The dark wings of the raven deliver Steven Wilson's finest solo album

Those who aren't familiar with this prog rock mastermind best stick their nose in a book and read up on Steven Wilson. Best known as the brains behind prog rock heroes Porcupine Tree, Wilson delivers for our pleasure his third solo album, The Raven That Refused to Sing (and Other Stories). 

Those who don't know better might confuse it for a book title, but those who do know the two mediums have their similarities. For Raven, Wilson has designed each song to tell a standalone story, much like chapters in a book, and each story focuses on some type of supernatural or occult element. There are tales of murder, death, regret, longing, and detailed character sketches to top it all off.

And it's not just the lyrics that are supernatural; the skill involved in the musicianship is pretty otherworldly itself. One of the biggest upgrades between this album and his two previous solo albums is that he now has the most talented backing band behind him he's ever had. Famed English axeman Guthrie Govan handles guitar duties, and provides a level of skill and technicality rarely seen in any of Wilson's works. Adding to that confection is esteemed German drummer Marco Minneman, but Theo Travis's contributions are also integral. Travis plays a variety of instruments, including flutes, clarinets, and saxophones, which helps give Raven its signature sound.

Wilson's compositions haven't been very technical compared to most progressive rock band, but as Wilson explained to Anil Prasad on Innerviews.org, this album marks the first time he's written instrumental material that is beyond his own skill level. The result couldn't have been more sublime. Orgasmic guitar solos dripping with pomp and splendor, fluid basslines, exotic flute, horn, and saxophone solos, elements of jazz fusion -- it's all there, and Wilson has arranged it like a master craftsman.

Much of the buzz has centered around opening track "Luminol," and for good reason. The song's backbone is its flowing and effusive bassline, which has been a typical theme in many of his works with Porcupine Tree, but it's been awhile since he's written one this effective. The character sketch is pretty detailed; Wilson describes the central character as an aged and wizened old man, strumming a guitar, playing songs he knew from long ago from dusty scratched LPs, but not scoring many style points while doing it.  Although the track includes a litany of solos from various instruments, its keynote characteristic is Govan's majestic and flowing solo on the guitar. The technical virtuosity in his playing is obvious and undeniable, but never feels gaudy or overblown.

Many of Wilson's previous works, including Grace for Drowning, are heavily influenced by the 70s prog tradition, and Raven is no exception. Raven is not as depressingly dreary or murky as Grace for Drowning, but its influences often lead to many tracks possessing a sweeping and grandiose feel. "Luminol" is no exception. But even more bombastic is "The Holy Drinker," the busiest, most dynamic, and most intricate of Raven's compositions. The army of keyboards and Hammond organs get a major workout here, while the story focuses on a man whose indulgences bring about his ruin. At least he's got an awesome soundtrack to do it to. The coda features a series of menacing King Crimson influenced scales, while Marco Minneman goes nuts with his pedal and crash cymbal. This passage will most certainly have you cranking up your volume knob.

"Drive Home," meanwhile, is much more subdued and serene, the perfect soundtrack to gazing into the starry night sky. Its atmospheric sweeps and cool washes calm the mind after the opening blast of "Luminol," and generates a sense of spaciness often associated with Pink Floyd. "The Pin Drop" is the least notable of Raven's tracks, but is also one of the most frenetic. It delivers the furor of a driving rainstorm, while also being the most jazz influenced with its volley of erratic horn and trumpet solos.

In terms of storytelling, however, "The Watchmaker" is one of Wilson's most haunting tracks. With its focus on gentle acoustic guitar and lonely, forlorn flute solos, it truly feels like a storybook come to life. Thematically, this is the album's most disturbing and brooding track, which focuses on an elderly couple who meet a grisly end. But it becomes downright eerie thanks to the detailed description Wilson gives of the watchmaker's anguish at having led a wasted life.

Finally, the title suite closes out the album on a haunting note. On the surface it's a sparse piano ballad, but Wilson gives it layers of depth with heartfelt lyrics and minor soul overtones,  The soul influence was something he and Mikael Akerfeldt began playing around with on "Ljudet Innan" from last year's Storm Corrosion album, but he uses it much more effectively here. It all adds up to a sensitive,  touching, and emotionally poignant finale that expresses a profound sense of loss and longing.

His two previous projects, 2011's Grace for Drowning and 2012's Storm Corrosion were brilliant but flawed efforts, which showcased Wilson's intellect while feeling self indulgent. Raven tops those efforts and is at least as impressive as the last couple of Porcupine Tree albums. His stunning composition skills are matched by phenomenal instrumentation, and his method of structuring the album around individual stories makes each song fresh and unique. While it's still early, Raven is easily the best album of 2013 so far, and a work well deserving of serious study.

Score: 94/100

Steven Wilson's star shines bright on Grace for Drowning

I'm a collector and I've always been misunderstood
I love the things that most people always overlook.

These two lines could sum up how Steven Wilson has built his career. Wilson has always had a peculiar outlook which has always colored not only his music but also his view on things in general. He's always gone outside the bounds of what people thought music should be, or could be, and in the process he's developed some of the most thoughtful and pertinent music in recent memory.

On his latest solo record, Grace for Drowning, he's tinkered the formula even more. His previous outing, Insurgentes, was a very eclectic record, hopping from one musical style to another. Conversely, Grace for Drowning builds up slowly and deliberately, enveloped in a fog of ambiance and mystery.

Wilson has never shied away from utilizing extended instrumental pieces in his music. In fact, he's released a pair of 100 percent instrumental albums with Porcupine Tree, which helps explain his decision to eschew lyrics on the first two tracks on Grace for Drowning.

After a brief uplifting intro, the album kicks in with Sectarian. The beginning sounds like the prelude to some epic battle, then tapers off after awhile but hits you with a sweet bassline. But the moment when it became obvious that this album wasn't going to play by the rules came during the heavy conclusion to the song. It was not at all what I was expecting and totally threw me for a loop.

From there we get into the real meat of the album. "Deform to Form a Star," easily one of the best songs of the year, opens with a series of absolutely beautiful piano chords and is accompanied by vocals to match.

The chorus feels dreamlike and mystic, as if a star is being formed before your very eyes. And there are a pair of majestic guitar solos to boot. The lyrics Wilson sings wrap around a haunting melody, focusing on the raw emotion of listlessness and despair. In the opening verse, he croons:

"No god here I'm sure,
this must be the cure
for all this carrion
and aimless drift"

In many ways, the sentiment delivered here is the overriding theme of Grace for Drowning; Wilson's words deal with picking up the pieces and attempting to deal with stagnation and regret. Though the event that prompted him to pick up the pieces is never made totally clear.

The thread continues onto the next track, "No Part of Me," which seems to be about a former lover that he realizes he never had true feelings for. Musically, the track is defined by a frantic and frenetic drum beat, but the music over top of that is hazy and and relaxed. It's a total contrast. But it's clear that the song is building up to something big, and then it hits in the second half when a meancing heavy riff breaks out, along with a guitar solo.

Then comes "Postcard," on which Wilson might as well be John Lennon lording over his piano. The track is still downbeat but has a vague sense of optimism that was largely absent on the two preceding tracks. It's like going through hell after a breakup, and then you finally hit that point when you realize that things might actually be okay, and that it isn't the end of the world as you know it.

The first disc concludes with "Remainder the Black Dog," a song title that sounds pretty creepy of its own accord. The eerie piano riff that plays through most of the song will nothing to dispel that notion. What impresses me about this track is how many different types of solos the band plays off that initial piano riff.

About halfway through you get a free form jazz solo played over a heavy riff, followed by a wall of riffing and some spastic solos, which then leads into a great bassline and acoustic guitar riff. There's a bit of minimalism, some ambiance, some messing around on the drumkit, and even a flute solo. It's enough to make even Yanni's head swim.

The second disc I don't feel like is as strong. My favorite song on that one is "Index," a very downbeat, minimalist piece with slight tinges of electronica. The theme of the song is about a compulsive collector who becomes obsessed with trying to organize and catagorize everything and it eventually puts a great mental strain upon him.  "Track One" is nice, but doesn't feel fully fleshed out, and "Belle De Jour" is an okay attempt at a New Age sounding intro piece. It's just that we have enough of those on the album already.

This brings us to "Raider II," the 23 minute behemoth and clearly the intended centerpiece of the album. The song's premise focuses on the elements that are damaging our planet and lives, to which Wilson assigns the term "Raider." The first 8-10 minutes are are great. Wilson's delivery grows increasingly intense on each verse, and the instrumentation is as taut as a drum. Later on it gets a bit indulgent. There's your fair share of progressive rock guitar noodling and several minutes of minimialist ambiance, but he's simply repeating himself.

If there is a major criticism of Grace For Drowning, it is that does perhaps feel a bit indulgent at times. While we do get to see more than a passing glimmer of the man's talent, I can't help but feel like this album is simply an indulgence for him. Much of the album feels like he's just dicking around; it's like he's trying to wade though layers of sonic soundscapes to see what sticks to the wall and what doesn't. Sometimes the album sounds somewhat unfocused, particularly on the second disc.

The 1-2-3 punch of "Deform to Form a Star," "No Part of Me" and "Postcard" is terrific, and I also really liked "Remainder the Black Dog" and "Index." It's a very good album, but Wilson seems to be more concerned in tinkering with various progressive landscapes and experimenting with different songwriting mechanics. It doesn't appear that he's aiming to make his next career defining LP here. That can wait until the next Porcupine Tree LP.

Score: 89/100