Since the advent of quadrophonic sound, pioneered by the likes of Pink Floyd (and, in a rather more unlikely turn of events, Black Sabbath), the holy grail for audiophiles has been well-balanced surround audio versions of well-loved albums. Some work immensely well (for example the brilliantly mixed ‘Dark side of the moon’ and ‘wish you were here’ albums from Pink Floyd), some less so (for example the surround sound mix of the Offspring’s greatest hits which was novelty rather than novel) but one artist whose name is synonymous with surround mixes is Steven Wilson. His work on his own back catalogue (especially ‘fear of a blank planet’ which is, arguably, the reference standard for all surround audio) and upon the likes of King Crimson has seen him held up as the go-to producer for all things multi-channel. It is, then, with some excitement that we noted that not only was a new Steven Wilson looming large on the horizon, but that the album, like Steven’s previous efforts, would be released on blu ray offering up a variety of tasty surround sound options.
The secret of Steven’s success lies in the fact that, like Pink Floyd, he envisions his music in 3d form the outset rather than simply mixing it that way later. You get the sense that Steven Wilson’s long running musical crusade has been to present music in a way that truly envelops all the senses, and he has spent much time honing this skill. Surround sound here is not so much an afterthought, as an integral part of the Steven Wilson experience and if you have the wherewithal, you should make sure you track down the album in a surround format. Add in the fact that the blu ray comes with a number of bonuses (seven extra tracks, instrumental versions, a documentary and more) and it is pretty much the definitive version of the album
First impressions of ‘Hand. Cannot. Erase’ are that Steven has moved away from the gentle melancholy of ‘the raven that refused to sing’ and back towards the wider, eclectic progressive sound of the remarkably ambitious ‘grace for drowning’. The concept here is all important. Loosely based around the tragic story of Joyce Carol Vincent, a young, attractive lady who died, alone, in her apartment and was not missed for three years, the story is one of isolation in a modern world where interaction has become so endlessly digitized that physical interaction is no longer expected, even with one’s friends. It is a common theme in Steven Wilson’s work (both solo and with Porcupine tree), but rarely has a tale of urban isolation been so eloquently expressed. Opening track, ‘first regret’ simply sets the scene with rumbling, atmospheric electronica before segueing into the surprisingly visceral ‘3 years older’, a ten minute beast with brisk acoustic strumming, huge guitar riffs, jazzy Jeff Beckisms, syncopated rhythms and some truly magical bass work. It’s initially an example of Steven driving through the territory of Genesis and Yes to end up in Pink Floyd’s back garden before taking an abrupt left turn back into the world of vintage Porcupine Tree. At the heart of it all, of course, there’s Steven’s voice, warm, wistful and fitfully beautiful, not to mention occasionally swathed in rich harmonies that seem to surround the listener as the mellotron burbles away in the background. It’s a wonderful track, put together like a tapestry, each piece telling part of a grander story and the production is second-to-none. The music truly does envelop the listener and whilst in stereo it sounds typically wonderful, in surround it comes truly alive, particularly as Steven unleashes his inner Genesis during the track’s sparkling conclusion, awash with vibrant guitar and unhinged organ work. Next up is the title track, a brief, whimsical track supported by an electronic beat and beautifully interlocking guitars that blazes intermittently into dazzling light. ‘Perfect life’ is another short track that appears amidst an ambient haze and which utilizes a female voice over to create something quite unlike anything Steven has done before. An interesting, nostalgic piece that speaks deep into the heart of anyone who misses a close friend from their past, as the close friendship dissolves, so the music becomes increasingly mechanistic and sinister only for the air of menace to dissipate and for the voiceover to be replaced by Steven’s echoing refrain “we’ve got the perfect life…”
Heading back into lengthier territory, ‘routine’ is an eight minute exercise in slow-burning beauty, opening with just Steven’s voice and piano before Ninet Tayeb joins in and the song slowly builds to something that truly reaches for the stars with its imaginative guitar work and orchestral stabs. This is Steven Wilson writing at his very best with each element meticulously planned to create a wonderfully involving musical work that initially seduces the listener only to dazzle them later with passages of such immense power that they stir the very soul. In contrast, ‘home invasion’ plays on the same, very real, fears that give Peter Gabriel’s ‘intruder’ such raw power. With huge metallic guitars that are all the more shocking when considered in contrast to ‘routine’, ‘home invasion’ sees Steven Wilson unleashing hell both via guitar and the organ to deliver a piece that is rife with claustrophobia as he sings about the digital take-over of modern life. It’s a key moment in the album and underscores the fear that as more and more people find themselves in thrall to an uncaring, digital environment, so humanity itself is at risk. ‘Regret #9’ is similarly awash with digital misgivings, vocals replaced by retro-futurist synth lines, throbbing bass and vaguely heard words muttered in the midst of the ambience. It is a brief, brilliant piece of music which communicates more in its studious silence than many vocal tracks.
Short and beautiful, ‘transience’ is the merest slip of a song at just over two minutes, but, with its gentle acoustic guitar and echoing playground voices it provides the perfect segue into the epic ‘ancestral’, a thirteen minute piece that plays to all of Steven Wilson’s many strengths, strangely recalling Portishead with its downbeat introduction, programmed drums and filtered vocals. It’s another amazing piece of work that sits at the heart of an amazing piece of work and it builds beautifully, Steven throwing everything but the proverbial kitchen sink at the arrangement and yet never allowing it to sound over-cluttered. Moreover, the song comes to the sort of wide-eyed conclusion that makes you want to clap your hands in delight – this really is one of Steven Wilson’s most absorbing works yet. Amidst the sound of thunder and pouring rain, the stuttering ‘happy returns’ slowly emerges, finally resolving itself as a pretty pop song that wouldn’t sound out of place on ‘deadwing’. The album concludes with ‘Ascendant here on…’, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it coda that sees the album end in a moment of sublime majesty.
If there has been a tendency on SonicAbuse, and in other publications, to place Steven Wilson upon a pedestal, it is not undeserved. Each record that bears his name has its own unique character and sound. Where ‘insurgentes’ was a more metallic beast, flexing organic and electronic muscle, the more recent ‘the raven that refused to sing’ was a beautifully melancholic piece of work that is played relatively rarely dude to its introspective nature and yet which haunts the soul long after it has been played. ‘Hand. Cannot. Erase’, however, is, for me at least, Steven Wilson’s masterpiece. Where ‘grace for drowning’ was a huge, sprawling epic, here Steven’s impulses are focused on an elemental tale of loss and isolation and the result is a brilliant conceptual piece that draws on Steven’s massively impressive catalogue to create one diverse, yet cohesive piece. Beautiful, unnerving, wide-eyed and innocent and sometimes claustrophobic, ‘Hand. Cannot. Erase’ is simply a magnificent piece of art and however you choose to listen to it, it’s a record that must surely be filed under essential.
