Steven Wilson Retrospective Part 4: Porcupine Tree - "On The Sunday Of Life" (July 1992)
- Andrew Harper
- Jun 21, 2018
- 12 min read
Porcupine Tree’s debut album is in many ways their most psychedelic influenced. In others, it's their most experimental in that Steven Wilson was very much tinkering with sound on this release. Unlike much of what came after this, Steven wasn’t making an artistic or socio-political statement with this album. In fact, some have suggested that some of the songs here are jokes. That last detail would seem to suggest that Steven either hadn’t taken Porcupine Tree seriously at this stage or that Steven was unsure of what direction Porcupine Tree would take. That Steven wasn’t making a major statement with this album means that analysis can only go so far this time—something that isn’t the case with their subsequent work starting with the Unsung Eight.
“Music for the Head” (2:42)
One of the first things you hear is the presence of a flute, surrounded by synths and the occasional clean guitar. Some samples of dialogue are present. A very calming track, but not much to talk about. Also, a much crisper production quality than anything with the demo tapes, showing that Steven has moved forward.
“Jupiter Island” (6:12)
As the first proper track on the album, this is an odd start….with a drum beat supporting a sample that is unintelligible. Once that gets out of your comfort zone, you get situated into ‘normality’ with a verse consisting of:
Jupiter Island is full of pleasures.
Glowing gardens holding hidden treasures.
Luminous flowers of yellows and greens.
Glittering petals that have to be seen.
Here’s your chance. Don’t let it pass you by.
Take my hand and we’ll fly.
These lyrics (along with many on On The Sunday of Life) were not written by Steven Wilson, but rather an old friend of his named Alan Duffy. Duffy’s lyrics are noticeable by the abundance of psychedelic imagery in verses like this one—this one would fit right at home in an old Grateful Dead song from their golden era.
As for what the Jupiter Island is, that can be a stand-in for any far-away mythical place. But maybe that’s a bit of over-analysis for what this song is—simply a catchy, poppy number that operates as a pitch-perfect homage to psychedelic rock of the late 60’s and early 70’s.
“Third Eye Surfer” (2:50)
This track bleeds from the ending of “Jupiter Island” and starts with jazzy drums and keys going berserk, with the occasional guitar flourish going off in the background. This one never stays still for long and is only really notable as an extended outro for “Jupiter Island,” not so much as a stand-alone song.
“On the Sunday of Life…” (2:07) + "The Nostalgia Factory" (7:28)
This soundscape carries over from “Third Eye Surfer” and while that song was frantic, this one is subdued with various warm-toned keyboard and woodwind instruments. Calming…until the freak-out drums return in full-force at the last minute with a Bonham-esque fury before fading out to what sounds like a harp leading into “The Nostalgia Factory,” another song with lyrics penned by Alan Duffy. The harp-like lead doesn’t last long, as it soon goes into a keys-lead beat which is complimented by guitar and drums. Once guitar really picks up, the full band joins in. Then the verse comes, where Steven sounds like Blinda Butcher from My Bloody Valentine (probably the result of in-studio pitch-shifting). Between this verse and the next, there is a keyboard solo, a small break, and a wah-wah drenched guitar solo. However, during this break the following lyrics are delivered in a spoken-word passage that is barely audible and only noticeable with a lyrics sheet:
I watched nine cats dance on the moon.
A flamingo stalked into my room.
It bowed its head to me and knelt
To reveal the cards it had dealt.
An ace, three jacks, two queens, four kings.
Then turned them into burning rings.
The flames jumped out and chased four mice.
Caught by their tails, they turned to ice.
A cloud appeared outside my door
And through the window saw four more.
And on the back of each cloud sat
Two rainbow smiles in wizard’s hats.
They threw five clocks down on my bed.
The chimes danced out on golden threads
And turned to footprints on my wall.
Sequined tears began to fall.
Without going into symbolism (to which you probably could start with the significance of the cards in the fifth line), this passage contains a few references to other songs on On The Sunday of Life and to lyrics to songs from the Karma demo. In the case of the former, “Nine Cats” and “Footprints” are dropped by name. In the case of the latter, “Sequined tears began to fall” appears in the Karma version of “Nine Cats” (and the acoustic version on Insignificance), but not in the version in On The Sunday of Life. In a song titled “The Nostalgia Factory,” references to past works are thematically fitting.
After the last verse, there is the sound of a brief sample played over a rhythm section. Following which is a guitar solo that goes on for quite a while until the band crashes out and a soundscape plays the rest of the song out.
“Space Transmission” (2:59)
This is essentially a monologue delivered in an ominous voice which is lightly backed by sinister synths. Not much to go off of musically.
“Message from a Self-Destructing Turnip” (0:27)
This is very much a tongue-in-cheek joke song depicting the message and the subsequent explosion. Amusing, but disposable.
“Radioactive Toy” (10:00)
This song can legitimately be called Steven Wilson’s first masterpiece of form. A song on the subject of nuclear annihilation with only 10 lines of lyrics, an ominous outro, and an emotionally dead delivery (think something akin to the Nine Inch Nails version of “Hurt”), “Radioactive Toy” sounds like nothing else on On The Sunday of Life and is the closest piece of evidence towards the musical directions which Steven Wilson would later take with Porcupine Tree.
Since the lyrics are so sparse in “Radioactive Toy,” the full lyrics are as follows:
Run through forests on a hot summer day.
Trying to break down walls of numbing pain.
[chorus]
Give me the freedom to destroy.
Give me radioactive toy.
Taste the water from a stream of running death.
Eat the apple and cough a dying breath.
[chorus]
Feel the sun burning through your black skin.
Pour me into a hole, inform my next of kin.
[chorus]
Run through graveyards on a dusty winter day.
Spit the dirt out and try to say…
[chorus]
Lyrically, there are several references to not only nuclear bombings but also to the after-effects of the fallout. There is the juxtaposition of “summer” and “winter” (marking the bombing and the resulting fallout) between the first and last verse-couplets. There’s “a stream of running death” referring to irradiated water supply and “Eat the apple and cough a dying breath” referring to contaminated food. There’s “black skin” alluding to radioactive burns for survivors (and outright disintegration for those that didn’t). There’s an unawareness of safety concerns regarding radiation as handling a radiated corpse in “Pour me into a hole” would likely result in radiation spreading from corpse to living person (as I’m no expert on the subject, I’m open to being proven wrong). The following phrase—“inform my next of kin”—testifies to the strength of humanity in opposition to this; the social dynamic of family still triumphs in spite of certain death.
But that chorus has four words which should make one tremble at their implications: “give,” “freedom,” “destroy,” and “toy.” The word “give” (emphasized by the backing falsetto vocals) directly contradicts with “freedom” in that being given something entails that this wasn’t earned; fairness in the world of this song is a myth—the people in power of nuclear weapons didn’t deserve to be in power anymore than the victims of nuclear bombings deserved to lose their lives, but both happened anyway. The word “freedom” also relates to “destroy” as if this act of senseless destruction was something humanity was meant to do—a variant on the same principle that fueled manifest destiny, but on a larger and more apocalyptic scale. But the use of the word “toy” is the most unsettling of all because to associate something as violently destructive as an atomic bomb with the toys of children operates on multiple levels. First, that comparison shows the apathy and cruelty of the world leaders who order the bombings. Secondly, there is a sense that to make such a comparison requires the one making it to be out-of-touch with the severity of what an atomic bomb does—they can know it kills, but they have to be numb to the weight of such a human rights violation.
And that quality—numbness—is reflected on multiple levels in the early parts of this song. Immediately, this song has no instrumental introduction—instead, it starts right off with the first verse. That this song exercises no restraint illustrates that the numbness operates on a meta-level—a violation of the song structure that Steven has used on this album up to this point. More noticeable on the surface level is the delivery of Steven’s vocals in this song—a monotone that conveys the. Additionally, the restraint on the verses—a simple electronic drum beat and equally-simple keys—demonstrates a lack of caring while the violent electric guitar riffs that come after the choruses can represent harsh reality kicking down the door on the delusions of those in power.
After the last chorus of this song, the song slows down tremendously into a soundscape which goes on for a while with glimmers of bass and even a flute solo. Throughout this, there is either a sample or a vocal loop (I don’t know which) of “Woo-ooh” being repeated rhythmically—consisting of a high pitch followed by a low pitch. Eventually, guitar starts to show up again. At which point, the drums return to the fore for a build-up. This build-up culminates in a massive guitar solo that gradually becomes more effects-driven and haywire until it spirals so out-of-control that it ends. At which point the whole band crashes.
At this point, the leading instrument becomes an ominous repeating keyboard pattern—the bombs have already hit; this is the fallout. Some have compared this section to the middle section of “Echoes” by Pink Floyd. Instead of the crow chirping in the silence like in the Pink Floyd epic, there are prominent sound effects of something akin to ghost or shrill screaming. And unlike in the Pink Floyd song, where Richard Wright’s keyboards managed to get the song out of the darkness, there is absolutely nothing that can do that here—when struck by an atomic bomb, the fallout leaves you with no hope.
Given the linkage between sound, lyrics, form, and content, “Radioactive Toy” is the song on On The Sunday of Life which is most indicative of what Steven Wilson managed to accomplish in later efforts.
“Nine Cats” (3:53)
This song is definitely more up-beat than “Radioactive Toy” and has lush acoustic guitar and layered vocals. Out of all the psychedelic-based songs on On The Sunday of Life, this is the strongest. This is completely re-arranged from the Karma version and frankly, better than that version—in terms of instrumentation, production quality, and the delivery of the lyrics. However—being a Duffy-penned set of lyrics—, this can definitely be filed under ‘acid-trip lyrics’ and with lines like “A toad stood in his ballet shoes/Teaching sixteen kangaroos/How to skip across a lake./They found it hard to stay awake./A pharaoh played a merry tune/And watched nine cats dance on the moon./I didn’t know what all this meant./I didn’t know why I was sent.,” who would argue? Unlike “Radioactive Toy,” there isn’t much to analyze for this one.
“Hymn” (1:14) + “Footprints” (5:56)
Just to further drive the point home regarding the druggy quality of Duffy-penned lyrics (of which this is another one), the refrain of this song is ripped straight from The Beatles (“Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds,” coincidentally a song long rumored (although jossed by John Lennon) about LSD). The refrain is as follows:
Tangerine trees and marmalade skies and Plasticine porters with looking glass ties.
The only reason that that isn’t grounds for total plagiarism is that those two lines come from different verses of “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds.” Apart from that, that is 1:1 lyrical thievery.
As for the rest of the song, this is one of the quieter songs on the album (apart from "Hymn," a downright nutty intro). Mostly just acoustic guitar and keyboard flourishes with lyrics that are delivered in a spoken-word fashion along with minimal drumwork. At least that’s how it starts. Once the refrain kicks in, the song explodes in Nirvana-esque fashion. But each of the four verses gets darker than the last, almost making the imagery of the refrain an example of dark irony when it follows lyrics such as:
My mind had formed a mental prison.
I cried aloud. No one would listen.
Then floating through the heavy mist,
My vision took a sudden twist.
After the second refrain, there is a bit of a guitar solo with the rhythm of the refrain going behind it, but this ends up leading to the third verse delivered in a louder fashion than the previous two—the intensity is picking up. But then the final verse reverts to the previous two….a sense of hopelessness before it cuts off.
“Linton Samuel Dawson” (3:04)
Even if the stolen Beatles lyric in “Footprints” you didn’t give off an ‘acid trip’ vibe, take a look at this song’s initials: LSD. These first lyrics spell it out for you:
Linton Samuel Dawson
Lives in inner space.
He hangs around with a circus troupe
Outside the human race.
They are something I could seriously imagine The Beatles writing circa Sgt. Pepper—the act of creating a character in order to (deliberately and poorly) conceal an underlying concept seems like something right up the alleys of John, Paul, George, and Ringo. And if the LSD references couldn’t get any more obvious, another lyric is “Linton Samuel Dawson has just reached 25,” as in LSD-25 (the drug’s original name).
There is another strange element that is noticeable upon a first listen: the vocals. At first, they seem so high-pitched that you can’t tell whether it’s actually Steven Wilson. Rest assured—due to Porcupine Tree being a one-man band at this point, there is no way that it could be anyone else. These vocals are pitch-shifted, something which is unsurprising given Steven’s tinkering with sound effects during this period of his career.
As for the instrumentation, there is a consistent oddness to the song. Whether it’s the nonsensical intro, the off-kilter guitar flourishes in the verses, or the catchy chorus sections, there’s something that catches your ear and makes you wonder what the heck is going on. But that wonder ends up drawing you in.
“And the Swallows Dance Above the Sun” (4:05)
This song off with a busy drumbeat played over a Christian-laced sample (“Do you know that bad girls go to Hell?”) before the lyrics come in, where keyboards play over the busy drumbeat. After the first chorus, fuzz-toned guitar comes into the picture.
The frantic, fast-paced rhythm and the self-centered quality (lines consistently featuring the words “I” or “I’m”) give off a quality of paranoia that isn’t helped by the last lyrics (“Every time I turn around/There’s another face watching me”).
“Queen Quotes Crowley” (3:48)
This is an extremely off-kilter instrumental utilizing what seems like sped-up (or pitch-shifted) guitar (think “Get Down Tonight” by KC and the Sunshine Band) over unintelligible samples and a gradually slowing-down beat. There are even bits where the volume levels fade in and out. This is a track that makes me think “What the fuck am I listening to?,” in a way that Porcupine Tree almost never does outside of this album.
“No Luck with Rabbits” (0:46) + “Begonia Seduction Scene” (2:14) + “This Long Silence” (5:05)
“No Luck with Rabbits” is just a distorted mess of sound experimentation. Wondrous while it lasts, but nothing really go off of until it bleeds into “Begonia Seduction Scene.” As for “Begonia Seduction Scene,” this starts with an acoustic guitar passage, but adds layers of violin-toned electric guitars. However, this sense of ambience is short-lived as it will become discordant at the finale—but only to bleed into “This Long Silence.”
As for “This Long Silence,” the lyrics are loaded with allusion and anachronism—in order, Madrid, Mozart, Mussolini, Satan, Jimi Hendrix, Shakespeare, Vietnam, Richard Nixon, Charles Manson, Ruth Ellis, Merlin, Norma Jean, Mark David Chapman, and Sergeant Pepper are name-dropped or alluded to in the lyrics. They also come in at a rapid pace given that this is one of the fastest songs on the album tempo-wise. The flourishes between the second and third verses adds detail and a keyboard flourish gets put on top of that once it repeats.
But after this occurs a second time, there is a bit of a break where the drum patter of the flourish-part supports an atonal guitar solo that also sounds pitch-shifted. Just before the last lyrics appear, there is a sample that is unintelligible because of how sped up it is. After that last verse, there is a jam which concludes the song.
“It Will Rain for a Million Years” (10:51)
This song has precious little in terms of lyrics (which are also Duffy-penned), so they don’t really matter. The song starts with sound effects of rain, which gradually get joined in by ominous low-pitched keyboards and ghostly-toned synths. Soon, some guitar joins in and a melancholy mood is met just before the kick pedals of the drums start intermittently pulsating in. Once the hi-hat begins a regular beat, there is some order made of what initially seemed like formless chaos. Then, some toms get added to the mix as electric guitar becomes more prominent in the mix. As this slowly builds and builds and builds, the guitar drops out and flute comes into the mix. But not for long as guitar comes back in.
Around the time the song reach the five minute mark, the lyrics occurs in a spoken-word fashion while the guitar continues to go wild. This jam-like quality continues for a bit as the bass guitar gets a lengthy solo before guitar joins in again. All this time, the drums keep a steady tribal rhythm. Eventually, there are flourishes of flutes in the background. This song is a slow-paced jam in the purest sense of the word and not unlike something Pink Floyd would release in their pre-Dark Side of the Moon years.
Final Thoughts:
This was an interesting listen, but one that definitely overstayed its welcome (runtime-wise, it is their longest album by at least ten minutes). While “Footprints,” “Jupiter Island,” and “Linton Samuel Dawson” are strange and psychedelic highlights, it’s “Radioactive Toy” that give the clearest indicator of the sound which Porcupine Tree would later adopt. Also, the material isn’t as consistently strong here as it would be on the Unsung Eight. This is definitely not a good album to start Porcupine Tree with as it is barely indicative of the shape that their sound would take in the future.
NEXT TIME: Porcupine Tree - "Voyage 34: The Complete Trip" (1992/1993; 2000)
This one is going to have an amusing story as to why Steven made it, but will it be fruitful? Let's find out together!
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