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Porcupine Tree’s eighth studio album is a curious beast for a number of reasons. Those reasons are able to be narrowed down to three things: the concept, the structure, and the unknowns.
The concept behind Deadwing involves contact with the supernatural. The fact that it’s a ghost story is the only thing that Steven Wilson has let slip about it. This fact’s important to the characters and the events depicted in these songs because the way that these songs are read varies radically depending on the dynamic between the living character and the ghost character. I do think that the ghost character is that of a deceased woman based on context clues from some of the songs on the album. Some think that the ghost character’s that of a deceased man.
The structure relates to the number of tracks on the album as well as how these songs sound. Deadwing is a nine-song endeavor that runs just under an hour (making it slightly shorter than In Absentia). Of those nine songs, the first four are (generally) among the hard-rock/heavy metal end of things sound-wise while the last four are (generally) far softer and more melancholic. As for the middle track (track 5), “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” is the centerpiece of the album and has aspects of both sounds scattered throughout its twelve-minute runtime. Those usages of parenthetical ‘generally’ are there because each ‘half’ of Deadwing has a sonic outlier—“Lazarus” is softer than anything else pre-Arriving while “Open Car” is heavier than the other post-Arriving tracks.
The unknowns is that unlike In Absentia, there are missing pieces to this album’s story. This is because apparently Steven tried his hand at a screenplay based on this album’s concept. Unfortunately, this screenplay ended up unproduced. The result of this is that while some parts of the album’s story can be pieced together, others (especially on the second half) end up having loose connections at best. That the tracks appear outside of chronological order makes things more complicated to jigger together. To bring a comparable example, this is like asking a blind person who’s never seen Quentin Tarantino's "Pulp Fiction" (a movie whose events are out of chronological order) to piece together the chronological order of events using sound alone. As you can imagine, such a limitation has resulted in several theories about how Deadwing constitutes a coherent story as is—several of which contradict each other. All things considered, this lack of a roadmap makes this album more difficult to analyze than In Absentia or Fear of a Blank Planet. However, this element is also a fun challenge and makes a careful listener think they’ve got it only to have a curveball be thrown in your way and have to go back to square one. Needless to say, with an album like this, I can’t claim a definitive answer as to what these songs are about.
Even if one decides to reject the notion of a concept altogether and accept Deadwing as a collection of songs, then a listener’s still in for a treat. That treat is that it’s the third-best album that Porcupine Tree ever released—and it only seems to come up short because it’s sandwiched in-between #1 and #2. As for the possibility of Deadwing being someone’s first Porcupine Tree album, it’s certainly not as dour as In Absentia (although it’s by no means a pick-me-up. Especially with the final tracks).
“Deadwing” (9:46)
As an opening track, “Deadwing” operates as either an overture or an introduction to the ‘ghost-story’ concept. While the song is the second-longest on the album, it retains a sense of structure throughout that shows how far Porcupine Tree has come since their days of sprawling psychedelic epics. What I mean by that is that while albums such as Up The Downstair and The Sky Moves Sideways had epic-length tracks based on extended jam sessions, “Deadwing” is an epic based on tight song structure and forward momentum. In that sense, it’s only appropriate that the sound of a passing train is used in the intro. Not only does it establish that the song takes place on a train, but the arc symbol of trains as representing a movement towards the future is mirrored in the song’s unrelenting urgency. Part of that unrelenting urgency comes from the fact that “Deadwing” is the only song on Deadwing which doesn’t have anything resembling a chorus or a refrain—it’s all verse for these lyrics.
That urgency’s given a further sense of justification through the song’s lyrics. To which here are the words which Steven chooses for the first lines of the album:
And something warm and soft just passed through here. It took the precious things that I hold dearer. It rifled through the grey and disappeared. The creeping darkness makes the small hours clearer.
That the very first word of the album—“And”—tells us that “Deadwing” starts the story in-media res (in the middle) a la Greek epics such as “The Odyssey” by Homer. Or for a more contemporary example, Christopher Nolan’s film “Memento.” This is because the word “And” functions as a connector, making it so that the prior chronological events (namely “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here”) are inextricably linked to the male character (who we’ll call David for reasons made clear in “Lazarus”). As for the “something warm and soft,” that’s the lady ghost who—by context of the next two lines—is someone which David likely didn’t part with on ideal terms. But the uses of words like “something” and “It” indicate that David’s either unsure that the ghost has roots to humanity or doesn’t want to believe it. The former suggests that the ghost deliberately remains hidden—perhaps she’s just as afraid of David as he is of her. The latter notion has support since a later song on the album (“Open Car”) would elaborate on why David doesn’t want to believe it. As for “The creeping darkness makes the small hours clearer,” that’s stating that David’s become more attentive to detail—and possibly paranoid—in his efforts to escape from the lady ghost.
And that word—escape—proves the reason why David’s on this train in the first place. He thinks that he can run away from his problems (as indicated by the ghost) instead of facing them. The lady ghost—uninhibited by mortal constraints—suggests otherwise.
The next set of lyrics take a left turn in that they’re not delivered by Steven Wilson. Instead, they’re spoken by a guest—Mikael Akerfeldt (from Opeth, a name that’ll become more important when we get to Storm Corrosion):
Like a cancer scare in the dentist's chair
Sucking in the air, wire across the stair. Kicking down the door at your local store With the world at war, voices through the floor. Unexpected news, wearing high heeled shoes Blowing out the fuse, paying all your dues. Deadwing lullaby, like a fracture tied. It's a worthless lie to the public eye.
The menacing tone of these spoken-word lyrics seems to suggest that they’re from the perspective of the lady ghost. The possibility’s raised that the lady ghost has cornered David somewhere on the train and that she’s speaking directly to David with these lines. As for what the ghost says, there’s elements here which tie into other songs on Deadwing on a metaphorical level.
Starting with “Like a cancer scare in the dentist’s chair/Sucking in the air, wire across the stair,” there’s an emphasis on the extremity of David’s methods for evading the lady ghost, which implies this has gone on for some time. The use of a modifier such as “Like” suggests that what’s being compared to “a cancer scare in the dentist’s chair” is David’s panicked, hyperventilating response to being cornered by the lady ghost. As for “Kicking down the door at your local store/With the world at war, voices through the floor,” that demonstrates that David’s content with becoming a total shut-in in order to evade the lady ghost. But “voices” suggests that there’s more than one ghost (something supported by “Lazarus”). If the ghost here isn’t the lady ghost, the access of memories of the lady ghost’s human existence implies that the ghosts in Deadwing operate with a hive mind. That access of memories is supported by the line “Unexpected news, wearing high-heeled shoes,” which entails that the lady ghost may have been David’s lover when she was alive and that David didn’t expect her to return in an incorporeal form.
While “Blowing out the fuse, paying all your dues” sums up the preparations David had to undergo before setting out on the train for an escape, the lines that follow are more interesting: “Deadwing lullaby, like a fracture tied./It’s a worthless lie to the public eye.” For this, one should ask what a ‘deadwing’ is. To which I’d state that it’s a neologism of Steven’s which describes how a ghost floats around in a manner akin to flight—someone who can do that’s a deadwing. So a “Deadwing lullaby” means that these ghosts have sung songs to David at night, possibly while he’s asleep. This could suggest that David’s developed insomnia due to the constant interruptions by the ghosts, but could also entail a divide in what a “lullaby” is for a ghost compared to what it is for a human. Regardless, “like a fracture tied” sketches out an apt comparison in that a literal dis-jointment forms an imagistic link towards the disconnect between David and the ghosts. Then for “It’s a worthless lie to the public eye,” which is a line that makes me think “Deadwing” occurs after “Shallow” and possibly “Halo.” The reason being that both those songs touch on dangerous forms of social isolation that this line suggests that the ghosts are aware of since that’s how the ghosts are taunting David in this line. That taunt boils down to a suggestion that the general public’s opinion on these matters means nothing because the ghosts will continue to pursue David, perpetuating the cycle until David decides to break it.
There’s a brief bit of lyrics (returning to the rhythmic pattern of the first verse) after the first Akerfeldt section:
I don't take waifs and strays back home with me. My bleeding heart does not extend to charity.
A simple way to look at these two lines involves chalking them up to David developing a sense of paranoia due to the ghosts haunting him. For him, there’s no way of knowing whether those “waifs and strays” are just that or if the ghosts are possessing them. But for that, one has to make logical leaps of faith because apart from this line, there’s nothing on the Deadwing album which implies that the ghosts can possess people. However, there’s nothing on Deadwing that dismisses the possibility of that implication, either. As a result, the fact that the screenplay stayed unproduced leaves this and similar specifics up in the air which would help in forming an interpretation of the album.
Another way to consider these lines entails that these lines are from the perspective of a ghost. In this respect, the “home” is the next life. Therefore, the ghost doesn’t take the “waifs and strays back home” because he/she/they can’t do that. A problem with that interpretation comes about through the fact that it’s questionable whether or not the ghosts have seen the next life at all. This leaves another hole which the unproduced screenplay could’ve filled, but the film’s non-existence leaves the lyrics wide open.
Some time later (during which a guitar solo occurs), Steven sings these lyrics under a clean-toned guitar pattern:
Yes, I'd have to say I like my privacy. And did you know you're on closed circuit TV? So smile at me.
While the perspective of these lines remains clear (it’s David), the first line’s subject to a variety of interpretations based on how David finds his “privacy” being invaded by the ghosts. One could say that it’s a matter of these ghosts being up-close-and-personal to David. However, the way I read it involves the ghosts attempting to invade David’s thoughts. This leads into the second line, “closed circuit TV” in that that phrase doesn’t refer to a literal TV. Instead, the “closed circuit TV” refers to a one-track mind and likens the stream of consciousness to television airwaves—a brilliant metaphor. As for “So smile at me,” that’s ambiguous as to whether it’s David’s thoughts or the ghosts inside David’s thoughts implanting that bit of information. If it’s the latter, David’s demeanor towards the ghosts up until now guarantees that he won’t listen to that implanted idea.
The second set of Akerfeldt’s spoken-word lyrics read as follows:
And a dream you had of your mum and dad On a beach somewhere, and the poison air With the cancer threat in a cigarette. Deadwing lullaby, find a place to hide.
These lines confirm that the ghosts did invade David’s thoughts because these lines entail that the ghosts have access to David’s memory. Specifically, the first three lines are memories of David’s childhood. As to the significance of these memories, that’s something which demands some mental gymnastics. For instance, the “poison air” comes from the “cancer threat in a cigarette,” which is a good place to start. Another place links the “cancer threat” to the “cancer scare” from Akerfeldt’s previous verse. A connection of this suggests that not only did at least one of David’s parent’s die of cancer, but that the afflicted parent found out their cancer status “in the dentist’s chair.”
But “On a beach somewhere” drives this even further via the lack of specifics. That emphasized word carries (elsewhere on Deadwing) links to “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here,” where it entails something which humanity cannot know—where people go when they die. That the ghosts offer no specifics towards that indicates that these ghosts have not glimpsed any potential afterlife.
As for the last line—“Deadwing lullaby, find a place to hide”—the first part of it still means the same as it did in the previous Akerfeldt section. Regarding the next bit, “find a place to hide” operates as a command which suggests that the ghosts don’t need to haunt David. That in turn entails a difference in skill set between David and the ghosts—David can try to hide all he likes, but the ghosts will always find him. How those two thoughts connect comes by stating that the ghosts find David effortlessly.
Returning back to the rhythmic pattern of the first verse, Steven sings these lines:
And from the yellow windows of the last train, A spectre from the next life breathes his fog on the pane. I look with you into the speeding black rain. Afraid to touch someone, afraid to ask her for her name.
From the first line, the familiar symbolism which Steven uses for trains reappears. In “Deadwing,” this symbol stands for David’s determination to flee from the ghosts. As for the “yellow windows,” that marks how all of David’s attempts to run away are thwarted by the ghosts.
The next line—“A spectre from the next life breathes his fog on the pane”—serves multiple functions in terms of context, perspective, and detail. This line is more ambiguous than it initially appears because the “his” can refer to either the “spectre from the next life” or to David. In the case of the former, that confirms that this specific “spectre” isn’t David’s former lover and that her first appearance on the album comes about in a later track. In the latter, the lady-ghost (marked as the “spectre,” named Elizabeth in the screenplay) uses the abilities of possession in order to force a breath out of David. The ability to possess isn’t too far-fetched given that we’ve already that the ghosts can invade a person’s mind and memories. In both cases, there’s the issue of “the next life” seemingly contradicting the implications of the “I don’t take waifs and strays back home with me” line from earlier. The way around this is that because these lines are from David’s perspective, David believes that all these ghosts have returned from the afterlife and doesn’t know that that might not be true.
These complications bleed into “I look with you into the speeding black rain,” a line that somewhat clarifies which interpretation of the prior line proves valid. While the line itself appears to be a poetic image involving David looking out the window at a ghost just outside of it, that’s not what the line actually entails. The key to that lies in the wording of “I look with you,” instead of “I look at you.” In this context, “I look with you” suggests that the ghost in this verse is Elizabeth, was possibly David’s girlfriend when she was alive, and has possessed David.
The last line—“Afraid to touch someone, afraid to ask her for her name”—offers some development and some added questions into this. Here marks a development for David in that he realizes that not all of these ghosts are worth being afraid of. However, “touch” isn’t implying that in a physical sense, but in an emotional sense—as in something being very touching. Regarding “afraid to ask her for her name,” that means that David can’t fully tell that this ghost is his deceased lover.
After a rather long instrumental section (that has some symbolic weight to it) dies out with the last sustains of Adrian Belew’s guitar solo comes along, Steven and another voice sing the last lines of the song:
And in the morning when I find I have lost you, I throw a window open wide and step through.
The agonized-sounding harmony which compliments Steven’s voice on this suggest that these lines aren’t from David’s perspective. If they were, “I throw a window open wide and step through” would involve David committing suicide by walking off a speeding train. But since a ghost has already died once, they can’t die again in such a fashion. No, these lines are from the perspective of Elizabeth.
As for what these lines actually mean, “And in the morning when I find I have lost you” suggests that a chunk of time passes during the instrumental section—likely from night to day. But “lost” entails that Elizabeth couldn’t convey to David that she’s his beloved. Whether that suggests an inability on her part, a limitation inherent in being a ghost, David being thick-headed, or all three is left open. Meaning that “I throw a window open wide and step through” marks a poetic image detailing the ghost giving up trying to get through to David and running away.
That image does recall the last line of Pink Floyd’s “Echoes.” For those unfamiliar, that epic-length song by a band that played a crucial role in Steven’s musical upbringing ends with the lines “And no one sings me lullabies/And no one makes me close my eyes/So I throw the windows wide/And call to you across the sky.” Apart from serving as an equally-vivid image, the act entailed in “call to you across the sky” functions as an exact opposite to “step through.” The use of such an opposite highlights several ways in which ghosts differ from humans and suggests that if Elizabeth were still alive, the effort would’ve worked.
Musically, “Deadwing” begins in a low-key manner by way of a lengthy keyboard introduction from Richard Barbieri. This section is made up of combinations of two notes, but the level of reverb and delay fools the ear—making the passage seem more complicated than it really is. During this, the sound of a passing-by train can be heard. This introduction goes on until about 0:41, at which point the rest of the band enters: Colin’s rock-steady snakelike eighth-notes on his bass, Gavin’s powerhouse drumming, and Steven’s shimmering guitar riff. The last of which deserves mention—particularly the nine-note arpeggio which comes in-between the breaks which the chords leave open. After passing through a different, lower-end riff, the opening guitar riff returns. This time, it’s the framework for the verse.
The instrumentation takes a different turn after Steven’s lyrics. Because after those cease (at around 2:19) and Mikael Akerfeldt’s spoken-word section starts, the guitar drops out completely. This leaves bass and keys (the latter of which is still playing the intro bit, which serves as a pulse) to become the dominant instruments of this section while Gavin has some fills which pick up the slack left by the absence of guitar.
After Akerfeldt’s spoken-word portion ends, the song jumps into Steven’s second verse at about 2:43. Regarding the instrumentation, it’s mostly the same as that of the first verse. The lone exception being that there are added layers of drone-sustains which come from Steven’s guitar. Apart from that, it’s still the same driving rhythm as before from Gavin, Colin, and Steven.
Following the brief second set of lyrics by Steven, the song goes into an instrumental section (at around 3:07). Beginning with a riff that’s more ‘hard rock’ than ‘metal,’ Gavin and Colin compliment this one well with subtle shifts in rhythm which distinguish it from that of the verses. But one can notice that this bit is slightly less-heavy than before (it doesn’t sound like it, but pay attention to dynamics). More noticeable is the quieter acoustic rhythm guitar that pops up in the section that follows it: Steven’s first guitar solo.
This guitar solo from Steven (at about 3:32) feels like a typical Steven Wilson guitar solo: feel-based, not incredibly technical, makes good use of what he’s capable of, and fits within his limitations. Like I said, the acoustic rhythm guitar imbues this section with a quieter feel than before—something aided by Gavin spacing out the snare hits (focusing more on ride cymbal now).
But at around 3:56, the song takes a different turn into a lush-sounding passage. The guitar pattern by Steven—clean-toned single notes broken up by power chords—proves the element which imbues this verse a different feel than that of the rest of the song. Gavin’s subtly alters the rhythm used in the guitar solo via deploying emphatic hits on toms, crash-cymbal, and snares at opportune moments. Colin adroitly follows the rhythm, but never stays too focused on a single note for long. Richard’s not playing anything technically-demanding on his keyboards here, but sets the mood with tones that seem to come from a mix of mellotron and organ. The vocal delivery at this part uses harmonization—the only part of the song which does so apart from the final verse.
After a smooth fill from Gavin on his toms, the song abruptly transitions into the second Mikael Akerfeldt spoken-word section at about 4:22. Same instrumentation as before, something which hold true of the third verse (which starts at around 4:34). But what occurs once the third verse wraps up (at about 5:22) sets an expectation for something bombastic. The instrumentation which fuels that bombast and raises this section beyond a reprise of the low-end riff from much earlier comes from a series of emphatic sustains. These sustains—performed in unison by Richard and guest guitarist Adrian Belew—lend the feeling of a build-up.
That feeling of build-up makes the next part (which commences at around 5:47) seem like an anticlimax because of being unexpected. Since the song goes from an intense-sounding instrumental to abruptly cutting off all instruments except for the synth pulse which opened the song. That set of synth pulses stabilize this section so that it avoids being in free-time amidst the mass of quietly-whirring guitar sounds and other ambient noises that crop up in this section. All of this never overwhelms the listener in the way that the heavy sections do, but there’s a sense of unease because things are too quiet for comfort. Especially once the clean-toned yet discordant guitar arrives about mid-way through the section. That this section marks David slowly drifting off into sleep on the train feels apt while the sections that follow involve the presence of dreams, nightmares, realizations, or all of the above makes sense given the contents of the verses which bracket this.
Anyways, the first stage of the instrumental section shifts into the second at about 6:47. If the last section was played in free-time, then this section returns to a standard 4/4 time signature. The reason being that while the clean-toned guitar pluckings from Steven still operate in free-time, there’s another instrument added in this section that manages to keep order. That instrument’s supplied by way of a melodic bass solo by Colin. The solo does utilize sustains at the start, but quickly turns into brief patterns using eighth and sixteenth notes. However, Colin also throws in techniques such as harmonics in order to ensure that he never plays the same exact thing two times in a row.
Colin’s bass solo ends at around 7:12, at which point tension begins to build. This comes from the fact that loud instrumentation such as Gavin’s tribal-sounding rhythm (with Steven and Colin playing a metal-style riff following that rhythm) comes into play at this point. Beyond that, something feels off with the rhythm even though nobody’s playing in free-time anymore. The thing which feels off comes from the elongated feel of the 7/4 time signature that this section’s played in.
Unlike the previous ‘build-up’ section, this one leads to a climactic section which begins at about 7:36: a guitar solo played by guest-guitarist Adrian Belew (Talking Heads; King Crimson). Adrian Belew’s always struck me as a highly avant-garde guitar player in the sense that many of the guitar solos that he plays imitate the sounds of other things. An excellent example comes from King Crimson’s “Elephant Talk,” where Belew coaxes sounds from his guitar which sound uncannily like a roaring elephant as well as squeaking mice. However, his work in King Crimson also demonstrates Belew as a guitarist of technical skill which far surpasses that of Steven. That trait holds true for his guitar solos on both this track and “Halo.” To mistake ‘technical’ as synonymous for ‘masturbatory excess’ would be a mistake because Belew’s solo here succeeds—via off-kilter tones—at sounding as haunted and tortured as the mindset of David at this point of the song. And then Belew ends the solo with a reprise of the melody from the build-up part (from around 5:22). And yes, that build-up part changes the time signature back to 4/4 (following a lone measure of 6/4).
As for what everyone else plays during Adrian Belew’s guitar solo, Gavin sticks to a rock-steady rhythm that happens to be played in 7/4 while Colin plays the exact same rhythm as the ‘7/4 build-up’ section from earlier. Richard plays the synth pulse part from the intro, but it’s so faint in the mix that a listener would have to really focus on it in order to hear it. Once the lone measure of 6/4 rears its ugly head, the change in rhythm instantly lights a fire under the band’s ass. While bass starts strumming in a faster rhythm, the next two measures (with a shift into 4/4) are where Gavin explodes. That explosion of drums involves a measure-long fill consisting of snare, crash-cymbal, and blisteringly-fast kick-pedal. And once the fire’s been lit, there’s a brief reprise of the ‘build up’ portion (from about 5:22).
That reprise seamlessly shifts (at around 8:25) into the final, two-line verse from Steven. Apart from a few assorted fills from Gavin (punctuating the “lost you” lyric) and the agonized-sounding harmonization of this verse, there’s nothing different from the previous verses. That said, it’s a huge relief coming back to familiar territory after spending so long in what seemed like uncharted waters. That verse ends (at about 8:50) and the rhythm section reverts to a heavy riff which appeared earlier in the song (at around 3:07). But this time, that riff’s the musical foundation for a short-but-sweet guitar solo from Steven Wilson that’s simple, but not nearly as blues-based as the one he played earlier in the song.
Once that solo wraps up (at about 9:16), there’s one measure consisting of sustains of the verse chords. Then, a majestic moment happens. With the time signature shifting to 7/4, the song’s left to play out to the shimmering seven-note riff which broke up the chords in the verses. Along with some emphatic rumblings from Colin and some atmospheric sounds from Richard, this outro proves highly-relaxing and settles the listener in before “Shallow” starts.
As an opening track, “Deadwing” sets the story of the album arguably better than “Blackest Eyes” did for In Absentia. As a piece of music, the song also manages to stand on its own quite well against the rest of the band’s catalog. While not my personal favorite on the album, it’s easily within my top four tracks on Deadwing.
“Shallow” (4:17)
The second track on Deadwing—“Shallow”—might be the most straightforward radio-friendly hard-rock song in the Porcupine Tree catalog. While it’s probably my least-favorite track on the album, that’s not necessarily a knock on the song so much as it’s an acknowledgement that the other eight songs are that much better. Given the catchy opening guitar riff of this song and the heavy-yet-anthemic chorus, it’s not much of a surprise that “Shallow” was one of two singles picked from Deadwing. But the other single (“Lazarus”) comes across as the better song.
Lyrically, “Shallow” and “Halo” are the two simplest songs on Deadwing. In fact, both songs touch upon the same theme of social isolation. The only difference is the instruments which David uses to achieve that isolation.
The first lines which Steven sings in “Shallow” are as follows:
I don't remember. Did something in my past create a hole? Don't use your gender To drive a stake right through my soul.
This first verse has two elements to break down: “I don’t remember./Did something in my past create a hole?,” and “Don’t use your gender/To drive a stake right through my soul.”
In regards to the former, this provides a bit of foreshadowing towards the most-important song in terms of cracking the Deadwing code: “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.” That entire song serves as a flashback to a violent car accident that’s strongly implied to have been the cause of Elizabeth’s mortal death. In that context, the “something in my past” that did “create a hole” suggests that David has been hell-bent on suppressing the traumatic memories of the accident that claimed the life of his beloved. And the fact that he starts the song with “I don’t remember” indicates that he’s been mostly successful.
The latter—“Don’t use your gender/To drive a stake right through my soul”—can be read as David exhibiting rather casual misogyny. However, the context of this song coming immediately after “Deadwing” suggests that Elizabeth in that song did leave an impact on him. That impact didn’t take full effect until after she left at the end of the song, leaving David to stew over. While David didn’t realize at the time of the possession that the lady-ghost was Elizabeth, he has an inkling of it after the fact. That inkling somewhat deflates the previous two lines in that David’s best efforts to suppress the trauma of losing his lover in a car accident are for nothing ever since she came back to him unexpectedly. That recurrence of the trauma is the “stake right through my soul.” Even though the events of “Lazarus” are what chronologically happens after “Deadwing,” the lyrics of “Shallow” are applicable towards the context of the prior song. Perhaps this song entails David’s thoughts in the immediate aftermath of “Deadwing.”
The song’s lush pre-chorus section consists of Steven delivering these lyrics in a croon-like vocal:
I live to function. On my own is all I know. No friends to mention. No distraction, nowhere to go.
This section’s lyrics illustrate the essence of the song’s subject: David developing social isolation. While this was present in David’s life prior to “Deadwing,” the events of that song end up pushing him further down the rabbit hole. Likely as an unhealthy coping mechanism. From “I live to function,” we know that self-sufficiency proves a quality that David values so highly that he won’t take help even if he needs it. The rest of these lines outline David’s non-sociability and entail that it’s something which he’s content with. Probably because to live otherwise means to admit to himself that his paranoia involving the ghosts has been completely unfounded and that he’ll have to face that fear head-on. For David, isolation remains preferable to giving up his pride.
These lines are what “Shallow” has for a chorus, delivered in a hard-rock style by Steven and by the instrumentation:
Shallow, shallow.
Give it to me, give it to me. Scissors cutting out your anger. Shallow, shallow.
No good to me, not if you bleed. Bite your tongue, ignore the splinter.
The usages of “Shallow” indicate that David knows that what he continues to do is indeed shallow, but the refusal to face his fears guarantees that he stays in the rut he’s placed himself in. Regarding “Give it to me,” that’s a reflection of the only way which anything can come about if David keeps up his antisocial routine: if things come to him. This reflects a self-centeredness inherent in the antisocial behavior David exhibits in that it relies on thinking that the world revolves around you. Which isn’t true because for anything to happen in life, one has to go out and take on the world on your own terms with your actions.
All of that suggests that David’s coping mechanism has perverted his outlook on life. A further screwing-up comes via “Scissors cutting out your anger.” That line doesn’t involve David engaging in self-harm with actual scissors. Instead, it suggests that David’s anti-social routine ends up suppressing natural emotions. Furthermore, the emotion being suppressed is one which only gets worse whenever bottled up. In fact, the abrasive sound of the chorus provides a good reflection of what suppressed anger feels like when it ends up coming out. Additionally, the word “scissors” constitutes a link to the lyrics of “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here,” whose lyrics turn this figurative image into something disturbingly literal.
Regarding “No good to me, not if you bleed,” that’s subject to a number of readings. However, the most likely one involves that David’s now developed an obsession towards Elizabeth’s ghost. That obsession has led him to reject any other people as potential lovers. As for “Bite your tongue, ignore the splinter,” that pertains to David’s suppression of anger and for the fact that it continues to fester like the infection one receives from ignoring a splinter.
The second verse of the song marks the last new set of lyrics in “Shallow,” but they also have something to say:
This city drains me. Well, maybe it's the smell of gasoline. The millions pain me. It's easier to talk to my PC.
The first part—“This city drains me”—suggests that David’s ill-suited towards living in a modern-day city. The unnatural quality of that and the following line (“Well, maybe it’s the smell of gasoline”) entails that David’s plight in this song isn’t limited to him, but applicable towards everyone living in modern society. While “Shallow” remains the only song on Deadwing which mentions either industrialization or technology, the antisocial aspect and how it applies to David ensures that that’s the common tissue between “Shallow” and “Halo.”
The attack on technology entailed in “The millions drain me/It’s easier to talk to my PC” isn’t new territory for Steven to cover lyrically. It goes at least as far back as “Every Home Is Wired” from Signify and the dehumanizing effect of technology serves as a major theme of Fear of a Blank Planet. And although he’s somewhat lightened up on that stance with his solo career, a video accompanying Steven’s first solo album had a clip of him smashing iPod’s to pieces with a hammer.
As for “The millions pain me,” the pain can be indebted to David’s reclusive nature. But it can also owe a debt to David’s situation regarding the ghostly presence of his beloved. Namely, these millions that are able to live life possibly in happy relationships with their beloveds serves as a painful reminder of what David can’t have. A detail like this makes me think that a significant amount of time has passed between the events of “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” and the events of the rest of Deadwing. Therefore, David’s act of making things “easier to talk to my PC” than with people serves the same role as people who drink in order to drown their sorrows away—it’s the instrument which David used to suppress his traumas. And prior lyrics have implied that that suppression doesn’t fully work.
From a musical perspective, “Shallow” starts (at about 0:06) in a way that’s typical of the song as a whole: simple hard rock riffs in 4/4. The riffs in question are backed by loud and equally-simple parts from Colin and Gavin. Gavin does spice up his otherwise-simplistic drum parts (kick-pedal, hi-hat, and snare) with the presence of ghost-snares in order to vary the rhythm. But the hard-rock leanings result in the absence of Richard from this part of the song. That absence leaves the song feeling barren compared to many of the songs on Deadwing, but that barren quality mirrors how empty David’s life has become by this song. Anyways, this simple pattern (although the guitar riff does sound awesome) forms the basis for Steven’s verses, which are delivered in a way that sounds like he’s steadily sliding up-and-down in pitch.
A change-up in the song happens at around 0:50 for the pre-chorus, which marks the one section of “Shallow” that’s beautiful. One stand-out part is Richard coming in with piano which—while simple—reverberates in the mix. The other stand-out instrument in this section proves to be Steven’s acoustic guitar, which diligently strums a steady rhythm that Colin follows on bass. Meanwhile, Gavin keeps up with a steady stream of kick-pedals, various cymbals, and snares until he transitions into the chorus with a snare/tom build-up.
The chorus (at around 1:12) marks the point where the song goes full-throttle with the most-crushing riff on Deadwing so far. However, Steven keeps the riff from getting too heavy for a hard-rock radio station to play simply for the fact that the “Shallow, Shallow” hook glides just above the heaviest part of the riff. The riff itself uses patterns which are relatively simple to play on a guitar, but the phrasing and rhythm with which Steven uses them ensures the riff isn’t wholly generic. And admittedly, the nine-note pattern of single notes (an ascension and descension of a scale) that comes in-between cycles of the riff sounds awesome. As for what backs the riff, Colin plays single-note versions of the chords which make up the guitar riff. So Colin plays roughly the same thing that Steven does on guitar, but it’s hard to hear because the guitar drowns out the bass in the mix. Gavin’s drum rhythms in the chorus are played with much more force than in the verses or the pre-chorus, which add to how loud this section feels.
The verse/pre-chorus/chorus pattern occurs again, but it’s when that cycle completes where things get interesting. Because at about 2:40, the song switches to a new riff that’s delivered in a 6/4 time signature. After this has been played once, the rest of the band enters: Colin copying the riff note-for-note, Gavin keeping a rock-steady rhythm, and Richard contributing an odd series of noises that make the atmosphere uneasy. But at around 3:01, there’s a quiet variant of the riff that’s played for a little bit. Only for the song to become loud again on the same riff, but with a guitar solo from Steven that’s buried in the mix. After that, there’s a momentary bass break, another chorus, a jam on the chorus riff, and a brief playing of the intro riff which ends the song.
“Shallow” remains the most straightforward hard-rock tune in the Porcupine Tree repertoire. However, Steven’s smart enough to employ just enough of his songwriting tactics to keep the song from being generic. Still, “Shallow” ends up as my least-favorite track on Deadwing. Even though it’s no slouch on its own merits.
“Lazarus” (4:18)
As a song, “Lazarus” is nothing short of beautiful. While there is a twinge of melancholy to this song, it’s nothing compared to many of Porcupine Tree’s other ballads. In fact, this and “My Ashes” are probably the two strongest ones that Steven’s ever written. Out of the two singles picked from Deadwing, this one’s the stronger of the two—that Steve Wilson re-recorded it in 2015 as a solo single suggests that he’s fond of it, too.
Lyrically, “Lazarus” factors into the Deadwing concept by following up the events of “Deadwing.” That much proves evident via the presence of trains in the opening lines as well as the clear presence of ghosts. However, this song contains a different ghost than those found in “Deadwing.” Although, it’s not clear from the first couple of verses, the she-ghost in “Lazarus” isn’t Elizabeth. Instead, the she-ghost comes via David’s mother.
The context for this demands one to look into the available excerpt of the Deadwing screenplay (the first 15 pages) as penned by Steven Wilson and Mike Bennion. The opening bit of that details a cancer-stricken mother tucking a young boy (who we can assume is David) into bed. But not before handing David a blue pill which she also takes one of. However, David spits out the pill as soon as the mom leaves the room. That opening also involves the mom humming a lullaby until she abruptly stops. All of these details tell us that David’s mother probably laced that pill with some sort of poison, knew she was going to die soon from cancer, didn’t want to be a burden in the final stages of terminal cancer, and decided to commit suicide as well as poison her own son.
The opening lines of lyrics which Steven sings are as follows:
As the cheerless towns pass my window, I can see a washed-out moon through the fog. And then a voice inside my head breaks the analogue. And says:
While “As the cheerless towns pass my window,/I can see a washed-out moon through the fog” seems like poetic description, there’s more than that to this. That they “pass my window” clues the listener onto the fact that David’s still on the same train from “Deadwing.” The “cheerless” nature can be ascribed to several things: the antisocial nature of David following his lover’s death, the paranoia involved in evading the ghosts, or just an atmosphere of melancholy.
Regarding “a washed-out moon through the fog,” that’s an image linked to David’s character development in “Deadwing.” Remember how the first line after the second Akerfeldt section indicated that David realized that not all ghosts were out to get him? Here, the “washed-out moon” visible in the early hours of the morning provides an objective correlative for the clarity that resulted from the previous song’s realization. Even the way which Steven sings this sounds like someone who’s recently had an epiphany.
As for “And then a voice inside my head breaks the analogue,” that’s a bit which comes in two pieces. The first bit—addressing the “voice inside my head”—refers to the method of invading minds which the ghosts were shown as capable of doing in “Deadwing.” Since the ghost in that song left David at the end of that song, this song cannot involve the same ghost. The second bit—the breaking of “the analogue”—utilizes context about David that’s culled from the screenplay. The screenplay mentions David’s profession as a sound designer and (at one point) depicts him as playing music via headphones on a train, making “analogue” a word which means the technology that David’s using the headphones on. Furthermore, “analogue” describes the technology used since he’s depicted in that screenplay using a portable cassette player, not something digital like an iPod, so ‘analogue’ works with multiple meanings of the word while still describing the technology itself. Another meaning that could work is that “analogue” is short for ‘analogous.’ In which case, the “voice inside my head” offers an experience so different to that of music that there’s no way of properly describing it through any form of music or in language. Regardless of the meaning of the words themselves, what occurs here is that the she-ghost has caught David’s full attention.
These lines mark the chorus of “Lazarus,” which might stand as among the most beautiful that Steven’s ever written (moreso in the second/third choruses):
"Follow me down to the valley below.
You know. Moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul"
A grammatical detail to these lyrics comes through the fact that the quotation marks are part of the official lyrics. Which means that they are not typos and that they serve a deliberate purpose towards the song’s lyrics. To ascertain that purpose, remember that the verses before it end with either “And says” or “And said.” That means that the chorus is either the words of the mom-ghost, David’s potentially-imperfect recollection of those words, or both—with the first applying to the first chorus and the second applying to the rest of the choruses.
As for what the words that the mom-ghost says to David here, ““Follow me down to the valley below”” probably has a sinister meaning. To ascertain that meaning, it should be noted that the ghosts in Deadwing have stayed in the land of the living because they feel like they have unfinished business that they can’t leave behind in order to have any piece after death. What I’m getting at is that the mom-ghost’s ‘unfinished business’ is that she failed to kill her son when she committed suicide. In this case, David’s mother’s presented as someone who’s possessive of her child in a way that can be linked to David’s fixation on Elizabeth (as illustrated in “Shallow”). While “below” seems to imply hell, the vague hints of an afterlife provided in Deadwing suggest that any postmortem spiritual existence besides that of a ghost pales to the experience of being alive.
Regarding “You know,” that’s linked to the next line (“Moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul”) and turns that into a taunt. That next line itself isn’t devoid of meaning, either. In the line, “Moonlight” marks a symbol for a ‘life-force’ or ‘essence.’ Part of this taunt entails the mom-ghost telling David that everyone’s got to die sometime, so why not come with me and get it over with, son? As one can see, this isn’t a healthy relationship between mother and son and with the detail in the screenplay, there’s no reason to assume otherwise.
The second verse of the song now has Colin and Gavin in-sync as a rhythm section as Steven sings this:
I survived against the will of my twisted folk. But in the deafness of my world, the silence broke. And said:
Until looking at the screenplay, the line “I survived against the will of my twisted folk” didn’t seem like a line that meant anything other than sounding awesome. After reading that screenplay, the details about the mom attempting to poison young David makes that line literal. By spitting out the pill, David clung onto life in-spite of the want of his mother. Also, by having David describe his long-deceased (one can assume at least a decade) mother as “twisted,” that’s a direct criticism of the possessive attitude that the mom-ghost has towards David. Meaning that David sees through any lies that the mom-ghost spins and knows that she’s full of shit.
However, the next line—“But in the deafness of my world, the silence broke”—complicates matters by entailing that even contact with a horrible person remains preferable to the isolation depicted in “Shallow.” That isolation is the hollowness entailed by “the deafness of my world” and the quality which “the silence” breaks is human interaction. However, the usage of broken silence isn’t a guarantee of stability in Porcupine Tree’s lyrics. In fact, that same image was used in “Dark Matter” to entail ephemerality, so this connection won’t last for long. A word choice like that provides an example of Steven’s own voice coming through despite his attempts to hide it in the voice of David.
While these lyrics come before the second chorus, the next thing worthy of analysis comes via the bridge:
"My David, don't you worry, This cold world is not for you. So rest your head upon me, I have strength to carry you"
The quotation marks around the lines are enough to tell that these lines are also from the perspective of the lady-ghost. But the presence of “My David” doesn’t sound like something that someone would say to their lover. While this line indicates that the male human character of the album (and the screenplay) is named David, the phrasing of “My David” appears more in line with the tone of something that a mother would say to a child.
Another route with the name David links with the Biblical connotations of the song’s title. Yes, Steven Wilson’s a strident atheist with qualms against organized religion, but he’s also expressed interest in the role that religion has played in society across human history. The reason that Steven would pick a name like “Lazarus” is that it associates the return-from-the-dead capabilities of the Biblical Lazarus with that of a returning spirit such as a ghost. And ghosts or returning spirts end up serving as motifs throughout Steven’s solo albums—most prominently in 2013’s The Raven That Refused To Sing (And Other Stories), whose six tracks are six different ghost stories.
Regarding the mother’s statement of “This cold world is not for you,” there’s a few things at play with that statement. For starters, it’s ambiguous whether “cold world” refers to the mortal world or to a theoretical afterlife (an ambiguity which the “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” write-up will elaborate further). What results from that split is that one variation links to the notion of the mom-ghost trying to drag David to death with her. The other variation of the split has the mother begging David to stay alive because whatever form the afterlife takes, it’s not what it’s cracked up to be. This division and the lines that follow it—“So rest your head upon me/I have strength to carry you”—offer evidence that the mom-ghost proves a more morally-ambiguous character than earlier lyrics would lead a listener to think. Namely, the caring and mother-like wordplay here does suggest that the mom-ghost wants to keep David away from death. However, that caring veneer could very well serve as a ruse and she’s really tempting David to come along and die. But this isn’t working since David can see right through any and all lies she tries to spin.
Immediately after the previous lines, a harmonized section sings these lines in the bridge:
(Ghosts of the twenties rising.
Golden summers just holding you.)
This harmonized section occurs in the bridge contains lyrics which eluded me for the longest time. As for what the lyrics mean, “Ghosts of the twenties rising” doesn’t refer to the Roaring Twenties, but that leaves two possibilities for what “the twenties” refer to. The first involves David either being in his twenties or in his early thirties. The second pertains to either the mom-ghost having David in a teen-pregnancy and dying in her twenties or to “twenties” referring to the amount of time that’s passed since she died. The latter version of the second possibility seems the most likely meaning, but these lyrics are left open in a way which proves typical of Steven’s lyrics.
As for the next line of “Golden summers just holding you,” that’s a line which makes me think that I may be wrong regarding the mom-ghost having malevolent intents in this situation. The way which such a discrepancy is resolvable lies in interpreting what the harmony vocal represent: the mom-ghost’s unfiltered thoughts, which contrast with how they’re filtered through David’s biased perspective at other points of the song. This means that the malevolent intentions of the mom-ghost are simply David’s interpretation of what the mom-ghost said to him. Given that the mom tried to kill him, David does have a reason to hold a grudge towards the mom-ghost. With that bias into consideration, these set of lines remain the only time in “Lazarus” where the mom-ghost’s true feelings on the situation are articulated. Given that “Golden summers just holding you” registers as an image involve a reminiscence of a mother embracing her son, this implies that the mom-ghost truly cares about David and that she’s changed since becoming a ghost. However, she’s bound to the ‘unfinished business’ which was specified at an earlier point of the song, so she’s torn between her duty and the lives of her loved ones.
While there are another couple of choruses (but with a chorus this gorgeous, one doesn’t mind the repetition), the lines which Steven sings in the outro also bear mentioning:
“Come to us, Lazarus. It's time for you to go.”
The quotation marks around this would seem to suggest that it also comes from the mom-ghost. But my ears seem to hear additional harmony vocals singing these lines which aren’t in the chorus. That suggests to me that there’s more than one ghost at play, possibly other ghosts trying to get the mom-ghost to come along with them. In that case, one ghost calling another ghost ‘Lazarus’ would function as either a teasing nickname or a mark of contempt. If the latter, then the mom-ghost broke protocol in order to try to seduce David towards death. For that to be true, there’s an irresolvable contradiction: the herd mentality of the ghosts remains ideal yet leaves some ghosts (such as the mom-ghost) unable to complete their ‘unfinished business.’ Alternatively, if one believes that the mom-ghost is benevolent towards David, the contradiction takes on another aspect. The herd mentality of the ghosts still proves the desired ideal of post-mortem existence, but it also leaves spirits unable to experience kindness with anyone outside the echo chamber of spirits.
As for the identity of the ghost(s) that drive the mom-ghost away, that’s something which remains a mystery until “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.”
As a piece of music, “Lazarus” begins (at about 0:10) with Steven strumming an acoustic guitar while Richard occupies a piano in-tune with Steven’s chord progression. Along with all of this, something that sounds like a woodwind instrument (I’m not sure what) remains faintly discernable and allows a mild sense of unease. Not alarmingly so, but enough that the song isn’t fully relaxing. During all of this, Colin and Gavin remain absent while this instrumentation provides the framework for Steven’s first verse. Steven’s delivery of this verse—thin and alone—gives the impression of a single voice in a setting where the sound of their own voice is at an equilibrium with the music.
That equilibrium stops when (at around 0:54) Gavin and Colin enter with rudimentary parts on their respective instruments. They’re not in full-force yet because a slower song like “Lazarus” wouldn’t suit it. But there’s something else at the helm which captures the listener’s attention far more immediately than what Colin and Gavin do. That something else comes from the brisk, sixteenth-note arpeggiated pattern that Richard plays on his piano. It’s a pattern that imbues “Lazarus” with something faux-classical that ends up serving as the song’s primary instrumental hook. The other hook being Steven’s words of the chorus, which only has part of its majesty in this version of the chorus. The majestic quality that later choruses in this song end up taking on is only hinted at here via the faint sounds of strings.
Once the second verse rolls around (at about 1:16), the rest of the instruments become fully-integrated into the song. That fully-integrated quality renders Steven’s acoustic guitar almost faint in the mix compared to everything else. Now that Gavin’s joined in, there’s the presence of a standard beat being played. However, Gavin’s also savvy enough to throw in ghost-snares in the mix, but “Lazarus” has so much going on sonically that they’re even harder to hear than in most of Porcupine Tree’s other songs. As for Colin’s bass line, it’s a simple string of notes which follow the chord progression at the root of which scale Richard’s playing at a given moment. Speaking of Richard, he’s continuing to play the arpeggio pattern from the chorus and he’ll continue to do so for most of the song.
But the second chorus (which starts at around 1:39) marks the point where “Lazarus” ceases to be moody. Instead, the song becomes so moody that ends up being one of the most beautiful-sounding songs that Steven’s written to date. The song does so by taking on a spacy quality through several subtle alterations in sound. Those alterations have little to do with Gavin or Colin and everything to do with Richard and Steven. Richard has the changes more subtly applied, but a very careful listen reveals that there’s some reverb on his keyboards that wasn’t there earlier in the song. As for Steven, his sound’s altered on two fronts: his guitar and his voice. Even though Steven’s acoustic guitar still chugs along in the background, a slide guitar comes into the mix now which contributes to the ‘spacy’ feeling of the song. But most importantly of all is that Steven begins to multi-track his own voice at this point of the song, creating something akin to a Greek chorus. In fact, it wouldn’t be entirely surprising if these added voices were meant to evoke the voices of one or multiple ghosts. Regardless, the effect of the multi-tracked voices makes “Lazarus” an utterly-soothing song.
The bridge (starting at about 2:23) which follows the second chorus has a few musical changes. First of all, there’s definitely a key change in the song. Additionally, Richard’s piano pattern drops out in favor of a string section. Meanwhile, Gavin and Colin continue to diligently perform in the rhythm section just as they have been this entire song so for. Anyways, the key change allows a sense something building up. As for Steven’s vocal harmonization in the bridge, it glides over the pillow-soft instrumentation in an effortless fashion.
The thing that the entire bridge builds up towards ends up resulting in an anticlimax (at around 3:08) by means of a break in the song that’s accompanied by a thunderous-sounding crash-cymbal from Gavin. In this break, the instrumentation reverts to that of the subdued first chorus—just Richard’s rich piano arpeggio, Steven’s folk-like acoustic guitar, and Steven’s all-too-familiar chorus vocals. There are some striking harmonization echoes which prevent this break from constituting a 1:1 replication of the song’s first chorus. But the break doesn’t last forever since Gavin arrives (at about 3:28) with a drum fill that’s not too complex (it’s just some quick kick-pedal, some snare, and some toms), but far more complicated than any of the beats he has to play in the song.
While that fill does lead into the third chorus, that chorus sounds identical to that of the second. But when a song’s chorus proves itself as hypnotic as this one, repetition isn’t necessarily a bad thing so long as it’s not overdone. Fortunately, Steven never lets this one overstay its welcome, allowing it to remain special.
What Steven opts to do instead of repeating the chorus ad-nauseum while the song fades out catches my attention every-time I hear “Lazarus.” Whereas the previous choruses have had “Follow me down to the valley below/You know/Moonlight is bleeding from out of your soul” sung twice, this last chorus only has those lines sung once before shifting (at around 3:50) immediately to the outro. This grabs a listener’s ear since one has grown accustomed to hearing that chorus twice in a row, but Steven—fully aware of what listeners expect—pulls the rug out from under the listener’s feet. As for the outro itself, it’s an even brighter variant of the bridge—key-change and all—which adds Richard’s familiar piano arpeggio to the mix. After this crashes out almost as quickly as it begun, one can hear the sounds of the woodwind-esque instrument from the intro along with the sound of a train running.
Overall, “Lazarus” remains one of a handful of Porcupine Tree songs that probably would’ve been strong radio hits had it been given decent distribution. Other such songs include “Trains,” “The Sound of Muzak,” “Piano Lessons,” “Shesmovedon,” “The Rest Will Flow,” “Stranger By The Minute,” “Sentimental,” and “My Ashes”—all of which have prominent hooks, articulate melodies, and aren’t too dark lyrically (a reason why I didn’t put the otherwise radio-friendly “Blackest Eyes”). In some circles, this would be deemed a ‘sellout move,’ but I’d disagree with that here. Steven has always shown a pop sensibility whenever it comes to constructing a melody and has combined that with the ambition of progressive rock/metal. That puts Steven in a unique position in that he can potentially achieve commercial success thanks to the melodies of songs such as “Lazarus,” but refocus his ambitions into creating unique and ear-catching sounds that suit whatever melody he constructs. Such remarks will become more pertinent once I address an album such as 2017’s To The Bone, where Steven actively sought to break into a pop market on his own terms.
But on its own merits, “Lazarus” might be the finest ballad-style track that Steven’s ever written. It certainly is the best one that he made in Porcupine Tree.
“Halo” (4:38)
While “Halo” may be simplistic lyrically (outside the context of the Deadwing concept, it boils down to a very blunt critique of organized religion), the song’s one of the more upbeat sounding songs on the album The song was also a staple of Porcupine Tree’s live set from 2005 until the band’s 2010 break-up. And with a listen to the song, it’s no hard to see why Steven and company enjoyed playing it so often—you can hear the flat-out fun in the studio recording, but live recordings such as those on 2010’s Atlanta or Anesthetize (also 2010; both recorded in 2007) offered one of the few times where PT engaged in live jams post-Signify. Once one listens to Colin’s jazz-like bassline (probably the best one in Porcupine Tree) that makes ample use of the upper parts of the neck (true of live and studio versions), the instrumentation becomes a form of hypnosis thanks to the rhythm section of Colin and Gavin.
As much as I’d love to give a play-by-play of the live version, that’d be cheating since Deadwing is a studio album. So I’ll cover the (slightly inferior) version found on Deadwing for the sake of the review. The lyrics are the same between the two versions, but the studio version’s guitar solo (played by guest guitarist Adrian Belew [Talking Heads; King Crimson]) gets substituted live in favor of an often-improvised keyboard solo from Richard Barbieri.
In terms of lyrical analysis, “Halo” has more than meets the eye when trying to put it in-context with the Deadwing concept. For instance, look at the first lines of the song:
God is in my fingers,
God is in my head. God is in the trigger,
God is in the lead.
When looking at this song from the perspective of a critique on religion, it’s important to consider that the song criticizes religious fanaticism and blind obsession with one’s religion of choice—not religious ideology itself. In these lines, the association of “God” with both things that are part of the human body (“fingers,” “head”) and in things that are mechanical and linked to violence (“trigger,” “lead”) has a significance in the progression from one to the next. That significance entails that if one thinks that God controls their thoughts (as “God is in my head” suggests), then one’s operates like a drone for any given faith. And since a drone has no autonomy, it’s at the mercy of those who are in charge of the faith.
These lines almost immediately follow the prior ones and serve as a ‘pre-chorus.’ Curiously, they’re also given as a spoken-word sample:
God is freedom, God is truth. God is power, God is proof. God is fashion, God is fame. God gives meaning, God gives pain.
These are the ideas that David was told in order to have religion sold on him. That these lines follow ones which associate God with concrete details isn’t meaningless. These ideas—freedom, truth, power, proof, fashion, and fame—are exactly how people have justified violence in the name of their religion. And just because Steven chooses to invoke “God” for this song doesn’t mean that Christianity’s the only religion which applies to this idea. Sure, there’s the hullabaloo regarding ISIS in recent memory, but radicalism has been present in several religions over the course of human history—including (but not limited to) the big five (Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism).
As for why “Halo” fits into the Deadwing concept, I tend to think that David picked up these ideas through a sermon from a particularly zealous pastor/priest and immediately latched onto the message.
The voice of that religious authority figure comes bursting through the speakers during the song’s chorus, which has a sentiment akin to that of “Jesus He Knows Me” by Genesis. In fact, Steven sings them with the reckless abandon of a fanatic:
You can be right like me With God in the hole you're a righteous soul. I got a halo round me, I got a halo round me. I'm not the same as you Cause I've seen the light and I'm gaining in height now. I got a halo round me, I got a halo round me. I got a halo round my head.
This chorus oozes an arrogant sense of charisma that’s absent from the rest of the lyrics. Some of that’s clear from the wording of phrases like “You can be right like me” and “I’m not the same as you.” Both of which boil religious fanaticism down to a juvenile contest that’s common at schoolyards. And the arrogant way he says “I got a halo round me” reminds me of a 90’s George Carlin bit where he imitates two people who are believers of two religions which are ideologically the same, but have different gods, so one kills the other and says “My God has a bigger dick than your god.”
Which leads to the song’s biggest critique on organized religion and the fanaticism it facilitates. The pettiness of the superiority complex informed by the George Carlin skit bleeds over into “I’m not the same as you/Cause I’ve seen the light and I’m gaining in height now.” That phrasing suggests that organized religion and fanaticism outright foster discrimination and disdain for other religions. In the case of those who use such tactics in the name of Christianity, that’s true even of the two other Abrahamic faiths (Islam and Judaism).
Part of me thinks that David exhibits more critical thinking skills than to blindly fall for the sentiment of the chorus. While the ideas of the pre-chorus may have seemed attractive to him at first, the sentiment of the chorus may have ended up him off of religion. Or at least to organized religion.
The second verse—while simplistic like the first—contains links towards another song:
God is on the cell phone.
God is on the net. God is in the warning.
God is in the threat.
With the explicit mentions of technology such as cellphones and the Internet, the connection to “Shallow” becomes evident. In fact, the two are intertwined in David’s eyes if these are the words to which David believes. If one associates all of the four things together (“cell phone,” “net,” “warning,” and “threat”), then David believes that using technology for things such as warnings and threats remains justifiable because of his faith in God. That’s an eerie thought since imbuing God with violent or militaristic traits comes across as a perversion of the tenants of several religions. As for whether David believes this, I don’t think so. The aforementioned critical thinking skills which David would’ve used to not embrace his mother because she wanted him (or he thought she did) to follow her “down to the valley below” defuse the idea that he’d fall for what the preacher spews in “Halo.”
From a musical standpoint, “Halo” wastes no time with introductions on the studio version (live versions tend to have jamming with an electronic sampler and Gavin doing a drum solo on top of it). Right out of the gate, Steven (possibly Adrian in the studio version) gives a series of frighteningly-dissonant sustains which sound like nothing I’ve ever heard from a guitar. Meanwhile, Gavin plays an energetic beat which he peppers with ghost-snares, miniature drum fills, and various cymbal hits—which gives the sense that Gavin can hardly sit still on this song. Such a comment does suggest that “Halo” serves as a highly-energetic song and that energy is the most apparent with Colin’s bass line—a bass part which appears front-and-center in the mixing (note to mom, this would definitely serve as an awesome bass part for Becca). The first half of each measure—repetitive and funk-like open-note strums—has a counter-point in the second half of every measure. That second half of every measure consists of a bass fill from Colin that’s played on the upper register of the neck. While some of the fills occur with some regularity (particularly the first two), others are improvised—something indebted to both the jazzy vibe of “Halo” and to Gavin and Colin’s musical backgrounds as jazz musicians.
All of that instrumental detail serves as the backdrop for the first verse (starting at about 0:21). So while the song’s the same instrumentally, the way in which Steven delivers the verses in this song warrants notice. Steven sings these lines in a manner which comes across as disaffected and confident—or brainwashed and arrogant—simultaneously. Given the points that the song makes about organized religion as well as the point of the narrative that David’s at, the tone of Steven’s voice fits the mood of the lyrics themselves. Additionally, they also lend the verses a sense of menace that’s reinforced by the dissonant guitar.
For the pre-chorus (beginning at around 0:40), the song does shift as the spoken-word sample (presumably what David was told in order to have religion sold on him) begins to play. While Gavin and Colin continue to go at it with their synchronized drums and bass, the guitar work of Steven (or Adrian) becomes more prominent. Instead of creating dissonant noise which suited the threatening atmosphere of “Halo,” the guitars operate in a pattern of sustains which follow a militaristic melody. This works on two fronts: as a heightening of the threatening atmosphere (by making the threat feel tangible instead of empty words) and as a build-up in preparation for the chorus.
Speaking of which, the point where the chorus begins (at about 0:59) marks a definite tonal shift in the song. Part of that’s due to the guitar work being switched to a standard set of acoustic and electric guitars operating in a two-chord sequence. A possibly bigger reason for the tonal shift comes from Steven’s excited delivery of this chorus, which remains a chorus that jumps out of the speakers in contrast to his restrained delivery of the verses. As for Colin’s bass, it consists of three parts: one-and-a-half measures of a funk-like strumming pattern (at a higher pitch than the verses), two quarter-note sustains at a lower pitch, and then a two-measure reprise of the verse rhythm—rinse-and-repeat until the next verse. Gavin changes the primary beat from focusing on hi-hat to focusing on ride cymbal, but he’s also willing to throw in several fills involving multiple toms, hi-hat, snare, and crash-cymbal. Live versions involve Gavin showing off his technical prowess on the kit in ways which the studio version only hints at. Additionally, Richard arrives in the chorus and plays a set of synth sustains that are incredibly easy to play but suit the elevated atmosphere of the chorus. As for why Richard’s relatively absent in the verses, that’s probably so as to not take away from Colin’s awesome bass line.
Apart from some stops in rhythm that are complimented by fills from Colin and Gavin (especially true in live versions), the second verse/pre-chorus/chorus unit remains largely identical to that of the first. Where things get rather technical in “Halo” is when this second chorus ends (at around 2:27). Without skipping a beat, the meter shifts from the 4/4 of the rest of the song into 17/16, a rare meter which operates like 4/4 but with an extra sixteenth note added at the end. That Steven, Richard, Colin, and Gavin manage to jam on such a meter and make it sound effortless speaks volumes about how tightly-knit this foursome is as a band. As for how the jam session sounds like, there’s Steven (on rhythm guitar) playing an unorthodox rhythm in lock-step with Colin while Gavin provides a steady backbeat to the stew that’s brewing. Because this jam subdivides itself into two components: softer and louder. This soft part comes first as Adrian Belew provides soundscapes on his guitar (which Richard provides in live versions).
As for the loud part (first appearing at about 2:48), it’s easily the heaviest part of “Halo.” While remaining in the 17/16 time signature, Colin and Steven play a bottom-heavy riff that feels hypnotic in a twisted sense. Meanwhile, Gavin goes to town on his cymbals by cycling between three of them in rapid succession in a pattern that’s kept rhythmic through the foundation of snare and kick-pedal. This whole section straddles a line between coming across as cobbled-together and coming across as deliberately crafted. Probably nothing to get my brain in a tissy about since “Halo” serves as a jazz-like jam (especially true in live versions).
The second quiet section of the jam does leave one feeling a sense of build-up. And unlike some examples of build-up on Deadwing, this build-up results in something climactic. The second loud part of the jam provides the rhythmic backing for a guitar solo from Adrian Belew (live versions opt for a keyboard solo from Richard). It’s a guitar solo that’s even more technical than the one Adrian played on “Deadwing” in that it utilizes rapid and shredder-like strings of notes. Some of which seem achieved via fretboard tapping (probable given both Adrian’s presence in 80’s King Crimson and 80’s King Crimson’s penchant for instruments which encouraged fretboard tapping such as the Chapman Stick and the Warr Guitar). Regardless, it’s easy to see why live versions opted for Richard to play a keyboard solo—the complexity of this guitar solo exceeds Steven’s skill at guitar.
Following that guitar solo from Adrian Belew comes (at around 3:40) the third chorus. This time, there’s only three components at play. The first comes from Steven’s voice, which has been fed through a filter that makes it sound as if it were coming from a telephone. The second remains the folk-esque strumming pattern which Steven plays on his guitar. The third element’s played by Richard via a piano part which lends a sense of grandeur to the chorus that needed to be filled due to the absence of Gavin and Colin. After this third chorus, Colin and Gavin return to the song and the last half-minute marks a brief jam as an outro.
“Halo” marks a rarity in the Porcupine Tree catalog. Ordinarily, the factor which pushes a song by Porcupine Tree or Steven Wilson into greatness is the incredible lyrics. The lyrics to “Halo” are fairly surface-level by Steven’s standards. Instead, “Halo” lives and dies on the strength of the song’s instrumentation—especially that of Colin Edwin and Gavin Harrison, a rhythm section which doesn’t get the credit it deserves. This is far from my favorite song on Deadwing, but it’s definitely a song which serves as a bit of levity on an album which can delve into fairly serious subject matter. In that case, “Halo” can serve as a chaser for the maelstrom that’s dead ahead in the form of “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.”
“Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” (12:02)
The centerpiece of the album (at the exact midpoint of the track-listing), “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” is central to any interpretation of the Deadwing concept. Not just on a lyrical level, but on a musical level as well. The song’s also one of the most stirring pieces of music Steven Wilson’s written to date. Judging from the track-length of just over twelve minutes, “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” serves as the Deadwing album’s epic. However, the song’s music and the lyrics are so thoroughly intertwined with each other that touching upon them separately proves counterintuitive. “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” unites the urgency of “Deadwing,” the slow-burning tension of The Sky Moves Sideways, and the dynamic lushness of “Trains” in a heart-rending bow.
Lyrically, there’s no place for “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” in the Deadwing concept save the start. The reason being that “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” depicts how Elizabeth died as a human being. Additionally, various phrases of this song relate to lines from all eight of the other songs on Deadwing, rendering “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” a sort of skeleton key to the album.
The song commences at about 0:04 with a ghostly-slow tempo of 60 BPM and the first instruments which listeners hear stem from Richard’s array of keyboards, synths, and effects. There are at least two layers of sound coming from Richard, both setting an unnerving atmosphere. The first keyboard layer consists of off-kilter sustains which feel ice-cold while the second layer sounds like discordant electronic madness that defies description. Shortly after, some mild organ touches can be heard, which bumps the tempo to 80 BPM. That doesn’t necessarily mean that order’s inserted into “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” yet. Until a percussion effect which sounds like a ticking clock appears around 0:28, the song comes across as chaotic in the Miltonic sense—formless and overwhelming in its sparsity. But that comparison to a ticking clock brings up a motif of time which the ghost-story motif seems to defuse. After all, time’s arbitrary once you’re dead since ghosts don’t have to worry about time. However, the same motif also indicates that parts of this song are flashbacks.
A greater sense of order comes at about 0:53, where the rhythm section of Colin and Gavin arrive and make for a metrical oddity. See, “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” has run at a mid-tempo of 80 BPM for most of the first minute. Once the rhythm section enters, the song shifts to 160 BPM yet Richard keeps the same note lengths for his array of keyboards. Therefore, while playing simple parts—reverberating sustains for Colin and hi-hat taps for Gavin—the disparity in tempos creates a frantic, driving feel. Almost like the song constantly rushes towards a result that the atmosphere informs us that it won’t be pretty. That atmosphere continues to build at around 1:04, where a violin-esque instrument begins to play some rather discordant fills. At the same time, the song sounds more inviting than earlier since a form is slowly becoming visible. Kind of like Bass Communion’s “Drugged.”
In this slowly-building structure, an added surprise occurs at about 1:16 via Steven’s acoustic guitar solo. While sounding simple to play, it’s effective in establishing the gravitas at the core of “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.” The ending sustains mark a smooth transition into (at around 1:40) the guitar pattern which forms the bedrock of the verses. Gavin accompanies this pattern with a steady stream of hi-hats, but Colin completely disappears for a while. This absence leaves Steven’s clean-toned rhythm guitar pattern to take center-stage. While the pattern follows the same four-note rhythm, Steven’s prone to changing up the notes played in the pattern. The changes create a sense of unease that leave listeners in a prime mood for the verses to take hold.
This simmering boil of music definitely has an effect which allows “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” to have the slow-burning quality which it shared with material from The Sky Moves Sideways. In fact, these opening minutes function as a gradual shift from formless chaos to a stable center. It comes as nothing less than a relief once Steven’s shimmering clean-toned guitar melody appears at about 1:40.
As to the meaning of this long intro, there’s probably symbolic significance to the way “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” begins. Significance which applies to two perspectives: David and Elizabeth. In relating the intro to David, the slow start-up involves the act of recollecting the events which occur in the flashback in order to ask them to Elizabeth. But for Elizabeth, the song’s intro can possibly reflect the process of rebirth as a ghost. In fact, both apply to what occurs within “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.”
Once the sonic brew has built up, Steven finally delivers the first lyrics at about the two-minute mark.
Never stop the car on a drive in the dark. Never look for the truth in your mother's eyes. Never trust the sound of rain upon a river rushing through your ears. Arriving somewhere but not here.
The very first line—“Never stop the car on a drive in the dark”—tells us several details. The big ones being that someone’s in a car and that someone’s going to die. Yet perspective tells us a lot in Steven’s lyrics and these lines (along with the next two portions) are from David looking back at how Elizabeth died and how it changed him. But the language subjects that line to multiple angles. For instance, “Never stop the car” can describe the driving patterns of a drunk driver responsible for the accident. Additionally, “Never stop the car on a drive in the dark” can entail David telling these words to himself because Elizabeth did stop the car and David doesn’t want to end up sharing the same fate.
The line that follows—“Never look for the truth in your mother’s eyes”—registers as even more allusive due to the strained relations between David and his mother. The phrasing of that line suggests a betrayal, which refers to the attempted poisoning that the mom subjected David to in the screenplay. The results of such a betrayal were seen in “Lazarus,” since David not falling for the (possible) lies of the mom-ghost entail a lack of trust—a literal not looking “for the truth in your mother’s eyes.” The betrayal itself also suggests that the mom-ghost’s actions from “Lazarus” were—via the plea ingrained in ““My David, don’t you worry/This cold world is not for you””—motivated by a bunch of white lies.
So the moral ambiguity of the mom-ghost has further credence in the lyrics since this line implies that the mom-ghost still treated David like a child and tried to shield him from the horrible things in the world. Unfortunately, since mom died before David ever met Elizabeth (and wasn’t around when the accident occurred), she didn’t know that David’s heart had already hardened. This means that while the mom-ghost acted the way she thought was right in “Lazarus,” the events that transpired in David’s life while mom was out-of-the-loop morphed what used to be proper conduct into improper conduct.
Another method of reading the “Never look for the truth in your mother’s eyes” line comes via another difference between David and his mother: alive or dead. Under this lens, “the truth” in question is a truth that no living human can ever know: the answers to the questions of “What happens to a person’s existence after they die?” and “Which religion’s afterlife is valid?” and “Is there a God?” As much as I’ve suggested that the ghosts in Deadwing haven’t seen the afterlife before returning as ghosts, nothing in the album rejects that idea. In that case, David might not have looked “for the truth in your mother’s eyes” in “Lazarus” because he believes in the religion (not the fanaticism) of “Halo” and fears that knowing the answers to those questions may invalidate his faith. And since humans on Earth know nothing about what occurs to our existence after death, any belief must be tempered in some way. This applies to Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Scientology, Atheism, Old Norse, Shinto, or any other world religion. Because what if one lives their whole life believing in something only to find that the actual afterlife gives credence to a different belief system? Or if it gives credence to a belief system so out-there that it matches no religion practiced by humans? Or if it’s a religion that humans once practiced, but the society that practiced it died out? Or if it’s really a big nothing? While we’re alive, there’s no way of know the answer to any of that, so perhaps we’re better off enjoying life now and waiting until we’re dead to worry about that. I’d take it that any just deity wouldn’t take offense to a life well-spent as long as it doesn’t involve hurting people.
Jumping away from that metaphysical tangent, the third line—“Never trust the sound of rain upon a river rushing through your ears”—may be the most figurative in the quatrain. First, there’s alliteration in the way this line rolls off the tongue with the ‘r’ sounds of “rain,” “river” and “rushing” coming in quick succession. That quality mirrors a river flow via a poetic technique called ekphrasis (pronounced ‘eck-FRA-sis’). Ekphrasis describes something in a way that imitates how the thing is in reality. One notable example involves a description of swaying curtains on Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven” (shout-out to UE’s Dr. Mark Cirino) while another comes from the meter in Robert Frost’s “Birches” resembling birch branches swaying in the wind (shout-out to UE’s Rob Griffith). As to what the ekphrasis does in this instance, the imagery of a river flow provides a metaphor for the mind itself. Or more specifically, a literal stream symbolizes the stream of consciousness while giving an ekphrastic example of how both operate in an unrestrained manner. It’s important that David’s telling himself not to trust that ‘unrestrained’ quality of the mind because such a quality echoes acting on pure instinct instead of doing the logical thing. Perhaps David’s convinced himself that doing the irrational thing got Elizabeth killed.
The song’s refrain—“Arriving somewhere but not here”—warrants a note. First of all, where is ‘somewhere’ and ‘here’ in this line? One can assume “somewhere” pertains to an afterlife, but since the song leaves no answers, things are left to be implied. Additionally, “somewhere” can come across as what the afterlife’s like—meaning that “but not here” entails Elizabeth’s pre-conceived idea of the afterlife. A pre-conceived idea which didn’t match what the afterlife’s like. However, the “but not here” can just refer to the mortal world. In which case, David’s lamenting that Elizabeth died “on a drive in the dark” while en-route to his place.
While the second verse (beginning around 2:47) has the same basic pattern as that of the first, the presence of Richard playing a mellotron-esque sound lends an added degree of dread. Over that backdrop, Steven sings these lines:
Did you imagine the final sound as a gun? Or the smashing windscreen of a car? Did you ever imagine the last thing you'd hear as you're fading out was a song? Arriving somewhere but not here
The past tense implied by the “Did you imagine”/“Did you ever imagine” construction suggests that the perspective of everything prior to the change to electric (about 4:05) isn’t that of the lyrics beyond that point. However, the “you” may/may not pertain to someone who can hear these questions. That depends on whether one of the ghosts who sends the mom-ghost away at the end of “Lazarus” is Elizabeth. I choose to believe so since that clarifies the song’s second verse, but it also seems like Elizabeth hadn’t seen the afterlife before returning as a ghost.
As for what these lines mean, the list of various means of death reflect that most people don’t plan ahead while going through life. Sometimes, that’s out of necessity because overthinking often leads to nothing of value being accomplished. That reflex of not planning ahead results in the thought that each moment could easily serve as the last one of a person’s life. Just like we don’t know of what afterlife’s the real one or what happens after death, the way in which our own death will occur remains a mystery until the moment of demise. For all anyone knows, the moment of death can come tomorrow, several decades from now, or any time in between. It may just come randomly by gunshot, car accident, poisoning, stroke, cancer, heart attack, natural disaster, or a freak accident such as a lightning strike. Death’s a lottery with no way to even the odds because they’re already even—they seem unfair since there’s an utterly absurd amount of ways to die.
What follows—“Did you ever imagine the last thing you’d hear as you’re fading out was a song?”—provides a statement ascertainable on several levels. On a meta-textual level, a song does get referred to in the lyrics to “Mellotron Scratch” and a song does follow the five minutes of silence at the end of “Glass Arm Shattering.” But this one line reflects the ‘big nothing’ of Steven’s atheism coming through (in spite of David’s perspective) the most out of any on Deadwing. As for music being associated with death, that suggests that death’s still a part of life even though it ends a life. Additionally, this takes away some of the gravitas resulting from making death out to be an event. This is due to having something as common as music happening as the moment of death, which makes it seem as though death’s something humbling. Doubly so if the actual afterlife doesn’t end up matching one’s pre-conceived notions. As for death as a “fading out,” that also makes it seem common by linking it to a natural process. As such, death’s presented as a dissipation instead of an abrupt annihilation.
After the second use of the refrain, the first version of the chorus arrives at around 3:35. Here’s where Gavin, Colin, Richard, and Steven change up what’s played. To start with Colin, he plays an ascending set of scales on the higher frets of his bass. Gavin adds different types of cymbals into the mix such as ride cymbal and crash cymbal. Richard plays a quiet, almost indiscernible organ. But Steven exhibits the biggest change-up in that he plays a series of acoustic guitar chords instead of the rhythmic pattern of the verses. These instruments are the foundation for these lines by Steven:
All my designs, simplified. All of my plans, compromised. All of my dreams, sacrificed.
These lines are David presenting his honest thoughts on how it felt to lose Elizabeth in the car accident. To quantify things like “designs,” “plans,” and “dreams” with an amount such as “All” informs just how much David valued Elizabeth. Simply put, David had his ambitions for the future riding on him and Elizabeth staying around, working together, and living long and fulfilling lives. Therefore, Elizabeth’s death sent those ambitions crashing down like they were nothing.
The clever thing about this ‘chorus’ isn’t limited to illustrating David’s emotional trauma. The real brilliance comes from how that emotional trauma applies towards other lines in “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.” For instance, the presence of warnings, forebodings, and pity-mournings in the prior verses. However, the emotional trauma in this ‘chorus’ also links to other songs on Deadwing. Since the effects of such emotional trauma come about through three forms in earlier songs: the paranoia exhibited by David’s attempted escape in “Deadwing,” the inward solipsism of the isolation in “Shallow,” and the echo-chamber fanaticism which he also rejects in “Halo.” In fact, the herd mentality of religion can be read as a sign of David’s desperation to find a stable center to base his life around after losing Elizabeth.
As for Deadwing constituting a ‘ghost story,’ that’s shown here since “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” reveals how Elizabeth became a ghost. That leaves one to consider the nature Elizabeth’s ‘unfinished business.’ To which a listener can infer that Elizabeth’s ‘unfinished business’ boils down to rekindling the relationship she had with David. Whether that works out remains to be seen in Deadwing, but “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” and the end of “Lazarus” marks the first contact the two make following the fatal accident.
Once Steven finishes singing “All of my dreams, sacrificed,” Gavin hits a flam on his drums. By about 4:05, Steven plays an electric guitar solo while Colin and Gavin abruptly shift the song into a rhythm that’d make for a perfect ‘driving’ song (surprisingly, this comes without a change in tempo or time signature). This rhythmic pattern was exactly what I meant when I said that “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” has forward momentum. As for Steven’s guitar solo, it’s a tour-de-force and one of the best that he’s laid to tape. While Steven’s not a technical guitar player, moments like the guitar solo in “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” show that there’s more to guitar playing than how many notes you can play in a brief amount of time. Just listening to the otherworldly string bends and graceful scale runs proves that how techniques are used matters more than having technical skill.
As for what this section means in terms of “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” and the Deadwing concept, the transition between acoustic to electric signals a shift in voice—from calm to interrogatory since David’s desperate to get to the bottom of what happened regarding the accident. That shift in voice informs how one interprets the verse after Steven’s guitar solo ends (around 4:53). As for the sound of the verses itself, it marries the forward momentum of Colin and Gavin’s hard-driving rhythm section to both the airy synths of Richard’s and the shimmering acoustic pattern of prior verses. That driving rhythm being added to everything fosters a sense of urgency to these lines which Steven spits out:
Ever had the feeling you've been here before? Drinking down the poison the way you were taught. Ever thought from here on in your life begins and all you knew was wrong? Arriving somewhere but not here.
As previously mentioned, the switch from acoustic to electric at about 4:05 marked a change in voice. While previous verses of “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” were from the viewpoint of David after the accident, these lines are told via flashback from a third-person omniscient viewpoint. Using that viewpoint, these lines regard vague recollections of the moment of Elizabeth’s mortal demise. Alternatively, David could still be questioning Elizabeth about the whole experience.
To start with “Ever had the feeling you’ve been here before?,” there’s no question that Elizabeth’s the ‘you’ in this situation. This line provides a reason why this can’t directly constitute a flashback to the moments leading to the fatal accident. The reason being the direct address of ‘you.’ As for “been here before,” this comes down to speculating that David’s taken Elizabeth’s ghost to the scene of where the accident occurred. Which leads one to consider why David does this: to jog Elizabeth’s memory. This raises a notion that when ghosts in Deadwing have only recently returned (as in the case of Elizabeth), the memories of their mortal existence arrive slowly. In a sense, that makes for a second case of infantile amnesia which imbues this with an additional sense of rebirth. What matters about David taking Elizabeth’s ghost here is that it motivates her to parse together a coherent narrative regarding the accident itself.
The next line—“Drinking down the poison the way you were taught.”—contains wording which invokes similar connotations (if coming from David) to that of the “Never look for the truth in your mother’s eyes” line from the first verse. Which entails that the memories associated with David’s mother are still fresh with him following the events of “Lazarus.” In fact, that jiggering may have motivated David into doing the same with Elizabeth and the scene of the accident. As to what the line itself means, it suggests that when Elizabeth’s accident occurred, she was only acting according to the protocol she’d been fed for her whole life. This seems to suggest that Elizabeth’s death provides an example of what people consider morally just ending up backfiring. While the song doesn’t specify the nature of the accident, the song’s second verse leaves two possibilities in the phrases “the final sound as a gun” and “smashing windscreen of a car.” The latter’s obviously a car wreck, but the motif of just morality backfiring allows for this to entail that her car was being driven by a designated driver at the time of the wreck. As for “the final sound as a gun,” that suggests that Elizabeth tried to pull off the road in an attempt to help somebody only for the person to shoot her. The lack of specific details also permits this to connote that any gun-based accident could’ve been what killed Elizabeth—perhaps even while she was driving.
The last major line—“Ever thought from here on in your life begins and all you knew was wrong?”—suggests that whether an accident or a shooting killed Elizabeth matters less than two facts. Those facts being that she’s dead and that she died while doing what society deems the right thing. That last part directly relates to the phrasing of “all you knew was wrong” and also entails that the world—either deliberately or due to the disorderly randomness of reality—punishes those who do the right thing. A perverse take on the age-old ‘only the good die young’ motif, but there’s something else going on within this line. That something else comes from the philosophical and metaphysical arguments which David raises via “Ever thought from here on in your life begins.” Given that David’s speaking these words to a ghost, this entails that not only do the physical limitations of humans not apply to ghosts, but ghosts can also have a different set of moral rules. That notion speaks volumes about how the experience of dying and returning as a ghost allows one to survey the world around them in ways that a person seldom can in modern-day mortal existence. That an honest look can foster a moral code different from the one programmed by society suggests that our societal structures are inadequate. That Elizabeth’s a woman invokes the inescapable idea that part of those inadequate societal structures are those which perpetuate systemic sexism. And while Deadwing never mentions the ethnicity of these characters, if one decided that Elizabeth’s black, then society’s also inadequate due to the forces which perpetuate systemic racism. Ditto to notions of class or of sexuality (for all we know, either one of the characters or both could be bisexual/pansexual/queer since the album leaves that open).
The refrain of “Arriving somewhere but not here” may use the same five words as before, but it carries a connotation which was absent prior to now. That connotation involves Elizabeth’s spectral form and the aforementioned notion of her mind being fuzzy due to being a fairly-new spirit. This entails that part of Elizabeth returned wrong and that some part of her did die in the accident—a part which no resurrection could restore. As to the nature of that part, that’s left unsaid but shouldn’t be a grand mystery in the song’s context.
While the second variant of the chorus (appearing at around 5:41) might appear the same as the first when listening to the song for the first time, there are a couple of curious things about it which make it worth looking over:
All my designs, simplified. And all of my plans, compromised. All of my dreams...
The context of this section makes these familiar lines take on an intensified significance than the last time. The most significant difference relates to the incomplete “All of my dreams…,” which lacks the “sacrificed” from the previous chorus. The incomplete quality has been perceived as a metrical failing on the part of the band, but I don’t think it’s a flub on Steven’s part—I think the cut-off chorus is deliberate due to the next section. Therefore, the cut-off chorus marks the moment where the song shifts perspective. Now, the song—by instrumentation alone—conveys a flashback of the scene of the accident. The abrupt quality of the cut-off itself, however, represents the fact that death can arrive when one least expects it.
The immediate transition from that abrupt cut-off at about 6:11 involves the band completely dropping off except for a quiet-sounding riff on the part of Steven, a steady stream of hi-hats from Gavin, and eerie synth effects from Richard. The last one sounds a little like muffled screeching. One can almost visualize someone driving while dreary-looking skies (linking to the “rain upon a river rushing through your ears”) are in abundance. This creates a sense that something will soon go wrong, but things are manageable at the moment.
That feeling proves short-lived thanks to the jagged-sounding electric guitar appearing (at first) on its own. But at around 6:36, the rest of the band enters and the urgency of the situation immediately kicks up several notches—both by the suddenness of the band’s entry and by the go-for-the-throat quality of the instrumentation. Indeed, that there are riffs being spit out by three guitarists—Steven Wilson, touring guitarist John Wesley, and Mikael Akerfeldt—adds a sense of being overwhelmed by force of the riffs. It’s a small miracle that Colin’s bass isn’t completely drowned out by all this, but playing in the higher registers of his instrument allows him to cut through the bottom-heavy guitars as if they’re butter. Richard stays mostly absent from things for a while, but since his presence among such pummeling guitars would lead to a sense of ‘too many cooks in the kitchen,’ that’s a blessing in disguise. Gavin remains a time-keeping and feel-oriented drumming machine in this section. In fact, the propensity for fills which Gavin exercises on tracks such as “Halo,” “The Creator Has A Mastertape,” “Way Out of Here,” and “Anesthetize” remains largely absent in “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.” Instead, Gavin’s drumming on this song emphasizes an atomic-level precision towards maintaining the driving rhythm throughout all the sonic changes which the song undergoes. Such a driving rhythm in this instrumental section speeds the song further and further towards the horrific climax.
After playing around with that riff for a bit, another riff arrives at about 6:59 and this one’s heavier than the last. In fact, it’s likely the heaviest one on Deadwing and the fact that it’s three guitarists playing bottom-heavy chords in unison plays a large part in attaining that heaviness. It also allows the three guitarists to weave in-and-out of that riff so long as one of them continues to hold down the fort. But in-between cycles of that riff, there’s a higher-pitched lick of notes that also gets copied by Colin. At this point, Gavin’s drumming boils down to a snare/hi-hat hit followed by a kick-pedal—rinse, lather, and repeat. Even with a variant of the riff that’s played on higher parts of the neck, there’s a sense that this riff comes close to overstaying its welcome. Richard does come in with a synth pad (at around 7:13) which gives off a sound akin to that of a swishing windshield wiper, but that sound has the bonus of adding to the stew of anxiety that Elizabeth doubtless feels in this situation.
Another shift in the rhythmic pattern appears at about 7:47—a set of ascending scales which Steven and Colin play in perfect harmony. During this, Gavin’s drumming remains as unyielding as ever, which is a good thing because the layers and layers of guitar riffs almost overwhelms the listener. While the harmonized guitar/bass pattern appears most prominently in the mix, a careful listener can also hear a return of the riff which originally appeared at around 6:36 in the song—albeit faintly. That faint echo of an earlier musical passage informs the significance of this part of the song in that the only chance to get away (as represented by the faintness of the earlier riff) becomes more-and-more unlikely since the propulsive harmony riff and Gavin’s drumming point more to the future.
Following the presence of a furious drum fill from Gavin (at around 8:11), the song returns to the verse rhythm at about 8:12. But it’s not the same as before. Now, there’s. Colin also gets his incredible moment to shine here due to the bass solo (at around 8:33) played at the highest parts of his bass. This entire section undoubtedly serve as the song’s climax and represents the in-slow-motion second or two before the instant of impact. And then the abrupt stop marks the instant of one car crashing into the other. As for the presence of the verse rhythm, think of the words spewed in this song’s verses and how the specter of death hangs over the song like a cloud. The reprisal carries thematic weight given the song’s focus on death, but the subtle difference between that pattern’s appearance here and in the verses themselves indicate an emphasis on an imperfect sense of memory. That notion is something reinforced by the lyric “Ever had the feeling you’ve been here before?” from an earlier verse of the song.
After that hefty build-up, the song stops (at about 8:47) right as the tension feels uncomfortably close to the breaking point. For a span of roughly six seconds (roughly 8:47 to around 8:53), the song. Once the combination of a looping drum machine rhythm and a Spanish-style guitar solo (played by Opeth’s Mikael Akerfeldt). As to what this section marks, I can’t help but think that the accident wasn’t an instantaneous death for Elizabeth but that she tried to cling onto life for a little bit. Because what this section sounds like—thanks to Mikael’s somber-sounding guitar solo and the drum machine sounding like something far-off in the distance—is Elizabeth’s efforts to cling onto life before expiring. Just Mikael’s last note (at about 9:40)—a smooth-as-butter sustain matched by Richard’s piano chords—evokes the image of Elizabeth’s hand falling limp at the moment of death. So much so that the only way this could be more blatant was if the song used the sound-effect of an EEG.
After a small break of nothing but the drum loop and Richard’s keyboards, the song suddenly shifts (at around 9:47) back to the ‘driving’ rhythm from the second verse. This time, Steven shifts perspective back to David in the present-day for the last lyrics of the song:
Did you see the red mist block your path? Did the scissors cut a way to your heart? Did you feel the envy for the sons of mothers tearing you apart? Arriving somewhere but not here.
In the case of these lyrics, they aren’t as strongly metaphorical as those of the prior verses. Instead, they’re highly poetic language used to describe something pretty graphic. For instance, the first line of this verse—“Did you see the red mist block your path?”—refers to blood as “red mist,” but that’s not the whole story. To say that blood blocked “your path” suggests a number of things in relation to the fact that David’s asking this question to a ghost who died a bloody demise in her mortal existence. First, there’s the notion that Elizabeth bled so much that there was no way she’d pull through her injuries, making “block your path” refer either to the steps one takes to stay alive or to the coping mechanisms one constructs to make themselves think everything’s going to be alright. Another meaning of this phrase suggests that upon seeing so much blood, Elizabeth begrudgingly accepted that she’s at death’s door and that nothing could save her. Therefore, she wanted to get it over with, but with the “path” mentioned here being death, the physical limitations of the rate of blood flow meant that death—while guaranteed to come—couldn’t come any faster. In a sense, both of these meanings can simultaneously be at play for Elizabeth at that moment in time.
Especially with the following line: “Did the scissors cut a way to your heart?” This line offers a disquieting idea by suggesting that Elizabeth was found in the wreckage clinging onto life. There’s the possibility that in asking this, David doesn’t know whether or not Elizabeth was found alive or dead and he’s asking just to make sure. This is ignoring that Elizabeth has demonstrated an imperfect memory of events relating to the accident. But to assume that David does know that Elizabeth was found alive in the wreckage, the “scissors” mentioned in this line can’t refer to anything else besides surgical equipment. Come to think of it, this line can work regardless of whether or not Elizabeth was found alive or dead. If she was found alive, the “scissors” work frantically in a failed attempt to save Elizabeth’s life. If she was found dead, the “scissors” stand in for the tools that a coroner would use for an autopsy or for removing organs if Elizabeth was an organ donor. Either way, these “scissors” are burrowing into the core of Elizabeth’s mortal life in order to do the best that they can—either to restore her to health or to make her corpse presentable for any funerary rites.
However, the last new line of the song—“Did you feel the envy for the sons of mothers tearing you apart?”—extends that train of thought while offering the richest blend of meanings in this entire verse. How this line links to the “scissors” of the last line via “tearing you apart” boils down to David asking Elizabeth what she felt about other people at the moment of her death. In a way, that’s like asking what the experience of dying does to one’s own thoughts once you know that your time is up. That these “sons of mothers” which tore Elizabeth apart in a failed bid to save her points out how people can continue to do futile things yet not learn from them—a lesson which proves especially true given that these lines entail that Elizabeth knew that there was no way to save her. That Elizabeth envies this quality implies that until one arrives at the verge of death, humans are blissfully ignorant as to what death’s truly like. Even the experience of having someone close to you die (whether suddenly or over a gradual decline) measures nothing compared to the experience of death itself, especially if death is certain. Of course, the “envy” in this line carries another meaning: that Elizabeth envies that they get to keep on living while she knows she’s going to die. Of importance at this point is that while Elizabeth knows she’s going to die, she doesn’t know about her future as a ghost. This makes the sense of cessation attached to death hit her harder than it would if she knew of her rebirth as a ghost.
Right as Steven belts out the last “here” (at about 10:29), a couple of new guitar patterns emerge while the familiar rhythm section of Colin and Gavin continue to chug along. The first guitar pattern consist of a two-measure pattern of eighth note arpeggios which repeat over-and-over as the song plays out. The second guitar pattern consists of high-pitched sustains which sound light-as-a-feather in the mix as they seem to glide over the forward momentum of the rhythm section. During all of this, Richard plays a variety of mood-setting synth effects until the song eventually ends up fading out. That the only song in the Porcupine Tree discography to end with a radio-style fade-out happens to contain the lyric “Did you ever imagine the last thing you’d hear as you’re fading out was a song” smacks of irony but also points to this decision being deliberate. Regardless of whether the outro marks another instrumental-based shift of perspective doesn’t matter because the fade-out effect still works in conjunction with “Mellotron Scratch,” the next song on Deadwing. This owes itself to “Mellotron Scratch” taking place in the past, but from the perspective of David in the immediate aftermath of the accident.
As a standalone song, “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” sounds incredible in how it’s a constant crescendo whose use of tension builds the song’s momentum like a rolling snowball. As the centerpiece of Deadwing, “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” becomes a transcendent masterpiece that would constitute the magnum opus of any other band’s career. From the immense attention to detail embedded in Steven’s lyrics, his vocal delivery, his (as well as Mikael Akerfeldt’s and John Wesley’s) guitar work, Colin’s crisp bass lines, Gavin’s restrained and rock-steady drumming, and Richard’s impeccable sense of adding texture through his array of keyboards, it’s clear that “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” ends up creating something greater than the sum of its parts.
It’s truly a testament to Steven Wilson’s songwriting that Porcupine Tree and his solo material yield a handful of gems that match and/or surpass this behemoth of a song. Because there are scant few bands—even within the progressive rock/metal genres—who have had even one epic-length composition which matches the detail and care that “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” exhibits. Most of the ones that do—such as Rush, Genesis, Dream Theater, Emerson Lake & Palmer, Pink Floyd, King Crimson, and Yes—are either innovators (Rush, Dream Theater) or among the genres godfathers. That Steven managed to create something which matched some of the peak material of those bands—most of which he grew up listening to—illustrates the incredible leaps and bounds that Steven’s grown since his humble beginnings back in Altamont and Karma. In fact, it is the one song so far which demonstrates that growth the strongest. Even compared to astonishing pieces of music such as “Shesmovedon,” “Russia On Ice,” “Trains,” “Drugged,” “Piano Lessons,” “Heartattack In A Layby,” “Dark Matter,” “The Sky Moves Sideways,” and “Even Less,” “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” manages to stand above the pack as possibly the greatest song that Steven had written up to that point. And that’s due to both the enigmatic lyrics as well as the sheer control Steven exhibits as bandleader, the latter trait being something which he’ll exercise to greater effect during his solo career.
For “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here,” there’s no reason to suggest that Steven lacks anything to make it as a musician in any way that he sees fit. Now, it’s more a matter of what Steven decides to apply his efforts towards.
“Mellotron Scratch” (6:57)
While “Mellotron Scratch” doesn’t compare to “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here,” the song doesn’t need to. Where “Mellotron Scratch” succeeds is in simmering down the tension after “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.” In fact, this and “Lazarus” are two of the most relaxed sounding songs on Deadwing. But relaxed doesn’t mean boring. Especially once the song reaches the song’s outro, which provides Steven’s best vocal harmonies on the entire album.
The choice of words which Steven uses for the first verse make this very clear where “Mellotron Scratch” occurs chronologically:
A tiny flame inside my hand. A compromise I never planned. Unravel out the finer strands.
While the first line of the song doesn’t offer the clues of the song’s chronological position, “A tiny flame inside my hand” remains a curious line due to the fact that it’s ripped right from the excerpted passage of Deadwing film script which was made publically available. In the context of the script, the line of scene description applies towards a disheveled vagrant. The end of this song implies that David’s the vagrant, but that leaves the listener to wonder what drove David to vagrancy to begin with. As for that, one needs a look at the ending lyrics.
In regards to the next line—“A compromise I never planned”—, one ends up knowing where the song occurs in terms of chronology. The wording of “compromise” that mirrors the “All of my plans, compromised” from “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” indicates that “Mellotron Scratch” follows David’s perspective in the immediate aftermath of Elizabeth’s fatal accident. But the wording of “never planned” reflects sentiments raised by the chorus of “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.” Namely, the idea that David had his future banking on a happy life with Elizabeth and didn’t expect her to die. A depressing thought only made more so by the notion that David had to readjust his plan for the future because of these plans getting dashed. Especially given that songs in the album’s first half (such as “Shallow” and “Halo”) indicate that David struggled—if not outright failed—at doing so. While Elizabeth’s return in the “Lazarus”/“Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” song sequence may seem like something that’d be hunky-dory for David, songs such as this, “Shallow,” “Deadwing,” and “Halo” suggest that the damage inflicted by Elizabeth’s death has already been done.
The verse’s last line—“Unravel out the finer strands”—gives an imagistic look at the event which just hit David hard. By giving the image of the unravelling of “finer strands,” the notion of Elizabeth constituting the ‘better half’ of the relationship comes into play. However, another way of looking at the line means that the “finer strands” are the good times of David’s life which were spent with Elizabeth, making the unravelling connote a taking-away. Additionally, the “finer strands” which are unraveled could also serve as David’s mental outlook at things during those days, rendering the trauma of losing his beloved in a car accident into something which permanently darkens his worldview.
The following lines operate as a ‘pre-chorus’ or a refrain of sorts:
And I'm looking at a blank page now. Should I fill it up with words somehow?
This first line of “And I’m looking at a blank page now” reflects David’s troubles in adjusting to a life where he can live without Elizabeth. That’s due to the abruptness of her demise and to the dependency on the plans which the two of them had made for the future. Therefore, this “blank page” constitutes both a new opportunity and a rueful admittance that the planned future and the planned dreams died with Elizabeth. That Steven sings this in a detached manner which won’t tug at one’s heartstrings also warrants discussion since it mirrors the emotionally-deadened state which David feels at this point.
That emotional deadness informs how one interprets the next line of “Should I fill it up with words somehow?” in the sense that David’s completely apathetic about any future without Elizabeth. Especially poignant given how fresh the sting of grief has to be at this point of the Deadwing chronology. But this line also points to how minute details such as punctuation matter in analyzing these lyrics because of the question mark at the end of this particular line. That question boils down to David wondering if it’s worth it to start over or whether he should just waste away. Which presents evidence of just how deeply David’s problems run with the trauma of this loss and with the childhood attempt on his life.
A smaller second verse is crooned by Steven:
I whispered something in her ear. I bare my soul, but she don't hear.
The first part of this—“I whispered something in her ear”—remains questionable whether the line should be taken as literal. Because that entails that these early verses involve David discovering Elizabeth’s body in the wreckage, which contradicts the hospital-based imagery of the final verse of “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.” Alternatively, this could take place at Elizabeth’s funeral (presumably with an open-casket). If the former possibility proves true, then David’s questions at the end of “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” are an act of emotional manipulation because he’s asking Elizabeth to remember memories that didn’t happen. I’d like to think the latter possibility of the funeral setting is what’s being depicted because although David’s not without his share of character flaws, he’s not depicted as deliberately harming other people in the Deadwing narrative.
The second part of the verse—“I bare my soul, but she don’t hear”—extends from that of the first, but makes this sadder. Think of it this way: David’s had things bottled up since the accident and chooses to let things out to Elizabeth’s corpse at the funeral. But it’s not like she could comfort him like she could when she was alive. And for all David knows, Elizabeth’s not coming back as a ghost.
The chorus of “Mellotron Scratch” are sung by Steven as such:
The scratching of a mellotron, It always seemed to make her cry. Well, maybe she remembers us Collecting space up in the sky.
The first couple lines of this—“The scratching of a mellotron/It always seemed to make her cry”—have some things to tackle. First of all, the name-dropping of the mellotron can serve as Steven paying homage to the progressive rock forefathers who inspired him as a kid (The Moody Blues, King Crimson, and Genesis all frequently used this instrument) and to The Beatles. But to describe the sounds as a ‘scratch’ remains a curious lyrical choice since one doesn’t think of keyboard instruments being played via scratching them nor does a mellotron sound ‘scratchy’ in tone. Therefore, I’m thinking that “It always seemed to make her cry” refers to a bout of childhood mischief that may or may not have involved David breaking a mellotron. As to why David remembers this at this moment, I don’t know for sure and can suspect that the funeral organ might’ve jiggered David’s mind to think back to the memory involving the mellotron.
The last two lines—“Well, maybe she remembers us/Collecting space up in the sky”—aren’t exempt from analysis. Remember how I said that David doesn’t know of either the existence of ghosts or that of the afterlife? There’s a sense of that in “Collecting space up in the sky,” which acts as David hoping Elizabeth’s in Heaven, presumably focusing on memories just as David’s doing here. At this point, that appears that’s all David has left to hope for given how apathetic he’s become towards all other aspects of life following Elizabeth’s demise.
During the chorus, the harmony vocals sing these lines (albeit buried in the mix so that you have to really listen for it):
Nothing rises from my feet of clay, but it's OK Red mist spreads across my fingertips, ardor slips.
The first line of this—“Nothing rises from my feet of clay, but it’s OK”—has two bits of things to elaborate upon: the “feet of clay” and David telling himself that things are “OK.” To say that “Nothing rises from my feet of clay” forms a tight metaphor with a link to the mythological creation of man from clay. In blending that link into this line, “clay” becomes a synonym for ‘human.’ Therefore, the sentiment of “Nothing rises from my feet of clay” proves one of not only hopelessness, but of humanity’s powerlessness towards preventing terrible things from happening. That David follows up that bit of emotional self-abuse by telling himself that things are “OK” isn’t without significance. Namely since it can constitute a display of false reassurance, but also a reminder that things such as death are part of the natural cycle of life.
The second part of this—“Red mist spreads across my fingertips, ardor slips”—carries loaded implications as well. First, there’s the recurrence of the “Red mist” imagery from “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here,” which can stand for blood, but blood in several possible contexts. Some of those contexts are the blood-flow in one’s body that keeps a person alive, a possible imagining of the spilling of Elizabeth’s blood in the accident (probably PTSD for David), and connections to libido/erections. That last connotation isn’t altogether far-fetched in the context of “ardor slips.” When looking up a definition of ‘ardor,’ one finds it to mean ‘enthusiasm or passion.’ This connotes that with Elizabeth’s death, David’s lost passion not just for the love of a person, but for the love of life. In fact, it’s more so the latter than the former, especially considering that the lyrics of “Open Car”—the very next song on Deadwing—are those of a straight-up sex song.
A third verse comes in a low-key manner from Steven and contains these lines:
I lay her gently on my clothes. She will leave me yes I know.
The first line of this—“I lay her gently on my clothes”—becomes confusing in the context that this (like the rest of “Mellotron Scratch”) takes place after Elizabeth’s death, not during Elizabeth’s dying moment. One way to read this particular line entails that David’s about to commit necrophilia, but that’d be out-of-character for David. A more accurate reading suggests that these lines are another memory. This memory goes back to funeral preparations and implies that Elizabeth was buried wearing at least one article-of-clothing that belonged to David. Which makes the next line—“She will leave me yes I know”—a self-explanatory reference to the actual burial that also conveys David’s unawareness that Elizabeth will return as a ghost.
While the second chorus utters the same lines as before, another layer of harmony vocals belts these lines:
(Don't look at me with your mother's eyes or your killer smile. Sing a lullaby)
Admittedly, the line of “Don’t look at me with your mother’s eyes or your killer smile” comes off as a pretty tricky line since it has three elements to parse: “Don’t look at me,” “with your mother’s eyes,” and “your killer smile.” At first glance, one would think that “Don’t look at me” connects smoothly with “with your mother’s eyes” due to both the conjunction ‘with’ and due to the similarity to “Never look for the truth in your mother’s eyes,” the second line from “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.” But the “Don’t look at me” portion—an affirmative command—conveys something on its own worth exploring. What it conveys boils down to the inner thoughts of David in the crowd of the funeral—all these people are nothing compared to the light that Elizabeth gave him. However, that ‘light’ has—in this song and especially by the time of “Start of Something Beautiful”—become over-inflated and warped in David’s mind to the point where the imagination doesn’t match the reality.
To connect the thoughts entailed by that harsh command with “with your mother’s eyes” does invoke the connotations of the second line from “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.” Likewise, “your killer smile” invokes the implications about David’s mother which provide added context towards “Lazarus.” But to connect both of those to “Don’t look at me” suggests something else entirely about David’s state-of-mind in his grief. That suggestion’s one of self-centeredness to the point that his viewpoint—complete with mother that tried to kill him—remains the only one which David can see. A consequence of that is that David likely now assumes that everyone’s had an instance of trauma as a proverbial ‘skeleton in the closet.’ That full command to not “look at me with your mother’s eyes or your killer smile” suggests that looking at David in that way results in David having traumatic flashbacks to two events: when his mother tried to kill him and with Elizabeth’s death.
Given these lines are spoken in conjunction with the chorus, that makes “Sing a lullaby” much easier to parse. The lullaby very well could be played on a mellotron, but the setting of a funeral and the presence of an organ at funerals gives this an added layer of symbolism. That symbolism could only be conjured up while knowing the eerie and funereal effect that the sound of a mellotron often evokes in the music of the progressive rock pioneers which used it. The song with evokes this sense the strongest would have to be either “Epitaph” or “The Court of the Crimson King” (both by King Crimson) due to how the mellotron makes the atmosphere noticeably chillier than if the instrument were removed. That chilliness is invoked in “Sing a lullaby” because the mellotron’s musical effect provides a similarity to the effect that Elizabeth’s death has had on David’s emotional state.
The greatest vocal moment from Steven on “Mellotron Scratch” (and one of the best on Deadwing) comes right at the end of the song. This outro has three layers of Steven Wilson’s voice singing three separate phrases as part of a vocal tapestry where Steven’s vocals weave in-and-out of each other:
Don’t look back into black.
Don’t let the memory of the sound drag you down.
(To end as friends
So painful.)
(Don’t look down,
Shut it down.)
These may serve as basic phrases, but each of them are spoken with distinct character. However, the perspective of these lines are that of David’s internal mind. The “Don’t look back into black./Don’t let the memory of the sound drag you down” part coming across in a conversational pace, the “To end as friends/So painful” harmony line gets crooned in with sustains, and the “Don’t look down,/Shut it down” layer comes in staccato three-syllable fragments. But each of them carry importance as to what the outro (and the song) means.
The first layer of vocals—“Don’t look back into black./Don’t let the memory of the sound drag you down”—also serves as the most-commonly heard of the three layers. That this comes across more prominently in the mix than the other layers isn’t insignificant since the crux of the outro’s meaning can be derived from this layer while added context can come from the other two. As for what the layer means, one should start with the command of “Don’t look back into black” and ponder what the “black” refers to. While one could suggest that “black” refers to David’s traumatic memories themselves, a more accurate guess entails that “black” stands in for the emotional misery that results from lingering onto those memories. Making this an invitation to let go.
Regarding “Don’t let the memory of the sound drag you down,” that’s a phrase which deepens the brew of meaning that “Don’t look back into black” touch upon. The key point of emphasis lies in “the memory of the sound,” a wording which calls us to refer back to memories related to the mellotron mentioned in the song’s chorus. While that may have been a happy memory, the loss of Elizabeth has tainted that memory for David. However, the verb “let” isn’t devoid of meaning since it implies that David can power through the trauma which he’s suffering. As the state of David’s life in songs such as “Open Car,” “Shallow,” “Deadwing,” and “Halo” reveal, that’s not necessarily how that works.
The next layer—“To end as friends/So painful”—contains some deceptive wording with some rather unfortunate implications when taken out-of-context. Out-of-context, this layer’s lyrics appear as a disappointed man’s lament at ‘the friendzone.’ In the context of David losing Elizabeth in a car accident, it comes off as something different by implying that a friendship transcends the separation between life and death. Additionally, this wording also evokes part of a marriage vow (the ‘from death till you part’), illustrating just how close David and Elizabeth were.
The final layer—a direct “Don’t look down,/Shut it down”—conveys something fragmented yet necessary. While “Don’t look down” refers to “Don’t look back into black,” the “Shut it down” part’s staccato delivery entails something new. The three-syllables that make up the quick delivery “Shut it down” make it seem as if it’s a mental command to David and “Don’t look down” is probably also a mental command. The nature of this simplification makes it feel like a mechanical process to stand in for how the mind works. Or more accurately, how David wishes the mind works because the limitless potential of the human mind isn’t something which can be simplified to the extent which these terse staccato phrases suggest. That fallacy entails that while “Mellotron Scratch” ends on a note of hope for the future (David recovers by moving away from the place he lived with Elizabeth, becoming a temporary hermit, and living somewhere else), the events of other songs on Deadwing show us that reality kicks David’s ass hard.
The music of “Mellotron Scratch” kicks off at around 0:04 at a slow tempo of 75 BPM. At the very beginning, Steven’s guitar—with a crystalline tone—remains alone in the mix as it plays a figure that adds as much atmosphere to the song as one of Richard’s keyboard parts. It’s a downright soothing pattern on guitar that recurs throughout the song. But the song soon introduces (at about 0:16) another rhythmic pattern, this time joined a drum machine (one can tell from the snare that it’s not Gavin playing live drums). This guitar pattern—which has a mild hard-rock edge while remaining as soft as the intro—serves as the basis for the pre-chorus sections of the song. And there, it has a mild bite which compliments the sentiments of the lyrics rather well. Here, it functions to ease the listener in before it leads to the verse—a dual set of functions which renders the soft-yet-hard tone of the guitar necessary.
The song begins in earnest (at around 0:40) with the arrival of the first verse, which opts for the crystalline intro guitar pattern as a rhythmic backbone. Meanwhile, the drum machine still chugs along—possibly representing the strength that obsession has on David’s mind at this point. What the verse adds in order to back Steven’s lyrics comes from Richard’s keyboards (evoking a woodwind instrument) and Colin’s bass. Even though both play repetitive patterns of measure-long sustains that switch between two notes, their presence provides shades of color through the tones of their instruments. All the while, Steven delivers his lyrics in a harmonious voice which glides over the overall sound.
Even if the pre-chorus (starting at about 1:09) uses the guitar pattern (and drum machine) from around 0:16 as a basis, this doesn’t serve as a 1:1 replica of that section. The presence of Colin and Richard alone—despite them just playing sustains in rhythm to the chords—imbues this with a fuller sound than before. But it’s Steven’s delivery of the lyrics which warrant mention thanks to the filter placed on his voice. That filter makes Steven’s voice sound muffled in the mix, but that’s likely deliberate. Especially given the connotations of hopelessness entailed by the lyrics in this passage, there’s evidence that the muffled sound of Steven’s voice reflects something that David wants to hide. This means that the latent ‘hard-rock’ tone of the guitar figure mirrors a sense of mild self-loathing that David feels for himself.
Apart from an additional keyboard part from Richard, the second verse remains unchanged from the first. However, the song seamlessly transitions (at about 1:56) into the first chorus. At this point, Gavin finally enters with live drums (playing ride cymbal) while machine-drums continue to play the kick-pedal and snare pattern from earlier. Colin and Steven end up playing measure-long sustains at the same root-note progression, but with the difference being that Steven’s playing chords on an acoustic guitar. Richard follows suit on piano, but he doesn’t follow Colin and Steven fully. The facet which pushes this chorus to a higher level than anything in the song up to this point comes from Steven’s voice and the layers of harmonies he stacks upon his own lead vocal. It’s something which stands on the verge of overwhelming listeners once a harmony vocal starts singing lyrics which Steven’s lead vocal isn’t singing, but every voice in this studio-made ‘choir of Stevens’ remains crystal-clear in the mix.
Apart from some slide-guitar in the second pre-chorus, the next verse/pre-chorus/chorus unit consists of near-identical instrumentation to that of before. The song does take a turn at around 4:19, where the opening guitar pattern is audible on its, but it’s being played on piano by Richard for a few measures until he allows the last sustain to carry on for a bit. Only for (at about 4:33) a shimmering-sounding electric guitar (matched by an acoustic playing the same riff simultaneously) from Steven to split the song wide-open. This marks David at a point of crisis in his mind thanks to the grief that’s ravaging his life thanks to his inability to deal with it healthily. That much comes clear from the aggressive tone of the electric guitar, but the propulsive drumming of a full-force Gavin suggests that it’s coming soon—David can’t put off making a critical choice any longer. As to the nature of that choice, that’s something which the ending lyrics make clear. While this section involves Richard sitting out, Colin does come along with a bassline that constantly moves forward with a driving rhythm which goes up and down the neck.
This rhythmic pattern comes to a head (at around 4:59) via a highly-unorthodox guitar solo from Steven Wilson. Although barely ten seconds long, this guitar solo evokes comparisons to previous atonal solos in the band’s catalog. Two examples include “This Is No Rehearsal” and “Gravity Eyelids.” Both of which reflected the ugliness at the heart of both those songs. But in the case of “Mellotron Scratch,” the ugliness is one that’s not universal. Instead, the ugliness in question marks the unenviable decision that David feels forced to make due to the grief that builds up in his mind in the wake of Elizabeth’s death. As a matter of fact, the solo can very well mark the decision itself and the atonal quality reflects the listener’s knowledge that David’s decision won’t end well—as can already be seen from the songs on the first half of Deadwing.
The guitar solo abruptly cuts off and smash-cuts (at about 5:09) into a new rhythmic pattern. This time, it’s a set of eighth-note arpeggiated triads that are simultaneously played on Steven’s clean-toned guitar and Richard’s keyboards. All the while, some droning sustains are ascertainable from Steven’s electric guitar overdubs. Gavin’s steady drumbeat—made up of a tired-but-true combination of ride-cymbal, kick-pedal, and snare—gives off the feeling of a march thanks to the abundance of clearly-audible ghost-snares in the mix. Slowly, the emphatic usage of tom patterns and other cymbals end up adding more seasoning into the brew while the whole thing makes a smooth transition into the outro via a low-key bass sequence from Colin.
This outro (beginning at around 5:56) has a rhythmic feel which the 6/8 time signature guarantees that it remains distinct from the rest of the song. Just counting one-two-three-four-five-six in rhythm to this part of the song allows a listener to get a sense of the urgency of the situation. An urgency which this section conveys in a superb fashion. The multiple trains of thought at play from Steven’s delivery of lyrics that are split across three-part harmonization indicate that the urgency of the decision doesn’t stop once the decision has been made—it only allows one to stew over the repercussions of the decision. The continuation of the triad pattern which Steven and Richard played during the bridge accomplishes two contrary things in its harmonic construction: relaxation and dread. This also ties into the urgency conveyed by the outro since while relaxation (tied to relief) is what one expects to occur following an important decision, a sense of dread for what’s to come ends up being what actually occurs in this instance. Therefore, the parts that Steven and Richard play on their instruments mirrors a sense of conflict between what David expected and what David received. Regarding the ever-dutiful rhythm section of Colin and Gavin, their parts illustrate that the urgency is fast approaching and that it’s non-stop like a locomotive. And even when the instruments begin to fade out and leave the vocal layers all alone, that conveys something alarming even before the song properly stops. That alarming quality comes from the suggestion that events occur long before the human brain can recognize that they’ve occurred and that once the brain recognizes what’s happening, it’s too late to do anything about it. The idea behind that is that David didn’t know it was too late to make a choice because of being indecisive. As the words of Canadian prog band Rush (a band which Steven has recorded a cover version of one of their songs) once said in the lyrics to their song “Freewill,” “If you choose not to decide/You still have made a choice.”
“Mellotron Scratch” remains a strong example of how this project has deepened my appreciation for Porcupine Tree and for Steven Wilson’s songwriting. This wasn’t a song that I was crazy about the first few listens of Deadwing. However, it’s slowly grown on me and the biggest part of that growth comes from pouring over at the amount of sonic detail that Steven embedded in the song. Once that outro hits the listener, I don’t think that anyone can’t be moved by the attention to detail in that one section alone. The song’s now in my top five tracks for this album—one of which (“Start of Something Beautiful”) I’ve yet to touch upon.
“Open Car” (3:46)
Among the second half of Deadwing, “Open Car” stands out as the hard-rocker of the bunch. While the lyrics are (on the surface level) one of the simplest on Deadwing (it’s one of the few sex songs Steven’s written which doesn’t have a twisted angle to it), connecting it to the album’s concept makes some intricacies involving David stand out more. Musically, “Open Car” opens up with the song’s signature riff—a jagged, economical (it consists of three notes), and serpentine riff which slithers through one measure of 5/4 followed by two measures of 6/4. But the song also has other sections (the pre-chorus, the chorus, the acoustic outro) which are nothing short of breathtaking.
To begin with the lyrics of “Open Car,” the song’s first verse occurs with Steven singing these lines along with the guitar:
Nothing like this,
Felt in her kiss,
Cannot resist her.
Fell for her charm, Lost in her arms,
I keep a photograph.
Give me a glimpse,
Let me come in, Be there inside her.
Here it begins, Here is the sin,.
Something to lie about.
This first phrase—“Nothing like this,/Felt in her kiss,/Cannot resist her”—packs a lot of things into what’s unsaid. First of all, the “this” is unidentifiable. But the “her” isn’t Elizabeth since this song (probably) occurs after “Mellotron Scratch” but before “Lazarus”/“Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.” That gives the listener a hint that the “this” is either the love shared between David and Elizabeth or the trauma David felt regarding Elizabeth’s death in “Mellotron Scratch.” As for lines such as “Felt in her kiss/Cannot resist her,” the song already makes clear that David’s fallen for someone else after Elizabeth’s demise, but that can easily serve as a façade and David forcing himself to fall in-line with the societal protocol to move on. Especially since there’s no sense of how much time has passed between “Mellotron Scratch” and “Open Car.”
The next set of lines—“Fell for her charm,/Lost in her arms,/I keep a photograph”—only deepen the conundrum of the first lines. To say that David “Fell for her charm” suggests that this new gal’s some sort of temptress, but that’s to assume that David’s a reliable narrator to begin with. With something like “Lost in her arms” reminding one of the self-abnegation entailed from the line of “Should I fill it up with words somehow?,” (“Mellotron Scratch”) there’s nothing suggesting that David’s in the right mindset for the scenario he’s thrust himself into. Especially since this fosters a sense of delusion in that he wishes he can erase the painful memories through seedy sexual (what else can “Be there inside her” mean?) endeavors. Unfortunately, “I keep a photograph” easily defuses the possibility of that delusion becoming reality. Since the person in the photograph isn’t the person David’s fucking, but of Elizabeth.
While some of the following lines are self-explanatory, the last lines of the verse—“Here it begins,/Here is the sin,/Something to lie about”—have several ways of reading them. But the thing to consider with all of them is that later lyrics in “Open Car” entail a sense of guilt in David over this—something which I’ll deal with upon getting to the relevant lyrics. The fact that there’s guilt involved does relate to the fact that David’s with somebody other than Elizabeth after the latter’s death. So the ways to read these last three lines are as such: David still considers Elizabeth his girlfriend and lies to the woman he’s sleeping with that he’s ‘single,’ David feels guilty that he’ll have to tell Elizabeth about this upon reaching Heaven (assuming it exists and since David doesn’t know Elizabeth will return as a ghost), and that pre-marital sex remains something which religious faiths tend to frown upon. The first two (especially the first) are the interpretations most relevant towards Deadwing and to “Open Car” in general.
The next verse consist of lines which qualify as scene-setting, so not much to analyze there. That’s not the case with both the chorus and the pre-chorus. Here’s the pre-chorus, which Steven sings in a manner different from that of the verses:
I'm getting feelings I'm hiding too well. (Buried the heart-shaped shell.) Something broke inside my stomach. I let the pieces lie just where they fell. (Being with you is hell.)
The way in which this starts—“I’m getting feelings I’m hiding too well”—entails that the verses and the pre-choruses involve different perspectives. While the verses are from the viewpoint of David’s outward self before, during, and after sex, the pre-choruses and chorus opt for David’s internal thoughts. This accounts for both the braggadocios stupidity of some of the lyrics in the verses and the degree of emotional suppression in the verses by chalking it up to a façade which David’s putting on. The internal state of David that’s conveyed in the pre-choruses and the choruses are the real thing which lies behind the mask.
As for that real thing’s comprised of, “I’m getting feelings I’m hiding too well” has quite a bit to offer. The fact that David’s “getting feelings” for the woman he’s having sex with is a detail which provides multiple layers of analysis. For starters, it links to a sense of emotional dependency with David that ends up making this song have more in common with “Shallow” and “Halo” than what seems apparent at first glance. Secondly, it points to David’s sense of feeling like he’s betraying Elizabeth despite the fact that the latter’s dead. Thirdly, it shows that David’s mixed up the feelings of love, lust, and sex in a way that suggests that the three are a jumbled-up and inseparable stew for him. But all that leads to another important detail in the fact that David’s concealing those feelings “too well.” That detail ties right into the sense of emotional suppression which fuels the verses. It also links into the inability to let go of and move on from Elizabeth which the ending of “Mellotron Scratch” initially appeared to be a triumphant finale. But it’s this line which illustrates that the finale of “Mellotron Scratch” marked a goal which would’ve required David to circumvent how the human mind adapts to traumatic experiences. Instead, “Open Car” exhibits David digging himself into a deeper emotional hole. A hole where David’s not only lying to other people, but to himself.
The first line of backing vocals—“Buried the heart-shaped shell”—often gets misheard as “Bury a horse-shaped shell,” which would come completely out-of-place in the song’s context. However, “Buried the heart-shaped shell” provides a perfect metaphorical image for the entire situation. On its own, the mention of a “heart-shaped shell” suggests a clear divide between how David actually feels and how David presents himself towards his other lover. But by saying that that’s “Buried,” that divide has escalating into an act of deliberate suppression. That suppression comes from the inability to let go of Elizabeth, from thrusting himself into something he’s not ready for, and from (let’s be honest here) toxic masculinity’s discouragement of emotional expression in men. All of that results in David constantly lying to himself.
Where the main vocals return—“Something broke inside my stomach”—involves another imagistic lyric. The image of a stomach breaking isn’t literal, but it presents exactly what David feels like either right after or during this particular act of sex. That image—one of catastrophic implications for the human body—implies that David’s reached his emotional breaking point. What triggered that could be a realization of the enormity what he’s doing to himself.
However, the line which Steven uses to end the main vocals of the pre-choruses—“I let the pieces lie just where they fell”—connotes that David can’t take it anymore. Which means that the sense of guilt and emotional turmoil that’s been building up has become so large that David just spills the beans about everything to this woman he’s sleeping with. By doing so, David brings everything back to square one and undoes the affair, a detail implied by using the past-tense “fell” instead of the present-tense “fall.” That specific tense also implies that this relationship was unstable from the beginning due to David’s precarious emotional state.
The line of backing vocals which ends the pre-chorus—“Being with you is hell”—raises some ambiguity as to who the “you” refers to. It can refer to either Elizabeth, the other lover, the internal mindset of David, or the external mindset of David. The other lover has the simplest explanation of “you” in that David’s sexual intercourse with the other lover makes for an emotional hell. To say that “you” refers to Elizabeth would provide a testament to just how fervently David refuses to let go of her, but also suggests that David wishes he could let go of her even though he’d never admit that to himself. As for the “you” referring to either the interior or exterior aspect of David, that involves the relationship between David’s mind and David’s body being an antagonistic one in which both are convinced that they’d be better off without the other.
As for the chorus of “Open Car,” here are the lines which Steven sings during it:
Hair blown in an open car. Summer dress slips down her arm. Hair blown in an open car.
The main line of this chorus to consider—“Hair blown in an open car”—leaves quite a lot to take in. While one could link the symbol of the “open car” to the car crash in “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” by entailing that both result in disaster, there’s something else at play. That something else is that the “open car” is a symbol for the erratic state of David’s life after losing Elizabeth. The song doesn’t say that the car’s open for good, implying that the car was once closed (presumably when Elizabeth was alive). The openness of the car now means that David lives without a stable emotional center. Which holds true for the isolation in “Shallow,” the paranoia in “Deadwing,” the religion in “Halo,” the memories in “Mellotron Scratch,” and now the friends-with-benefits scenario in “Open Car.” All of which were failed attempts to fill the void which Elizabeth’s death left in David’s life. But in this particular example of the “open car,” there’s a quality where the listener wants to go “You thought this would go wrong? No shit, David!,” because of how close David was to Elizabeth. Let’s be honest here, if you lost your beloved in a violent car accident and then decided to engage in meaningless sex with someone that there’s no love between, chances are that that won’t sit well with you. And that results in guilt, uselessness, and awkwardness being felt by David.
This song, this chorus, and these lines are—especially in conjunctions with the names provided by the screenplay excerpt—the reason why I can’t think that the Deadwing concept works with a woman narrator and a man dying in the crash depicted in “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.” David doesn’t strike me as a woman’s name, but also that “Open Car” and “Mellotron Scratch” clearly use female pronouns—both details render it so that the concept doesn’t stay consistent story-wise unless it’s a man and a woman as the main characters. Unless if David transitioned from male to female at a later point in the narrative, but Deadwing leaves no evidence of that. That being said, I’d welcome anyone willing to prove otherwise by devising queer readings of Deadwing. And knowing how open-ended Steven’s lyrics are, I have the feeling he’d encourage as many different readings as possible for discussion.
While the third verse has lines which are also scene-setting, the last nine lines are particularly relevant:
Finding the time, Drawing the line,
And never crossing it. Gave her the hours,
Gave her the power, Cannot erase her.
Gave her the truth, Gave her the proof,
I gave her everything.
If these lines come after the first chorus, that seems to suggest that David acted against his own better judgment. That’s a pre-requisite for the sexual relationship to continue in this verse. Unless this entire verse takes place post-sex, the first chorus involves David making up his mind to end this relationship, and the second chorus pertaining to the actual ending of the relationship.
The first third of this verse—“Finding the time,/Drawing the line,/And never crossing it”—does relate to a frame of mind that David would have post-sex. The wording of “Drawing the line/And never crossing it” proves the most-relevant part here and the way to start digging deep into meaning is to question what “the line” refers to. In the light of the song’s emphasis on David attempting to overcoming guilt, “the line” appears to refer to a coping mechanism for this guilt. That mechanism involves David trying to keep intentions and feelings between the other woman and Elizabeth distinct. In turn, that can motivate why David’s not wanting to start a committed relationship with this other woman—because it’d seem like a complete replacement for Elizabeth. Obviously, the fact that David did develop feelings (as the pre-chorus states) for this other woman lets the listener know that the coping mechanism proved an utter failure.
The next part of this—“Gave her the hours,/Gave her the power,/Cannot erase her”—hinges upon the identity of the “her” in this line. In this specific line, the “her” refers to Elizabeth. This coheres most potently with the focus on memory and the inability to let go inherent in the phrase “Cannot erase her.” Which registers as a sentiment that fuels the misery which David feels both here and in “Mellotron Scratch.” The ironic part of all this comes via “Gave her the hours” connoting the joy that Elizabeth brought David when she was alive. The irony of joy turning into suffering via “the power” that the memories have over one’s well-being creates an unsettling picture of just how fixated David still is on Elizabeth. A picture which doesn’t bode well for events in the present now that Elizabeth’s back as a ghost (as of the end of “Lazarus”).
It’s the last part of the verse—“Gave her the truth,/Gave her the proof,/I gave her everything”—which carries the most impact on David as a character. In this particular line, the “her” refers to the other lover and not to Elizabeth. Therefore, the actions of giving her things like “the truth,” “the proof,” and “everything” seem to suggest a temptation which David’s caving into. Considering the amount of times that David lies to himself in “Open Car,” the temptation’s probably the pressure in his own mind.
Another thing that comes across as striking in these lines is the lack of a mention as to whether or not David’s nipped this relationship in the bud. For all the listener knows, David could have continued it up until Elizabeth’s ghostly return. While one can assume that the second chorus (and especially the acoustic outro) connote that the relationship ends in “Open Car,” the fact that it continued after the first chorus leaves some room for doubt.
Musically, “Open Car” begins (at about 0:06) with the aforementioned guitar riff from Steven that consist of three notes played in a serpentine rhythm with one measure of 5/4 followed by two measures of 6/4. The verse of this song have Steven matching the pitch of the notes in the riff with his voice. Meanwhile, the lines of the verse tend to pan between speakers. There’s definitely a sense of dread occurring thanks to that riff—a dread that’s compounded by the guilt complex which David has in this song’s lyrics.
Upon the end of the intro verse, the song explodes (at around 0:25) by means of a rhythmic pattern which appears in-between the verses. The pattern’s played in 4/4 and involves the arrival of both Colin and Gavin. The latter plays a generic hard-rock drumming pattern—appropriate given hard-rock’s propensity for songs about sex. However, Colin plays in total synchronicity with Steven’s bulldozer of a guitar riff—definitely the type of riff that feels propulsive and high-energy despite its simplicity (it’s almost all eighth notes).
Speaking of bass playing in-sync with guitar, the second verse (starting at about 0:37) involves the same technique being applied to the intro riff. Gavin does operate admirably with the shifting time signatures of 6/4 and 5/4 by playing in subtly tweaking the rhythms. Namely, he adjust what beat to place the snare drum at. After the second verse, there is another version of the in-between-verses riff, but it’s identical to how it appeared at first.
Following the second in-between-verses riff, the song’s pre-chorus (at about 1:02) arrives. This section switches the dynamics completely via forgoing aggression in favor of melodic sensibilities. Furthermore, this section marks the only part of the song where Richard plays at all. Even then, he only plays some chords on piano which match Steven’s clean-toned guitar chords. As for Colin, his bass line here does follow the chord progression, but the rhythm that he plays evokes the heartbeat of someone in a panic—appropriately so given the guilt complex of David in this song. Gavin’s drum rhythm—allowed more room for dynamics thanks to the 4/4 time signature—varies up the frequency of the ride-cymbal taps while the snare and kick-pedal remain constant in their placement. This allows for some degree of order in the song before the song erupts into something different.
That different part ends up being provided (at around 1:27) in the chorus, where a distorted electric guitar plays chords that are allowed to ring out. The whole air of Steven’s voice at this section of this song imbues “Open Car” with a ‘stadium-ready’ quality that’s only exacerbated by the driving rhythm provided by Colin and Gavin. Which is ironic given that most stadium-rock anthems are fairly uplifting whereas the context of the placement of “Open Car” in the Deadwing narrative renders the song anything but uplifting.
The next verse/pre-chorus/chorus unit remains identical to the one prior, but a clear break from the standard song structure occurs at around 3:08. At this point, the time signature completely alters as every instrument drops out save for Steven’s acoustic guitar. The pattern the time signatures at this point is two measures of 8/4, one measure of 10/4, one measure of 6/4, and then 8/4 until the song ends. After the instance of the second verse, this low-key acoustic variation of the chorus that’s not quite right due to the shifting time signatures provides something out-of-left-field. But once the song makes the 6/4-to-8/4 transition (about 3:21), this out-of-left-field turn veers into something harmonious yet haunting. Just that mixture of clean-toned electric guitar and soft-spoken harmonies on top of the acoustic guitar creates a sonic texture that’s both melancholic and soothing. Make of that what you will regarding David’s situation at the end of the song.
“Open Car” has lyrics which some consider among Steven’s worst. And outside the context of the Deadwing narrative, I’d agree with that. Especially with one of the lines I didn't think warranted analysis being "OK what's next/After the sex." However, putting the song within the Deadwing narrative showcases how layered Steven’s lyrics can get. If something often deemed the worst lines Steven’s ever written has as many complexities and wrinkles to it as “Open Car” does, than that’s a mark of Steven’s gifts as a lyricist.
“Start of Something Beautiful” (7:39)
Another highlight of Deadwing, “Start of Something Beautiful” is notable for being one of the few Porcupine Tree songs entirely outside of a 4/4 time signature. Instead, the song uses a mix of 9/8 and 5/4, giving the song an elongated feel. As for the song’s lyrics, they mark a crucial point in the relations between David and Elizabeth’s ghost. That point is the total breakdown of those relations.
Musically, “Start of Something Beautiful” has a lot to offer from every member of the band. Steven has strong guitar work throughout the song. Richard’s keyboards and synths are essential to the song’s atmosphere. Colin’s basslines are just as active as Steven’s guitar, if not more so. And the odd time signatures allow Gavin to show his expertise at syncopated rhythms.
Lyrically, the song occurs after the present-day events of “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.” In this case, one would assume that David and ghost-Elizabeth’s relationship has been rekindled and back to being as strong as it was when Elizabeth was alive. This song’s lyrics beg to differ, but David’s trauma in various songs before now have hinted that some sort of schism would develop even if Elizabeth did return. That this song comes after “Open Car” and before “Glass Arm Shattering” remains fitting since the former involves the peak of David’s emotional screw-ups and the latter concerns the fall-out from this song.
As for how deep-seated the issues run, one should look at the song’s opening set of lines. They’re sung as such by Steven:
Always in my thoughts you are. Always in my dreams you are. I got your voice on tape, I got your spirit in a photograph. Always out of reach you are.
The song’s first two lines—“Always in my thoughts you are” and “Always in my dreams you are”—introduce the motif of obsession. Understandable for a number of reasons, the first of which—linked to David’s inability to let go of Elizabeth’s memory in “Mellotron Scratch”—involves David not wanting to lose Elizabeth again. But this also entails that Elizabeth’s return as a ghost didn’t stop David’s fixation on the memories. It only redirects them into David’s “dreams” and “thoughts” so that he doesn’t articulate them to Elizabeth’s ghost. One could also associate this with the guilt that David felt during the affair described in “Open Car” and suggest that David doesn’t want to tell that to her.
The use of familiar motifs in the line “I got your voice on tape, I got your spirit in a photograph” now carry different implications than how these motifs were utilized at previous points of Deadwing. The “spirit in a photograph” refers to the line “I keep a photograph” (from “Open Car”) while the “voice on tape” seems analogous to the various references to music and lullabies in several songs on Deadwing. The bottom line to both was that the contexts of the lines being referenced were that they took place before Elizabeth returned as a ghost. One can’t help but get the feeling that David’s inability to let go of Elizabeth’s memory has morphed into something ugly and possessive now that Elizabeth’s returned as a ghost. Such a sentiment shows just how much the previous songs have warped David as a person.
As for “Always out of reach you are,” that ties directly into the line “Down inside my soul you are” from the next verse. Therefore, the points I make there apply here.
What Steven follows that verse up with may carry equal importance:
Cold inside my arms you are. Simple like a child you are. I remember when you took my hand and led me through the rain. Down inside my soul you are.
The line “Cold inside my arms you are” makes greater sense when the “you” is construed to be Elizabeth. While one would think that David’s overjoyed to be reunited with Elizabeth, one has to wonder what being in a relationship with a ghost would be like. In most depictions of ghosts in fiction, ghosts are presented as intangible and translucent. In some cases, you can put your arm right through a ghost. Given all of that, the sense of touch that forms a central part in intimate human relationships (even if things aren’t sexual) is jettisoned out the window. As much as it pains me to say this, a relationship with a ghost just wouldn’t be the same as a relationship with a human. And that’s what’s going on in this line with David describing it as “Cold,” a descriptor which reflects that David’s emotional state can’t be healed in a relationship like this. Elizabeth may have returned, but things aren’t peachy.
There are two ways to read the line of “Simple like a child you are” and while both of them are pretty degrading, one of them puts David in a slightly-better light. The harshest reading of this line boils down to David belittling Elizabeth (at least in his thoughts) on the basis of her gender. The other reading (and the one which I feel has more support in the album) suggests that this line belittles Elizabeth’s worldview, not her gender. One line of significance in “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” lends credence towards this idea. That line—“Ever thought from here on in your life begins and all you knew was wrong?”—entailed that the experience of death and rebirth allowed Elizabeth to view the world in a way which a living person usually doesn’t have the time for in a busy day-to-day life. But the flip side of this coin—and why David belittles Elizabeth’s worldview—is that Elizabeth’s status as a ghost renders her worldview impractical towards human concerns at times.
The third line of this passage—“I remember when you took my hand and led me through the rain”—proves striking for a few reasons. While this line does refer to either the end of “Lazarus” or to the present-day events in “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here,” the way in which the line’s expressed raises some questions about the Deadwing narrative. The way David words the line with “I remember when” seems to suggest that what he’s talking about occurred at some point in the past, but the fact that he brings it up as if it were a distant memory implies that a significant amount of time has passed. It’s not unreasonable to assume that “Start of Something Beautiful” occurs months or even years after the present-day frame of “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.”
The gap in time allowed something in David’s mind to fester, which leads to the point raised by what’s perhaps the most important line in the verse: “Down inside my soul you are.” In this song, one gets a sense of disappointment from David. Perhaps part of that also stems from how David spent his time (while Elizabeth was dead) focusing on memories of the time spent with Elizabeth. In the process, he likely created an idealized image of her that the real thing couldn’t possibly live up to. Given that David didn’t expect for Elizabeth to come back as a ghost, he got more than he bargained for when she did. As for the meaning of “Down inside my soul you are,” that suggests that if ghost-Elizabeth and David were to break-up, it wouldn’t mean a thing to David because he has this idealized conception which he can retreat to.
One of the key points of analysis in the lyrics of “Start of Something Beautiful” comes from the song’s chorus, which Steven sings in a convincingly ‘pissed off’ mood which separates it from the verses:
The more I show the way I feel, The less I find you give a damn. The more I get to know, The less I find that I understand. Innocent, the time we spent, Forgot to mention we're good friends. You thought it was the start of something beautiful? Well, think again.
The tone which Steven spits out “The more I show the way I feel,/The less I find you give a damn” feels tinged with anger. Part of that comes from “The more I show the way I feel” connoting something we don’t quite know yet (see the third line of the next verse), but feels that it only means nothing. However, “The less I find you give a damn” paints something darker regarding David. The key bit to emphasize is “The less I find,” a point which makes for subjectivity to seep its way into interpretations. But the subjectivity involves a notion which the lyrics of “Start of Something Beautiful” have already touched upon. That notion comes from the mythically-perfect ideal of Elizabeth that David’s conjured up in his mind and fostered to the point of an obsession. This obsession bleeds into this phrase of “The less I find you give a damn” in that David bashes the real Elizabeth for not living up to the lofty image he crafted of her. Which is a bit of delusional misogynist madness because living up to such an ideal remains impossible even for a ghost, let alone a human.
The next set of lines—“The more I get to know,/The less I find that I understand”—further digs David’s morality into the ditch. Mostly through the phrase of “The more I get to know,” where “get” connotes that David’s subtly gaslighting Elizabeth by entailing that she’s hiding something from him. One benefit of “Open Car” coming before “Start of Something Beautiful” in the track-listing for Deadwing is that the listener knows that it’s David that’s hiding something from Elizabeth. However, the phrase of “The less I find that I understand” somewhat tempers the severity of the actions which make David come across like a jackass in this song. The way that that phrase registers leads one to consider the division between humans and ghosts in their ability to connect with each other on the emotional and physical levels. Which itself—via the implications of the line “Cold inside my arms you are” from the second verse—has already been touched upon in the song.
The third set of lines—“Innocent, the time we spent,/Forgot to mention we’re good friends”—has a lot to break down. The first detail comes from David’s saying of “Innocent,” which comes across as ironic considering how David’s obsession-based distortion of Elizabeth carries consequences that are anything but innocent. But that’s the only part of these lines which isn’t subject to multiple interpretations. For an example of a detail that has multiple readings, the lack of specificity in the phrase “the time we spent” splits the meaning wide open. That phrase alone can refer to the time which David and Elizabeth spent when the latter wasn’t a ghost, to the affair David had in “Open Car,” or to both (suggesting that the latter came out as a slip of the tongue). Another dicey phrase comes via “Forgot to mention we’re good friends,” which can register as David covering his ass about the affair in “Open Car,” David admitting some insecurities about the relationship with Elizabeth continuing, and/or something which the next verse renders particularly harsh.
But it’s the last two lines of “You thought it was the start of something beautiful?/Well, think again” which provide the clearest, to-the-point proof that the differences between David and Elizabeth are utterly irreconcilable. Sure, the invoking of the song’s title in the phase “You thought it was the start of something beautiful” constitutes another belittlement of Elizabeth from David. But that phrase—particularly the use of the song’s title—can register as caustic sarcasm. The phrase which is unmistakably a harsh bit of invective comes from what follows it: “Well, think again.” Especially since Steven sings that specific phrase with even more venom than the rest of the chorus.
The last verse of lyrics in “Start of Something Beautiful” definitely has room for analysis:
Mother lost her looks for you. Father never wanted you. I trust to love and then I find you never really felt the same. There's something in your heart so cruel.
The way in which the third verse begins—with the family-based insults of “Mother lost her looks for you” and “Father never wanted you”—paints David in a rather cruel and manipulative light. But these lines can also function as David projecting his own familial anxieties into the argument. Starting with “Father never wanted you,” a detail worth mentioning is that the screenplay never mentions David having anything remotely resembling a father figure in his life. As for “Mother lost her looks for you,” that can easily be construed as a reference to the poisoning given that how David’s mom “lost her looks” (aka died) was through doing something (aka attempting to poison) to David. This projection of familial anxieties also makes sense because neither the screenplay nor the album suggests that David ever had an opportunity to get to know Elizabeth’s parents. Meaning that the only points of reference that David has for parents are his own, which are far from ideal examples of good parenting.
The third line of this verse—“I trust to love and then I find you never really felt the same”—contains a nugget of information which forces us to re-evaluate David’s character and the Deadwing narrative. The wording of “I trust to love” proves crucial here and reveals that while David always harbored feelings for Elizabeth, she died before he could tell her about those feelings of love. This does have a small problem since it negates the ‘unfinished business’ of Elizabeth and leaves the listener wondering why she returned as a ghost. That problem resolves itself if one believes that Elizabeth had a hunch that David harbored feelings for her. As for the phrasing of “I find you never really felt the same,” that’s something which connects to David’s obsession as much as it does to Elizabeth’s ignorance of how deeply that obsession runs.
Several details from the song come together at once in the line “There’s something in your heart so cruel.” At first glance, one can dismiss this line as David throwing a pitiful lament about being put in the ‘friendzone,’ but one should consider the various lenses at play. The critical thing to consider comes via the mention of a ghost having a “heart,” something which doesn’t quite jive with depictions of ghosts, but suggests David acting and thinking even more irrationally than we thought. That irrationality does allow us to wonder if it’s really a lack of a heart which makes a ghost “so cruel.” Other lyrical passages in the song—most notably “Simple like a child you are”—imply otherwise and also entail that the “something” is the very thing at the root of the schism between ghosts and humans in terms of worldview.
On a musical level, “Start of Something Beautiful” begins at about 0:04 with a low-key keyboard intro from Richard. This intro remains notable not only for the chilly tone of the instrumentation, but for introducing the 9/8 time signature which large portions of the song operate under. Richard’s not alone for long since Colin and Gavin enter at around 0:12 and create a rhythm which—apart from “Halo”—functions as the most jazz-esque on Deadwing. It’s not much of a surprise that Gavin Harrison would pick this song as one of the Porcupine Tree songs which he recorded big-band renditions of on Cheating The Polygraph (along with “The Sound of Muzak,” “Heartattack In A Layby,” and a medley of “Hatesong”/“Halo,” among others). As for what the rhythm section plays, Colin defrosts Richard’s icy synths by means of a bubbling four-measure bassline that’s the core of large sections of the song. Meanwhile, Gavin operates on a steady stream of cymbals that last until the re-emergence of synths result in a tom fill. That fill marks a transition into the main beat of the song: a propulsive string of hi-hats with emphatic and on-beat hits from the kick-pedal, various toms, and snare. At this point (around 0:53), Steven’s guitar joins the song by playing in-sync with Colin’s bassline. This entire time, Richard’s been playing eerie synth parts in opposition to the bouncing bassline, but that opposition’s at the heart of the song (and arguably the album)—it mirrors the division between expectation and reality which ends up serving as David’s fatal flaw.
This entire rhythmic framework (sans keyboards) marks the building blocks for the first verse, so there’s nothing new to go over until the emergence of the pre-chorus (at about 2:13). This pre-chorus doesn’t have any new lyrics, but there’s an elongated sense of build-up. The elongation has metrical support from the 5/4 time signature, but the build-up needs some foundation in the instrumentation. That foundation’s found in Gavin’s increasing use of snares in the new time signature, Steven’s suspenseful-sounding clean-toned guitar, and Colin’s ascending bassline.
That build-up leads towards the chorus (at around 2:21), one which manages to be heavy yet melodic at the same time. One such melodic touch comes via the mellotron-esque sound from Richard which is buried deep in the mix under Steven’s thunderous guitar chords and the driving rhythm section of Colin and Gavin. But between revolutions of the chorus comes the main instrumental hook of the chorus: a set of eight eighth-notes played in-sync by Steven and Colin. The way in which they’re played matters since it operates like a response to the call of Steven’s vocals. Regarding Steven’s voice, this chorus marks the closest that he sounds on Deadwing to coming across as pissed-off.
Apart from a simplistic guitar solo from Steven, the next verse/pre-chorus/chorus unit functions the same as before. But once that ceases (at about 4:22), a jaw-droppingly gorgeous instrumental section begins. However, it doesn’t start on a beautiful note. In fact, it starts on a grimy-sounding one which consists of the opening drum rhythm (so we’re back to 9/8) being pitted against a muffled-sounding drum machine. Over this, some spine-tingling mellotron tones are being played by Richard until they drop out. But once Gavin hits a highly-syncopated drum fill, the song morphs (at around 4:49) into something different: a bridge section driven by Steven’s acoustic guitar and Richard’s piano—with some added mellotron for good measure. For now, both play chordal sustains in-sync with each other, but that won’t be the case for long. Meanwhile, Colin steadily provides a bass line which jumps between intervals while letting the root note of the guitar chords determine the scale he plays—a technique akin to that used by Miles Davis during his modal jazz period (a period which produced albums such as Kind of Blue). Gavin offers a variant of the 9/8 main beat that changes up how the toms, ghost-snares, ride-cymbals, and crash-cymbals are emphasized—all of which imbue this variant with a more-dramatic flair than earlier.
That dramatic flair only escalates as (at about 5:16) the piano and guitar from Richard and Steven step up a notch. Both the acoustic guitar and piano play part of a harmonic sequence that adds up to a perfect whole whenever Steven and Richard play these parts in unison. Something about Steven’s shimmering quasi-folk acoustic guitar and Richard’s neo-classical sounding piano blend together in a way which registers as musical magic. And every time I hear “Start of Something Beautiful,” this passage never fails to elicit a tear of joy. All the while, Colin and Gavin serve as the glue that holds this entire thing together—ceaseless in the constant rhythm which remains the bedrock for Steven and Richard to go bananas. Additionally, there are faint layers of synth that’ve been overdubbed by Richard, but they’re drowned out in the mix by the piano and guitar.
Speaking of bananas, a shift in mood comes about (at around 5:43) via the emergence of a fuzz-toned electric guitar solo from Steven. Given that—through the magic of overdubs—the acoustic guitar doesn’t stop, the song now sounds larger than life in beauty and melancholy. Mostly thanks to the way that Steven holds out the sustained notes for maximum effect. Then things take (at about 6:10) another unexpected turn when the guitar solo seems to abruptly end. However, Steven’s not done—just moving onto another set of scales on a clean-toned guitar that plays a sequence of notes which sounds smooth as can be. This section also marks a move back into the 5/4 time signature of the pre-chorus. However, the instrumentation supporting this passage appears relatively bare since only light drumming from Gavin and the mellotron-esque tone from Richard remain.
That stays true until (at around 6:26) the volume changes into that of the pre-chorus. Except that this part sounds nothing like the pre-chorus. Instead, Steven’s guitar solo still continues to play the melodic pattern from the clean-toned part—except it’s now on the fuzz-toned guitar from the beginning of the guitar solo. Along with this change, Richard has two layers of keyboards operating in harmony: mellotron and piano. Colin’s bassline plays the bassline of the chorus, which foreshadows what comes next in the song. The same proves true with what Gavin plays, but his drum fills are more ferocious than before and span snares, several toms, and various cymbals. Once the chorus properly starts (at about 6:40), Steven erupts into a string of sixteenth-note tremolo-picked notes which run non-stop until the final sustain (at around 7:10) of his guitar is struck. From there, it’s just Richard’s mellotron that’s left to play the song out for about thirty seconds.
From my very first listen of Deadwing, “Start of Something Beautiful” has always been one of my favorite tracks on the album. That’s due to a number of factors: the rare presence of anger in Steven’s voice, the stunning harmony between Steven and Richard in the middle, the jazz-like synchronicity between Colin and Richard, and the fact that the song never stops evolving. Easily a track that makes my Top 15 Porcupine Tree songs and probably my second-favorite song on Deadwing. Given that my first is "Arriving Somewhere But Not Here," second-best isn't necessarily a knock on "Start of Something Beautiful."
“Glass Arm Shattering” (6:17)
After “Start of Something Beautiful,” Deadwing comes to a low-key finale via “Glass Arm Shattering.” While the song works as an ending to the story of Deadwing, the return to psychedelia (never Steven’s strong suit) makes this a song which I rarely listen to outside the context of the album. The lyrics to “Glass Arm Shattering” are also the sparsest of any song on Deadwing—a total of eight lines and a bridge of ‘la’ sounds. However, those eight lines are all denser than they appear at first glance—so much so that “Glass Arm Shattering” might prove the only song on Deadwing which flat-out doesn’t work outside of the album’s concept. This is due to the density of the lines consisting of parallels to just about every song up until this one.
While “Start of Something Beautiful” definitely detailed the disintegration of the relationship between Elizabeth and David, “Glass Arm Shattering” is much less definite. One thing which even a cursory listen makes apparent is that “Glass Arm Shattering” involves a character’s demise. I don’t think it’s an unreasonable assumption to suggest that David dies in this song. As for anything else that occurs in the song, the lyrics are extremely vague.
To start with a look at the lyrics of “Glass Arm Shattering,” one should peel into the opening lines, which also serve as a refrain later on:
Feeling all your touching. Feeling all your blood. Feeling all your touching. Feeling all your love.
Although “Glass Arm Shattering” lacks a traditional chorus, these lines—especially “Feeling all your touching”—act as a refrain in the song. As for the song’s viewpoint, the song likely comes from Elizabeth’s point of view. What throws a wrench in my theories is that Elizabeth and David have stayed in close proximity to each other since the events of “Start of Something Beautiful.” One way to alleviate that comes from assuming that the ending of the relationship in that song serves as a metaphor for the death detailed in this song, but that’s probably a little far-fetched. Out of all the songs on Deadwing, the link between “Start of Something Beautiful” and “Glass Arm Shattering” remains the trickiest thing for me to render coherent since I’m left grasping at straws to find an answer.
Regarding these cryptic lyrics, the first line—“Feeling all your touching”—already raises a number of problems. But before delving into the problematic parts, the most accessible detail of the whole line comes from the identity of “your,” which is clearly David. What makes this line tricky to gel with the concept appears in the word “Feeling,” a notion with ghosts in Deadwing that proves inconsistent with the intangibility entailed by “Cold inside my arms you are.” (from “Start of Something Beautiful”) One way of resolving this inconsistency involves “Feeling” meaning in the emotional sense, not the physical sense. While that may seem to contradict the physicality of “touching,” the word “touching” also has ties to the idea of a bond.
That idea of a bond continuing to exist between David and Elizabeth following the events of “Start of Something Beautiful” relates to the next line: “Feeling all your blood.” This line seals the deal that David’s dying in this song. Just the way which this line’s constructed evokes a cinematic image of Elizabeth cradling a dying David with bloodstains on the ground. Which suggests that even if they didn’t end up in a relationship, they did remain close friends. For how long that friendship lasts provides another gap in the Deadwing narrative since the amount of time that passed between “Start of Something Beautiful” and “Glass Arm Shattering” isn’t clear. But from the mention of “all your blood,” there’s a sense that it wasn’t long. Another gap in the Deadwing narrative is what act of violence killed David because there’s nothing on the album or in the excerpt of the screenplay which gives even the slightest clue. Maybe the manner of death matters less than the fact of death itself and even that matters less than the final embrace entailed by “Feeling all your love.”
The second and final set of lyrics only occur once, making these lines take on an added significance:
Seen it through a windscreen. Seen it through the glass. Seen it in a bad dream. Seen it in your heart.
The first line of this verse—“Seen it through a windscreen”—provides further proof that this song’s told through the perspective of Elizabeth. The context of that perspective allows one to crack the code of what “it” refers to in this verse. Simply put, “it” is death. But the lack of specificity points towards anything which occurs after death constituting the unknown, a concept reinforced by the implications of the line “On a beach somewhere” (from “Deadwing”). As for the mention of seeing death “through a windscreen,” that’s exactly how Elizabeth died in the flashback/questioning depicted in “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here.”
Where things get really interesting is in the second line: “Seen it through the glass.” A simplistic reading of this line can state that “glass” is a synonym for “windscreen,” I choose to think that there’s something else at play in this line. In this line, “the glass” refers to a concept akin to that of the proverbial ‘looking glass’ in order to suggest that Elizabeth—possibly through some experience in the afterlife before returning as a ghost—saw the events that would befall David. One can then imply that Elizabeth’s ‘unfinished business’ wasn’t to fall in love, but attempt to save the life of her childhood friend. It got to the point that—as “Seen it in a bad dream” entails—she’s had nightmares of it. Whether or not that point was reached in the afterlife or during her ghostly rebirth doesn’t matter here. What does matter is that—as “Feeling all your blood” clearly states—Elizabeth failed to save David’s life despite her best efforts. A pretty sad thought, but “Seen it in your heart” builds upon that by implying that once ghost-Elizabeth met David, she could see that it was far too late to stop what may have been fated to happen.
Musically, “Glass Arm Shattering” begins (at around 0:04) in a simplistic yet odd way. That’s not due to meter or tempo—the song’s at a standard 4/4 time signature and runs at a relaxed 95 BPM, roughly half the tempo of “Start of Something Beautiful.” Instead, what makes this intro odd comes from the static that backs the pitch-shifted guitar while it strums the opening chords. Once this makes two revolutions, some synths from Richard enter the mix and start to swirl around in the sound. Eventually (at about 0:43), Gavin enters with a marching-line snare-fill and then the rest of the band enters. Colin’s bassline in this section might serve as the simplest on the album in that it’s nothing but sustains—the only saving grace comes from the fact that they’re chords instead of single notes.
However, “Glass Arm Shattering” isn’t a song based around instrumental prowess. Much like “Lazarus,” this is a song designed to leave listeners feeling lost in the atmosphere created by the hypnotic effect of the instrumentation. For as accomplished as Gavin’s prevalent snare rolls in this song are, they really are just backing music for two factors: Richard’s array of synths/keyboards and Steven’s voice. It should be stated that without the backing parts, “Glass Arm Shattering” wouldn’t hold the power it has on listeners. That power’s the result of each part—lyrics, vocals, keyboards, bass, guitar, drums, and mastery of dynamics—coming together to form something greater than the sum of its parts.
Yes, I did say ‘mastery of dynamics’ because that characteristic comes across more readily on “Glass Arm Shattering” than with any other track on Deadwing. A large part of that’s due to the slow-burning build-up that lasts all the way until the first verse begins. The entire time—close to two minutes—allows listeners to linger into the spell that the repetitive instrumentation provides as Richard adds more-and-more layers of instrumentation. This can come across as overwhelming, but overwhelming in the best possible way. And then things begin to simmer down for the first verse (at around 1:42), whose instrumentation remains the same besides the quieter dynamic. However, the way Steven delivers these lyrics has noticeable studio trickery. There’s no auto-tune here, but there are the presence of multi-tracked vocal overdubs and an echo effect being applied to his voice. Whatever the exact nature of the studio-effects are is a matter of semantics. The important thing comes from the ethereal and haunting atmosphere facilitated by the multi-tracked overdubs and echo effects. Given that the lyrics are spoken from the perspective of Elizabeth’s ghost cradling a dying David, adjectives like ‘ethereal’ and ‘haunting’ are highly appropriate in the context of the song.
Things pick up in dynamics (at about 2:21) after Steven finishes the first verse and goes through two revolutions of this loud-yet-hazy pattern before Steven comes in with another verse. These lines (“Seen it through a windscreen” etc.) appear to contain even more voices and additional echo effects. This gives off the illusion that the voices which comprise the multi-tracked ‘chorus of Steven Wilsons’ are bleeding into each other yet remaining distinct from the instrumentation. All the while, one can faintly hear Richard developing new keyboard pars in the musical haze which develops in this song. Steven’s guitar, Colin’s bass, and Gavin’s drums continue to diligently perform the repetitive rhythm that fuels the wondrous parts that Richard keyboards/synths and Steven’s voice play in this song.
Unexpectedly, the song simmers down again (at around 3:19) while Richard delivers a brief piano solo. Before long, Steven delivers another verse (at about 3:42). However, he gets cut off after delivering two lines. The song doesn’t end there, but it transitions into a critical moment of the song at the instant (around 3:59) that the build-up section’s introduced. Here, Steven’s lyrics consist of ‘La’ sounds and other non-lexible words. But the context of the words in the half-verse (and of the song in general) provide a clear indicator as to what a section as explosive as this one signifies. Simply put, the instant of transition into the build-up marks the exact instant that David dies. Furthermore, the non-lexible syllables are an anguished expression of grief from Elizabeth’s ghost. As Richard continues to paint the mournful atmosphere with his keyboards, Colin plays sustains, and Gavin serving as the human atomic clock, the main instrumental emphasis in this section belongs to Steven’s guitar patterns. Whether it be the eighth-note-based ostinato-like pattern of the first part of the build-up or the electric guitar flourishes that pop up in the second part (which starts at about 4:38), Steven’s guitar in the build-up conveys whatever emotions that Steven’s own voice couldn’t. Which isn’t much since the multi-tracked effects on Steven’s voice are even more prominent than earlier in that some of the individual voices are singing independently of one another in this section—grief comes suddenly and in multiple angles at once. Therefore, Steven’s guitar conveys order—the last thing that a sudden rush of grief can convey.
After a finale such as that build-up, there’s nothing left for “Glass Arm Shattering” to provide. Once the song reaches the outro (at around 5:17), it feels drained of energy as Steven sings the last words of the album and strums the final chords of the song. Meanwhile, everyone else—Richard, Colin, and Gavin—drop out completely. Eventually, the song returns to the static which started the song While that outro marks the end of the album for Spotify listeners, the physical release of Deadwing has a special surprise which bears a look. That surprise—a re-recorded version of “Shesmovedon” from Lightbulb Sun—appears after five minutes of silence. One could link this quirk to the Deadwing concept by suggesting that the re-recorded “Shesmovedon” was the last thing he heard as he faded out (to bring “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here” back into the equation).
For the longest time, “Glass Arm Shattering” was a song which I dismissed and considered a lone blemish on an otherwise flawless album. Nowadays, the ‘blemish’ goes to “Shallow,” but “Glass Arm Shattering” was still a song that I had no great love for. Perhaps it seemed inferior in my eyes due to several of the other songs on Deadwing. Namely “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here,” “Mellotron Scratch,” “Deadwing,” “Halo,” “Lazarus,” and “Start of Something Beautiful.” However, a deep dive into the lyrics raised the track’s esteem in my eyes. Even though I’d never rank it above the other six songs I mentioned, I’d be foolish to say that “Glass Arm Shattering” doesn’t work as a closer for Deadwing. Despite “Collapse The Light Into Earth,” “Dark Matter,” “Stop Swimming,” “The Sky Moves Sideways Phase II,” and maybe even “Fadeaway” coming across as stronger album closers than “Glass Arm Shattering,” I can’t think of another track on Deadwing serving as a better ending to the album.
Final Thoughts:
Although having the bad fortune of being released in-between Porcupine Tree’s two strongest albums (In Absentia and Fear of A Blank Planet), Deadwing more than manages to stand on its own two feet. The two distinct halves showcases the variety of Steven’s sonic palate in ways beyond that of prior releases. Influences from genres ranging from Metal, jazz, ambient, pop, psychedelia, prog, alternative, blues, funk, folk, and hard-rock pepper Deadwing and imbue the album with a sense that its one of Steven's most eclectic set of songs yet. Lyrically, Deadwing has some of Steven’s finest lyrics (“Deadwing,” “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here”) as well as some of his worst (“Shallow,” “Open Car”). While the concept of Deadwing remains the least accessible of all of PT’s concept albums due to the lack of a roadmap, there are links in the songs which a careful listener can begin to form, making it a doable task.
As my third-favorite Porcupine Tree album, Deadwing still packs a punch to it. While there are simpler compositions (“Open Car,” “Shallow,” “Lazarus”), Deadwing also holds three of Steven’s most tightly-structured songs yet in the form of the title track, "Start of Something Beautiful" and “Arriving Somewhere But Not Here,” the last being a lock for my top three Porcupine Tree songs. Such structures indicate that Steven—despite being 38 when Deadwing was released and a brain study indicating that peak creativity happens before 30—continues to evolve, develop, and master his craft with each subsequent album.
So if Steven developed his craft here in ways not seen on In Absentia, why do I consider In Absentia the stronger album? That’s because In Absentia had a singular tone which tied perfectly with the music and the lyrics in the manner of a symbolist painting. Yes, that tone was unremittingly bleak thanks to the subject matter. But the point is that the tone matched the form (music and lyrics) with such a unity that there are virtually no holes within In Absentia. While Deadwing goes for a similar approach, I don’t think I’d stir much controversy by stating that there’s little you could call “Shallow” other than ‘holes’ in the narrative’s form.
Yes, that’s a ‘high-brow’ artistic statement, so it shows how much I value Steven Wilson’s music.
NEXT TIME:
* Porcupine Tree - "Fear of a Blank Planet (April 16, 2007)
This album will end up having a lot to chew on despite it being the band's shortest album since Up The Downstair. While the topics at hand aren't as disturbing as a serial killer, they are topics that may hit home harder. Subject matter discussed on Fear of A Blank Planet includes technology dehumanizing teens, depression, perscription drug abuse in British teens (there's ample context for that), mental illnesses, isolation, and suicide. It's not quite as bleak as In Absentia, but it's bleaker than Deadwing. It also contains some of Steven's most adventurous pieces of music to date!
Also, the songs will have YouTube links next time because Fear of a Blank Planet is currently (as of August 12th, 2018) the only Porcupine Tree album which isn't on Spotify. Likely because Steven may be remastering it for a re-release in the near-future.