For a band that began as a parody of Syd Barrett, and mostly created for the amusement of singer-songwriter Steven Wilson, Porcupine Tree has succeeded at helping to revive prog-rock and psychedelia. Wilson has enjoyed a thriving solo career and has carried on with side projects like the art-pop act No-Man, and Porcupine Tree’s 11th studio album, Closure/Continuation, implies a summary of a body of work running back 35 years.
On “Dignity,” Wilson muses on aging, describing a man who sounds like an older version of himself, while on “Of the New Day” he faces the future with a hope tinged with anxiety. Porcupine Tree’s last two albums gestured toward grand concepts; Fear of a Blank Planet in particular homed in on an emotional numbness induced by technology and prescription drugs. Wilson’s vocals similarly contain a gentle but sour melancholy here. No matter how loud the guitars get, his voice still possesses a lassitude reminiscent of David Gilmour.
Closure/Continuation opening track, “Harridan,” begins with slap bass, suggesting Red-era King Crimson, but Porcupine Tree’s songs rarely stay in the same place for very long. Halfway through, “Harridan” abandons funk guitar for an electronic passage. Still, the album’s more rock-oriented moments run together, even as they alternate between hard riffing and more melodic passages. At its loudest, Closure/Continuation tends to repeat itself, with Wilson’s guitar being put through the same effects and mixed similarly throughout.
Porcupine Tree’s softer side is more apparent on the album’s second half. At nearly 10 minutes, “Chimera’s Walk” is given plenty of space to develop its melodic ideas, beginning quietly with guitar and keyboards before picking up steam by gradually introducing other instruments as a sense of anxiety slowly creeps in. Elsewhere, the muted tone of “Walk the Plank” masks an underlying, if ambiguous, emotion, spelled out more in haunting textures than in words.
Wilson has suggested that Closure/Continuation, Porcupine Tree’s first studio album in almost 13 years, will be the band’s last. Indeed, its weaker moments suggest a group that’s struggling to find something new to say, both thematically and musically. But when the band stretches out and explores their full dynamic range, capturing the dystopian overtones wafting through Wilson’s lyrics, they’re still capable of reaching cathartic heights.
Since 2001, we've brought you uncompromising, candid takes on the world of film, music, television, video games, theater, and more. Independently owned and operated publications like Slant have been hit hard in recent years, but we’re committed to keeping our content free and accessible—meaning no paywalls or fees.
If you like what we do, please consider subscribing to our Patreon or making a donation.
