the album is, however, decidedly sweet, almost poignant, lulled by ambient noises and children's play. The outside world is always observed and lived through a window, before the end.

Hand. Cannot. Erase is for me the best album in Steven Wilson's career, managing to triumph in various aspects. It tells a moving story full of non-trivial reflections on alienation, managing to connect the listener with the emotions of the protagonist. It reconciles immense ambitions with a certain fluidity, and finally, the technical grandeur is subservient to much clearer compositional ideas than in the past. Exceptional, almost overwhelming stylistic variety, although often excessively tributary, but we love Wilson for this as well. If you're late like me, make it yours as soon as possible.