Surely the greatest non virtuoso keyboard player in music today, with a career spanning the likes of Japan, Rain Tree Crow, the Dolphin Brothers, No-Man, Tim Bowness, Steve Hogarth and Porcupine Tree, plus a bevvy of solo albums. He is above all a textural sound manager, and tonal artist, with the innate ability to colour any arrangement in a camouflage of density and purpose, a rather discreet genius, not too far removed from Brian Eno in the technical sense. If you are expecting toe-tapping karaoke, with a hefty dose of get down and boogie, well perhaps you need to find another venue. This is a rather ghostly environment , more conducive to introspective fever and possible imminent nervous disorder. It remains in the ear of the beholder. Among the greatest fretless innovators, there is little doubt that Jaco Pastorius (RIP) and Tony Levin are luminary legends. Yet there is my personal favourite, the much-missed Mick Karn (RIP), with whom Barbieri played with in the band Japan. Who best to consider in the role than that other monster bassist Percy Jones (whose Brand X career is also legendary) taking on the pivotal foundational work on this album. Bring in the celebrated Swedish drummer/percussionist Morgen Agren (Kaipa, Zappa), as well as the current master of trumpet in Progland, the prolific Luca Calabrese to complete the quartet.
Eleven medium sized snippets that can only be qualified as challenging sonic jewels, demanding the same level of concentration from the listener that what was put in by the composer, in order to be fully satiated. The two opening pieces are slithering bass reptiles that occasionally tongue their way towards unsuspecting prey, Percy carrying the wobbly Karn style to perfection, while Barbieri splatters a canvas of dense colorations that defy the normal standards of keyboard orchestrations. With titles like “Snakes and Ladders” and “Anemoia”, you kind of get the hint.
Slight right turn into more ambient surroundings for the next two sonic paintings, “Victorian Wraith” perfectly sombre and funereal, while the effectively timeless warp of “1890” is nothing less than modern electronic art. Mellow, yellow.
Another dual punch in the gut, coming first is the oblique and jaunty percussive romp on “Artificial Obsession”, a nocturnal urban wasteland of oppressive illusions and synthetic preoccupations, seductive but certainly not sexual. The Jones bass curvatures together, with the background moaning are outright sinister, the Barbieri prancing keyboards suggesting absurdity amid all the pervasive solitude. “Paris Sketch” keeps the momentum, just changes the geography, drums played with freshly baked baguettes, foie gras lipstick staining the YSL shirts and copious amounts of Pommard to wash away the way too numerous to name carnal sins. (oui, mon chéri!). The City of Light at 4.00am is certainly dark. Then comes daybreak, “le petit matin, croissant/café au lait”, the Champs Élysées stretching the numb muscles back into some semblance of civic life. “Perfect Toys” is the aftershave and razor, the eau de Cologne and the hair combed into an acceptable coif, cool threads and shiny shoes. Cigarettes and figurines of the Virgin Mary, perhaps. All toys. The barely awake, narrated Lady Marmalade voice offers the eventuality of fertile seduction.
“Traveler” has a hustling bustle rhythm that cannot camouflage the giddy trepidation of fleeing the daily routine to discover new experiences. Its cool boom-boom-tchak groove has tons of e-piano glitter, sinful synth petulance, blatant bass clanging and pleading/squeaking whine (and she is not from Bordeaux). Delightfully abrasive, brazen, obstinate and spasmodic. Like an old Japan track without vocals. Travel back in time, I guess.
The final three tracks contain an ambient wake-up call, then a solemn final bedtime call and crowned by a glorious au revoir on “A New Simulation”.
Honestly, I found this revealing record to be way more adventurous and stimulating than any of the previous final string of Porcupine Tree albums. Exceptional soundscapes abound , a tantalizing option for both the the casual listener and the intense prog nerd that enjoys scalpel-like finesse.
4.5 Gallic ghosts