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That date of release ensures that Porcupine Tree still existed at this point—meaning that Steven was testing the waters in a way. And what a test Insurgentes (pronounced like a Spanish word, since it’s named for the longest street in Mexico City, where a large chunk of the album was recorded) makes! Despite it coming as my least-favorite solo album from Steven, it’s still an achievement (it warrants 8.5/10 from me) that eclipses the best albums of many others. Part of that comes from the fact that Insurgentes remains one of Steven’s most sonically-varied albums to date. Jazz fusion (“No Twilight Within the Courts of the Sun”), psychedelic-tinged shoe-gaze (“Harmony Korine”), stabs at noise music (“Get All You Deserve”), a song based around droning riffs (“Salvaging”), and post-punk (“Veneno para las hadas”) are all expertly-handled throughout Insurgentes as if Steven had played these styles throughout his whole career. Bottom line: if one expects this to sound anything like Porcupine Tree (despite Gavin Harrison playing the drums here), you’d be mistaken. Because one aspect of genius in Insurgentes is that Steven takes the ambient and psychedelic elements of his IEM and Bass Communion side-projects and melds them to concise, fully-formed songs.
For the record, this and To The Bone are (as of this writing) Steven’s personal favorites among his solo albums. Mostly because he believes it’s the purest distillation of who he was as an artist at that particular moment. And to the credit of Insurgentes, there’s a variety of moods expressed in the songs on here. There’s minimalist tear-jerkers (“Veneno Para Las Hadas”), larger-than-life bursts of energy (“No Twilight Within The Courts of the Sun”), catchy yet wistful material (“Harmony Korine”), effective bursts of noise (the ending of “Get All You Deserve”), uneasy moments (“Salvaging” and “Abandoner”), and anthemic bits of lyricism (“Insurgentes”). While To The Bone is a better start to Steven’s oeuvre for a newcomer, Insurgentes isn’t a bad second place. However, these songs pop out with even more aplomb on the live versions found on Get All You Deserve, especially “Abandoner,” “Get All You Deserve,” and “No Twilight Within the Courts of the Sun,” which get re-arranged and crackle with an energy not found on the studio versions.
Lyrically, Insurgentes has no unifying concept. So, it’s a collection of individual songs. However, there are several songs here with incredibly sparse lyrics compared to his material in Porcupine Tree. Many songs have as little as eight lines of lyrics (not counting repetitions such as a chorus). At times, the lyrics are as rich as one would expect from Steven. Other times, they feel like they’ve been constructed to suit the music instead of the other way around. Additionally, the production on some songs can obscure the lyrics at some parts—particularly the shoegaze-inspired chorus of “Harmony Korine.”
As a final note, Steven didn’t record this album alone—he used a plethora of guest musicians. There are (apart from Gavin) a total of eight guest musicians throughout the album. The majority of them played additional guitar solos, woodwinds, exotic instruments, and instrumental passages that Steven himself couldn’t play. Apart from the guest musicians (who’ll be listed track-by-track), Steven Wilson played everything except drums and sang all the vocals on Insurgentes.
“Harmony Korine” (5:08)
The opening track of Insurgentes takes its name from filmmaker/screenwriter Harmony Korine (“Kids,” “Ken Park,” “Spring Breakers”). A controversial filmmaker from the start (“Kids” centers on teenagers being hedonistic and sexually-irresponsible fools in frank detail), Korine’s films are distinguished by a unique visual flair that often tends to overshadow the films themselves. It’s this visual flair which Steven emphasizes by naming a song after the filmmaker which has the lyrics that it does. In fact, this song may not be about Korine’s films. Instead, it can using the flair of his films as a metaphor for various things: life, Steven’s creative process, or art.
A fan-favorite, “Harmony Korine” has been played by Steven on nearly every tour as a solo artist so far. It’s not hard to see why. From the dream-like atmosphere of the psychedelic-meets-shoegaze guitar arpeggios in the verse to the hard-driving sing-along chorus, “Harmony Korine” has all the ingredients for a great song. And it’s a song that feels like it could only come from Steven Wilson.
Apart from Gavin, “Harmony Korine” has no guest musicians involved—one of only two tracks on Insurgentes where that’s the case.
The song’s opening lyrics set up the general scheme of how lyrics operate on Insurgentes:
Rain, come down, and fall forever. Drain, the dirt, into the wasteland. Pray, for sound, to quiet the howling.
That the song’s opening line of “Rain, come down, and fall forever” carries a cinematic heft is fitting given the source of the song’s title. As for “Rain, come down,” the rain serves as a symbol for creative inspiration which the speaker asks to come directly into his consciousness—it doesn’t work like that, but it’s easier than the ebb-and-flowing nature of creativity. However, “fall forever” may allude to just that because by comparing creativity to an ever-flowing stream, the sentiment isn’t altogether different from the river in these lines of Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan” (1798; 1816):
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And ‘mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Although Steven eschews the use of sexually-charged imagery that Coleridge uses in his classic poem, both use the flow of water as a symbol for the creative juices. It’s just that Coleridge’s imagery is more chaotic and volatile in the span of eight lines than what Steven accomplishes in one line.
Coming off of the heels of the creative impulse comes the second line: “Drain, the dirt, into the wasteland.” Some of the chaos of the Coleridge poem can be ascribed to the phrase “Drain, the dirt” in that erosion’s also a violent process. The difference being that the violence symbolizes the detritus of the mind falling by the wayside in order for creativity to prosper. That prosperity must be at any location besides “into the wasteland,” which marks a state-of-mind that no artist wants to enter—stasis.
The third line—“Pray, for sound, to quiet the howling”—marks the moment where these abstractions link to Steven’s life. One may find it contradictory that the words “Pray, for sound” are being sung by an atheist, but given some solo songs show him as a humanist, there’s a spiritual side to Steven that’s inescapable. Additionally, with Steven’s fervor for music having been sparked at eight years old, music’s probably the one thing that Steven could believe in with a religious zeal. As for the phrase “to quiet the howling,” keep in mind that “howling” suggests randomized idle noise, not music. This links back to notions of artistry and creativity because the differing factor between music and noise is that music has a purpose in mind.
These two lines—the chorus of “Harmony Korine”—remain rich in symbolism:
Feel, no shame, too brave. Feel, afraid, to wait forever.
This first line—“Feel, no shame, too brave”—appears applicable to a number of contexts. First, the capability to “Feel, no shame” remains necessary in order to express oneself fully in any art form. Steven’s decision to name the song after a movie director/screenwriter that’s as controversial as Harmony Korine wasn’t an accident. In fact, both have touched upon controversial subjects in their respective art forms not for the sake of shock, but out of a fascination with how people operate in such times. Furthermore, by deliberately going against the grain, one can say that both Steven and Harmony are “too brave” considering how easily dabbling in ‘taboo’ topics can backfire upon creators of art. Especially given that topics such as sexual assault, serial murder, and mental illness have far more layers of nuance than can be addressed with a broad-strokes, cavalier approach. In this respect, I think that part of the reason that Steven’s avoided Harmony’s level of controversy is that Steven’s level of subtlety and understanding of these topics contain more depth than the surface-level brute-force depictions that Harmony’s films are often prone towards. By containing the depth that Steven does in his lyrics, there’s a sense that he knows and/or empathizes with the victims of the actions depicted in his songs—even when the music stares directly at the blackened heart of the problem.
However, the second line of the chorus—“Feel, afraid, to wait forever”—can easily come across as Steven understanding why Harmony finds it necessary to express controversial subjects the haphazard way he does—it’s the only way Harmony knows how and it stems from the same creative impulse as Steven’s more-subtle approach. That impulse is the all-too human awareness of one’s own mortality and the sense that it’s better to express than not express and feel like one has lived a wasted life. In that sense (Katie, I know you’re going to like this bit),[1] one can regard this as Steven’s equivalent of Sufjan Stevens’s famous lines (from the song "John Wayne Gacy Jr.) of “And in my best behavior/I am really just like him/Look beneath the floorboards/For the secrets I have hid.”[2]
The second and last verse of the song contains a similar scheme to that of the first, but the nature of Steven’s symbolism differs:
Kneel, to fade, the day's corrosion. Crawl, depart, towards perdition. Gray, the part, the bruise within you.
First, the line “Kneel, to fade, the day’s corrosion” connects with a religious experience connoted by “Kneel.” As to what the religious experience is connected to, “to fade” seems to suggest the notion of falling asleep. However, the notions of artistry and creativity that permeate through the song suggest something else. That something else involves putting oneself in a trance-like state where the creative thoughts can percolate easier and in a more-concentrated manner. The contrast between that and “the day’s corrosion”—a phrase implying that the natural world’s disordered quality slowly destroys the self—illustrates that the creative process is both a defense mechanism and a way to fight back against “the day’s corrosion.”
That creative process is further described in the line “Crawl, depart, towards perdition.” Starting with “Crawl,” there’s the sense that the process isn’t easy, but sometimes a struggle. Part of that struggle involves “depart,” an indication that the creative process requires a transition from one state-of-mind to another. But it’s the destination of that departure which remains the most important detail. To associate the end-goal of the creative process with that of “perdition” paints the creative process in explicitly-religious terms which imply that the process—while arduous—leads to something just as redemptive as a profound religious experience. The biggest conclusion ascertainable from that states that an artist—in the moment of creation—believes in his/her/their own art with a similar zeal as a follower of a religion.
The final original line of “Harmony Korine”—“Gray, the part, the bruise within you”—also exhibits a rather complex comparison. First, “Gray, the part” entails a morally-gray quality in the differences between one art-form to another. That same phrase can also link to Steven’s earlier line of “Feel, afraid, to wait forever” and the association I made to that line from Sufjan Stevens. However, how it applies to Steven Wilson’s own musical endeavors indicates that the division (or “part”) between distinctions of musical genres and artistry are not too different from each other as long as stagnation is avoided. The more-intriguing phrase appears as “the bruise within you,” a phrase evoking the image of one’s own conscience nagging at oneself in regards to the balance of wants, needs, desires, and expression of art. It’s a sobering phrase which informs us that no matter how carefully-crafted an artist operates with his/her/their own work, this internal balancing act guarantees that perfection won’t happen. And Steven wouldn’t have it any other way since if things were perfect, there wouldn’t be a need for artistic growth (something that Steven’s embraced throughout his entire career).
“Abandoner” (4:48)
“Abandoner” exhibits some degree of an industrial sound, but also a sound indebted to drone music—especially in the dark and heavy outro. That outro’s a moment where the live version on Get All You Deserve turns into an energetic full-band extravaganza, but the studio version remains appropriately lax. Yes, I said ‘appropriately’ because “Abandoner”—in tone and tempo—feels both laid-back and menacing. Almost as if one can see that something’s gone wrong, but one doesn’t know how bad things are until it’s too late.
The lyrics address the thing that’s gone wrong: a failed relationship. There’s more specifics than that, but one detail that should be immediately addressed is that this is a mutually-agreed upon ending. Therefore, the speaker doesn’t blame the other person at any point in the song—feelings faded, that’s all.
In terms of guest musicians, “Abandoner” contains the presence of a regular of Steven’s cadre. That’d be Theo Travis playing on a wah-flute, a flute filtered through the wah-wah pedal of a guitar. The other guest appearance is Sand Snowman, who’s credited with ‘acoustic and processed acoustic guitars’ in the liner notes.
Steven’s word-choice to introduce the lyrics of “Abandoner” has some significance:
The other half is somewhere else. A play in the dark Whines like dogs.
Right from the first line of “The other half is somewhere else,” there’s some clear indications about the subject matter. For instance, “other half” explicitly describes this song as being about a relationship—albeit in terminology that doesn’t specify gender.[3] Another key phrase comes in the form of “somewhere else,” which isn’t describing physical distance, but that the two people in the relationship are in differing emotional headspaces—this relationship’s falling apart.
That sense of relationship collapse contains more hints in the lines “A play in the dark/Whines like dogs.” Starting with “play in the dark,” there’s a reason behind this collapse: a lack of communication. But there’s also another metaphor in this wording—because no two people operate identically, there’s no room for a ‘one-size-fits-all’ philosophy in a relationship. Therefore, one cannot know how to work with your partner without communication. This results in any healing of this relationship—if it can be healed—being made by fumbling around blindly hoping that something works. In this sense of complete communication breakdown, “Whines like dogs” proves incredibly apt since without the words to express their discontent and sort things out, these two may as well be dogs yelping at each other.
This second set of lines from Steven leave room for analysis:
I am restless, I am lost. Time freezes up Flawless eyes.
Two trains of thought run in the line “I am restless, I am lost.” One of which pertains to the phrase word “restless” and implies that the whole endeavor of this relationship has made the speaker more anxious than if he/she/they would be if said relationship were to abruptly end. This stands in stark opposition to the other train of thought that’s suggested by the word “lost” That word alone entails that the initial connection and the good memories of the other person makes him/her/them eager to want that time back.
That connection to memory directly ties into the next lines: “Time freezes up/Flawless eyes.” With “Time freezes up,” a careful listener would notice that the connotation of an image being immortalized in one’s memory also appears in Steven’s description of a girl in the lines “And laughing under summer showers/Is still the way I see you now.”[4] However, the description of “Flawless eyes” brings up another valid point—immortalization isn’t far removed from idealization, a quality that’s hazardous for someone one keeps in contact with because it blinds distorts the image into something that doesn’t match who the other person really is. Especially as that person grows and develops over time.
The third lyrical triad from Steven contains some potentially controversial imagery, but it’s not as grim as what Steven makes it seem like with that first line:
The rope you used to tie yourself. Dreams enter planes. Scatter remains.
One thinks that a line like “The rope you used to tie yourself” refers to either bondage or a suicide by hanging, but that’s not what the word choice of “rope” refers to in this context. Instead, “rope” serves as a symbol for the connections/bonds that form the foundation of a relationship. That’s why “to tie yourself” refers to two people tying themselves together. But the grammatical oddity comes from “used,” which simultaneously acts as a verb (since they started the relationship by tying the rope) and a description of time (as in the couple were once tight-knit, but not-so-much now).
Extending from this comes the line “Dreams enter planes,” where there’s a passive acceptance that this relationship’s doomed. Just the wording of “Dreams” implies that it’s unrealistic to expect that this relationship was ever going to prosper in this universe. I say in this universe because “enter planes” suggests that this relationship may have worked in a parallel universe.
As for “Scatter remains,” that’s simply an image indicating that the connection of the “rope” has been severed irreparably.
A concluding set of words come from Steven before the song reaches the last instrumental section:
I reach for you, belying your touch. Snow starts to glide. I confide.
For starters, the line “I reach for you, belying your touch” outright states that the magic of the relationship’s beginning is gone utilizing the detail that he/she/they doesn’t touch—physically or emotionally—in the same way that he/she/they used to (although that detail goes both ways). After that, the line of “Snow starts to glide” makes for a carefully-worded phrase. First, “Snow” operates as a literary symbol of something dying (in this case, the relationship). Second, “starts” indicates that the process of dissolution has already begun and that it’s too late to save the relationship. Thirdly, “glide” serves as an apt wording since the start of this relationship had a ‘high-in-the-clouds’ feeling whereas it’s now coming back down to earth in order to dissolve like snow. So certain is that sense of ending that the otherwise-hopeful “I confide” rings hollow because the listener knows from the earlier lyrics that even if the speaker honestly confides, he/she/they will have achieved too little too late. That’s further reinforced by the apocalyptic bottom-heavy droning notes which rupture the song in the outro—almost as if that’s the death rattle of the relationship and a sign that the speaker’s last-ditch effort has failed.
“Salvaging” (8:17)
A song built upon a drone-heavy riff, “Salvaging” is a slow and plodding piece that’s as atmospheric as it is heavy. For the most part—since the song does have an extended orchestral section that occupies the middle part of the song. But the main body of the song—utterly dominated by the simple riff—overshadows Steven’s lyrics here.
“Salvaging”—in terms of lyrical construction—consists of four sets of rhyming couplets that are spread out over the course of the song. In loose terms, the song covers the topic of a person attempting to pick up the pieces of his/her/their life. Even if it may be too late.
There’s one guest appearance on “Salvaging,” but that appearance plays a vital role in the song’s drone-influenced sound. That guest is guitarist Dirk Serries, better known as Vidna Obmana (a pseudonym used by him between 1984 and 2007), a drone/ambient musician who Steven’s worked with in the Continuum project.
Opening couplets aren’t as simple as one would think, but Steven makes it work here:
What was the point of making you trust? You live in a lie, the pain in the dust.
Right from the opening line of “What was the point of making you trust?/You live in a lie, the pain in the dust,” a listener gets an immediate sense of the situation. From the frustrated tone of the question and the asking whether the force applied (suggested by “making”) was worth it, it’s clear that the speaker’s not happy about someone else. Judging from the motif of this other person being in a situation where his/her/their life is in shambles, the speaker’s frustration indicates that any and all attempts to help the other person are futile if he/she/they doesn’t apply the effort to actually improve. In fact, those efforts to help can end up being undermined even while the other person pretends he’s happy (“live in a lie”). But even that happiness is undercut by the sense of contentment with stagnation entailed by “pain in the dust” since dust symbolizes a lack of change—the only happiness the other person can currently experience is a masochism derived from denying oneself of opportunities.
Steven’s second set of lyrics are no slouch, either:
God always shouts, and you always kick Through passionless hours. Yeah, you make me sick.
The points of the previous two lines are expanded upon with the lines “God always shouts, and you always kick/Through passionless hours. Yeah, you make me sick” First, “God always shouts” offers up a sentiment similar to that of Stephen Dedalus’s words of “That is God…A shout in the street”[5] in that both phrases involve God being powerless to interfere with the affairs of modern humans. But in this specific example, the implied impotence of God is used by the speaker to compare himself to God. But considering that the speaker’s ineffectiveness is partially due to the implications of resistance from “you always kick,” it’s not entirely the speaker’s fault. Then there’s “Through passionless hours,” which entails that the hollow rebellion of “you always kick” is baseless since the end-result renders the other person’s current state that of just existing—not thriving or failing. That state of the other person’s contentedness with mediocrity is exactly what the speaker’s disgusted at in the phrase “Yeah, you make me sick.”
The plainest lines of lyrics in the whole song come via the third set of lines:
Your secret is told, but the body rejected. Your smile’s a question, but the end is expected.
Some existential matters become addressed via the line “Your secret is told, but the body rejected.” But first, one should understand that “secret” has only two things made certain: that it’s the root of the other person’s problems and that the speaker’s the only one who knows about it. No mention exists in the song as to what the “secret” is, leaving the song open to multiple interpretations. However, the existential note comes from “the body rejected,” a phrase suggesting a mode of denial in the other person regarding his/her/their situation. As Maynard James Keenan of Tool would state, this other person’s attempting to “separate the body from the mind”[6] in order to avoid facing the problem.
This notion of running away from a problem reappears in the line “Your smile’s a question, but the end is expected.” One aspect of this comes from the phrase “smile’s a question” since that suggest that anytime the other person smiles involves putting up a front, leaving others to question whether the happiness conveyed by a smile is genuine. Another aspect reveals itself via “end is expected” due to invoking the idea that if the other person makes any progress in life, he reverts and ends up falling apart—due to both a fear of veering into uncharted waters and to being accustomed to the current state of his life.
However, Steven’s concluding lines aren’t as clear as they seem upon a first glance:
A truce is attained, excuses are given. Time to assess, now the nails have been driven.
Something of a new development in the song occurs in the line “A truce is attained, excuses are given.” That’s largely due to “truce is attained” referring not to a solution to the other person’s problems, but to the speaker seeing the writing on the wall and abandoning the other person—making this a true in the mind of the speaker. One can’t really blame the speaker since “excuses are given” implies that he’s tried to help the other person countless times, but now realizes the futility of attempting to help someone who self-sabotages all your efforts. That leads directly into the final line of “Time to assess, now the nails have been driven,” where the speaker’s reading of the situation sees that it’s far too late to help the other person and leaves him to lie in the bed he made.
“Veneno para las Hadas” (5:57)
In terms of musical construction, “Veneno para las Hadas” serves as the slowest and most dirge-like song on Insurgentes. There’s bare electronic sounds, a lack of drums, clean-toned guitar (in the same chords as the first verse of “The Sky Moves Sideways”), and drained-sounding vocals from Steven. However, the combination proves as intoxicating as the more energetic “Salvaging” while making for one of the few tracks on Insurgentes that evokes tears from me.
Lyrically, “Veneno para las Hadas” has one of the sparsest constructions on Insurgentes. There’s only eight lines of lyrics, no chorus, and two sets of four lines that are spread out over the song. That means that the lyrics should convey a lot with an incredibly short amount of time. However, the highly-melancholic tone of the music informs what the lyrics convey. One hint comes from the title and its source: the name of a 1984 Mexican horror film (name translates to “Poison For the Fairies”) whose plot follows two girls, but one’s really a witch disguised as a girl who torments the other girl and later asks her to help concoct a poison for fairies. Then, the other girl locks the witch in the barn as she’s making the poison and sets said barn ablaze. Spoiler-ific, but context for the song. However, the song may not really be about the film, but instead using the image of a poison for fairies as a metaphor.
Regarding guest musicians, “Veneno para las Hadas” holds four guest musicians. The first is Gavin, who plays cymbals instead of his typical drums (in fact, the song has no drums at all). Then, there’s Jordan Rudess (from Dream Theater, one of my favorite keyboard players) on piano. Third, Sand Snowman reappears and plays an array of recorders. Finally, Theo Travis makes his last appearance on the album by playing the clarinet on this track.
One half of the lyrics which Steven uses for “Veneno para las Hadas” consists as such:
When you’re young, you’re sleepin’ With the love you’re feelin’. Waking up to evenin’. Check the pulse, you breathe in.
Several important details of the lyrics are introduced by the first two lines: “When you’re young, you’re sleepin’/With the love you’re feelin’.” First, “When you’re young” conveys to listeners that the events of the song take place in the past and that the speaker’s (likely the girl who survived in the source material) telling this to another person in the present. But it’s the next phrase—“sleepin’/With the love you’re feelin’”—that’s more enticing. To start it off, “sleepin’” suggests that youthful innocence is indebted to ignorance and that the truth of the matter is that the adult world’s crueler than “the love you’re feelin’.” This isn’t just idle talk since these are words and phrases where the speaker reflects on the naïve nature of her youth and on what rendered her susceptible to the torment inflicted by the witch-girl.
That torment carries over to the line “Waking up to evenin’.” For instance, “Waking up” refers to becoming aware of or being exposed to the way the world/people really operates/operate. That cruelty becomes symbolized by “evenin’,” a wording also symbolizing the death of the speaker’s youthful innocence. After all, the line “Check the pulse, you breathe in” describes the aftermath of something so ambiguous yet so traumatizing that there’s no way that youthful innocence can survive that—regardless of whether the witch’s torment involves psychological torture, physical abuse, lesbian rape, or any number of potential meanings left wide-open by the lack of specificity. The thing that that line does make clear is how the speaker recalled checking to see if was still alive immediately after the torment. And knowing that that torment may occur again renders “you breathe in” a phrase with two meanings: a sigh of relief or a sigh of dread. The subdued quality of the instrumental portion that follows—complete with synthesized choirs—conveys that dual sense of relief and dread startlingly well.
Steven’s second (and last) quatrain of lyrics has a couple of lines which remain as haunting to me as they were the first time I heard it:
Nothing left, just ember. Only we remember. A bottle not for sharing. Poison for a fairy.
Line one of this quatrain—“Nothing left, just ember”—involves two things happening. First off, “Nothing left” solidifies the fact that the childhood innocence died whenever the witch tormented her. As for “just ember,” there’s a misguided sense that the speaker believed that killing the witch in a barn-fire would restore that innocence. It didn’t do that, but ensured that the innocence would never return.
The next line—“Only we remember”—contains a bit of a continuity snarl. By using “We” instead of “I,” the speaker refers to herself as a plural instead of a singular. While this initially makes no sense because of the barn-fire rendering the speaker the last living person to know of these events, the context of this song clarifies things. Namely that the speaker’s telling someone in the present about past events—the “we” refers to both the speaker and who she’s telling about these events.
Steven’s word choice for the final two lines of the song—“A bottle not for sharing/Poison for a fairy”—carries referential, symbolic, and metaphorical significance. On the referential level, “Poison for a fairy” is a near-literal translation of the title of the film that the song’s based upon—the only difference (“fairies” instead of “fairy”) also indicates that the speaker’s the lone survivor of the barn-fire until she tells someone in the present. Symbolically, the “bottle” can indicate that the speaker’s become an alcoholic in the time between the past and present, that there’s a burden to surviving such events that (as “not for sharing” suggests) only the person who lived through those events can harbor. This suggests that the speaker’s action of telling this story to someone else was a desperate-yet-failed attempt to get part or all of this burden off her shoulders.
Another vital symbol comes from the “Poison for a fairy.” This final line takes all the points made in this song about trauma, growing up, psychological impact, and the harsh nature of real world and crystalizes it into four short words. As for what the line says, the simplest idea comes from the notion that a child is the “fairy” and that the “Poison” is the bitterness of reality. This ends up making the transition from childhood to adulthood synonymous with death. Fitting since the song has consisted of lines suggesting that the bitterness of reality snuffs out all childish ideals and cements the cynical world.
“No Twilight Within the Courts of the Sun” (8:37)
As a piece of music, “No Twilight Within the Courts of the Sun” has the most prominent jazz influence out of any song on Insurgentes—a facet noticeable right from the opening bassline (played by King Crimson alum Tony Levin) that’s soon doubled on guitar. In fact, that bass/guitar figure forms the basis of an extended instrumental jam session that takes up most of the first half of the song. Said instrumental section involves technical jazz drumming from Gavin Harrison, an unbelievable piano solo from Jordan Rudess (from Dream Theater, one of my favorite keyboard players), and a technical solo from Mike Outram (yes, those are all guest appearances). But even after the jam session ends, the jazz influence of the song persists the entire way through.
The lyrics to “No Twilight Within the Courts of the Sun” (which don’t start until about halfway through) remain enigmatic and carry hints of menace. That’s in spite of the lyrics (arguably) containing a metaphor on artistic inspiration—relevant since Mexico and Mexican culture left a lasting impression on Steven during the recording of Insurgentes. That metaphor also pertains towards the title in that the speaker believes that there’s no gray areas—or twilight—in regards to the difference between inspiration and stealing.
Just take a look at how the first segment (out of four) introduces the lyrical section:
Draggin’ the lake, Find the owner of the voice. I zip in the bag And drop off across the noise.
Some mild symbolism appears in the first two lines: “Draggin’ the lake,/Find the owner of the voice.” Beginning with “Draggin’ the lake,” the theme of the distinction between artistic inspiration and ripping off is addressed. In fact, the phrase itself suggests that the speaker’s taking the ideas from a source that’s a wellspring of ideas for the speaker. During this process, to “Find the owner of the voice” isn’t to locate a literal voice, but to determine the essence of the lake itself.
The next two lines—“I zip in the bag/And drop off across the noise”—carries nature-based symbolism, as well. First, there’s “zip in the bag”—a comparison between a tent and a bag of ideas that have been stolen and/or appropriated by the speaker. The use of a tent makes “drop off across the noise” ironic since the speaker’s interacting with nature (by going to sleep), but doing so at one degree of separation—suggesting element of fraudulence in the speaker.
Things seem darker with the second set of lines that come from Steven:
Examine the hairline As archives in the strands. You’re telling me something That puts the weakness in my hands.
Some details about the speaker are ascertainable in the lines “Examine the hairline/As archives in the strands.” Starting with “Examine the hairline,” the speaker begins to think of how much he’s aged—giving the sense that the speaker isn’t young. This escalates with the phrase “archives in the strands,” which implies that different hairs from different points of his life are akin to an archive of his life. Whether or not the speaker active collects and stores individual hairs remains a mystery. But the big point of this is that he’ll die yet both the art he makes and the inspiration behind the art will endure long afterwards.
Regarding the lines “You’re telling me something/That puts the weakness in my hands,” there’s a sense that the speaker’s being reprimanded. First off, “You’re telling me something” has one layer of ambiguity: the identity of the ‘you’ is unspecified—dehumanizing them by denying an acknowledgment of a name or a proper pronoun. The factor of reprimandation comes from the result of what the speaker’s told: “That puts the weakness in my hands.” The fact of “puts the weakness in my hands” is a short-hand for nervous trembling in the speaker’s hands. However, that doesn’t address the fact that the “something” that the speaker’s told is left implied rather than stated. Given what we know of the speaker, the “something” likely refers to a harsh tell-off of the stealing of ideas/appropriation. And this isn’t something that Steven’s scot-free of—with the most blatant example being that the refrain to “Footprints”[7] rips two lines from “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” by The Beatles.
Another intriguing set Steven-penned lines appears afterwards:
I see, but I suppose I breathe, what I dispose. Black wheels turn yellow in the sand. I steal every idea that I can.
How this quatrain starts—with “I see, but I suppose”—conveys that everything the speaker lays eyes upon becomes a source of inspiration to some extent. The very next line—“I breathe, what I dispose”—directly opposes the earlier line since this line suggests that instead of the speaker cherishing the ideas, he’s an opportunistic scoundrel that harvests the ideas and uses them as a means to an end without any respect towards their source. This also directly contrasts with how Steven’s used artistic inspiration: out of a love and homage for the original material.
Line number three—“Black wheels get yellow in the sand”—provides an image which shows the speaker’s consequences. Regardless of what he takes from the natural world, the speaker will leave an imprint on the natural world and vice-versa. The crucial difference for this is that the speaker has the ability to utilize the imprint for his own ends. Given the opportunism at the heart of the speaker’s personality, we already know that he won’t be using the imprint to benefit the source—just himself. In fact, he admits as such with “I steal every idea that I can”—although that’s quantifiable by stating that ‘stealing an idea’ is inevitable since there’s no such thing as true originality, only a semblance of originality. All truly original ideas have been exhausted—only variations and tinkerings can be made.
Steven’s last lyrics to the song—shouted since they are delivered during the heaviest portion of the song—aren’t easy to make out on the studio version. So I opted to use the live version from the Get All You Deserve DVD—where these lyrics are a little easier to make out—as an aid to read these:
Instead of a person, a shadow in the lake. Instead of coercion, she blows its own grenade. I have an aversion to dying in a car. I reach corrosion, a suitcase in the dark.
Just the line which inaugurates this last quatrain—“Instead of a person, a shadows in the lake”—contains the end-result of the speaker’s endeavors. Starting with “Instead of a person,” there’s the sense that this depersonalization indicates that the natural source isn’t a lively source of inspiration to the speaker anymore. The phrase that follows—“a shadow in the lake”—tells the listener why: once the speaker’s mined the lake of substance, it’s merely a shadow of its former self.
The most ambiguous line in the whole song is the one which follows that one up: “Instead of coercion, she blows its own grenade.” Indeed, this line’s also so difficult to make out what Steven shouts that I had to go with the closest guess—this is the one case where I may have the lyrics wrong, but I’ll roll with what I got. Although “coercion” carries connotations of both diplomacy and pressure, “she blows its own grenade” remains the more intriguing phrase—and the primary source of ambiguity in this line. One way to read that phrase involves stating that the “she” is the same person as the “you” in the earlier stanza. In this respect, “she”—by “telling me something that puts the weakness in my hands”—saw an opportunity to pick at a character flaw of the speaker’s only to have it blow up in her face as the result of a nasty argument.
Another tricky set of lines appear in the form of “I have an aversion to dying in a car/I reach corrosion, a suitcase in the dark.” First of all, the word “aversion” connotes avoidance, but the mention of death suggests that such an avoidance stems from an instinct of self-preservation. As for the phrase “dying in a car,” the song leaves it wide-open whether the death’s a literal or figurative one. However, the phraseology of “reach corrosion” definitely makes me lean more towards the death being figurative. Especially since that phrase entails that the speaker’s being corrupted either by the ideas or how he’s misapplying them. Then, there’s the matter of “a suitcase in the dark.” That’s a phrase which I choose to read as the place where the speaker stores his stolen ideas—a place closed-off, artificially-preserved, devoid of sunlight or oxygen, and completely removed from the nature-based setting where they originated. In essence, the “suitcase in the dark” marks the extent of how wildly the speaker’s perverting the natural order simply by being an opportunistic, uncaring artist.
“Significant Other” (4:31)
Regarding the musical construction of “Significant Other,” the song’s built upon airy guitar and keyboards with the voices of Steven and Clodagh gliding above it. This one has subtle details underneath the repetitive drums and bass while the layers of guitar subtly shifts the character and tone of the song at various points. It’s a beautiful song which could’ve been released as a single.
This song’s lyrics are—in one sense—about someone contemplating suicide. In another sense, “Significant Other” concerns someone who talks themselves out of committing suicide.
Guest appearances on “Significant Other” are limited to two people. The first one is the familiar presence of bass extraordinaire Tony Levin. A second guest comes in the form of the only guest vocal on the album—Irish singer Clodagh Simonds (pronounced ‘Clo-da’).
The form of Steven’s first section of lyrics in this song are as follows:
Pullin’ back from the precipice. Feel so small now, stars shine bright above. Don’t know why. Receive a better life for a song. Can’t but try, other leads apply.
The opening line of the song—“Pullin’ back from the precipice”—serves two function. First, “the precipice” illustrates the location: on the edge of a cliff. More importantly, “Pullin’ back” informs listeners of the dramatic situation—the speaker came to this cliff-side in order to jump to his/her/their death, but ultimately doesn’t go through with the act.
Following up that line comes “Feel so small now, stars shine bright above.” In essence, the speaker questions his/her/their role in the universe by suggesting that his/her/their own demise would be of no concern to the universe at large. It’s a twisted take on the insignificance best stated by Stephen Crane in his 1899 poem “A Man Said to the Universe”:
A man said to the universe:
“Sir, I exist!”
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me A sense of obligation.”
The connotations exemplified by the Stephen Crane poem become a springboard for the developments made in the lines “Don’t know why/Receive a better life for a song.” Keeping the size of the universe in mind, the speaker questions not whether he/she/they should stay alive, but rather whether his/her/their life should be of better quality than anyone else’s. After all, any one person is just one person and therefore equally insignificant to the universe as the speaker. If one’s willing to claim that this song is of an autobiographical nature (namely that Steven questions whether being a musician should grant him a better life), I’d consult this quote from Steven that he gave after being asked in an interview whether—given how many references to suicide appear in Porcupine Tree lyrics—he had ever felt like killing himself:
“I did meet people who suffered from depression, who had those thoughts and even killed themselves…but suicide is something I do not fully understand. In my lyrics I always tried to address things that I do not fully understand, being serial killers, depression, religions, or terrorism. I try to write songs to discern them. That’s why suicide appears so much in my subjects: because I do not understand that impulse.”
It’s a quote like that which makes me think it’s risky to assume personal details are embedded in any of Steven’s lyrics unless they’re consistent with what’s already public knowledge about him. Alternatively, one can claim Roland Barthes’s idea of “Death of the Author” and ignore anything that Steven says in interviews about his own music—meaning that the listener makes his/her/their own meaning and that that meaning holds greater weight that Steven’s artistic intent.
However, the next line—“Can’t but try, other leads apply”—carries a layer of delicious intrigue if applied to Steven’s own life. Particularly the phrase “other leads apply” and its suggestion of finding a path aside from music (results of an autobiographical reading of “Receive a better life for a song”). Namely that if the speaker of this song is Steven himself, giving up music in order to pursue something else amounts to Steven denying a crucial part of himself. After all, Steven’s roots in music stretch back to when he was ten years old.
Steven’s second verse further develops the (non-autobiographical) threads from the first:
Lookin’ up at tragic rush on underground. Birds will turn and fly. Don’t know why. Passin’ through the day, only child. Breathe a sigh, other leads apply.
There’s a quality of wondering inherent to the line “Lookin’ up at tragic rush on underground.” That mostly involves the phrase “Lookin’ up at tragic rush” denoting that the speaker’s imagining what’d happen if he/she/they jumped to his/her/their death. Alternatively, that phrase can refer to people suffering from depression attempting to find something inside themselves worth being happy about—and failing to do so. Regardless of what the earlier phrase means, it’s pretty clear that “on underground” serves as a synonym for being six feet under.
For a far more imagistic set of lines, look no further than “Birds will turn and fly./Don’t know why/Passin’ through the day.” First of all, these “Birds” are symbolic of people capable of living their lives relatively depression-free. The fact that these birds are able to “turn and fly” away from their problems is implied to stem from the relative lack of depression. However, “Don’t know why” makes this haunting on two levels. One, that there’s no one specific reason that allows the “Birds” to live a depression-free life while the speaker almost killed themselves. Second, that genetics may play a role and some people become pre-disposed towards depression due to chance—almost as if that person’s so insignificant to the universe that the universe treated that person like a plaything right from the start. Meanwhile, the relatively depression-free folks can go “Passin’ through the day” as aimlessly as children (probably what “only child” means in the sense of ‘they’re only like children’).
While a familiar phrase appears in the line “Breathe a sigh, other leads apply,” there’s a new context which imbues it with a new meaning. That context comes from the image associated with the phrase “Breathe a sigh,” where the speaker tries to calm himself of the awful thoughts by taking a deep breath. Now, that makes “other leads apply” seem more level-headed than how it appeared in the last verse. Instead of involving a betrayal of the self, “other leads apply” registers as the speaker asking himself what the other options are.
Verse three has an interlocking harmonization integrated as part of the meaning:
Raining all day, trying to reach you. Feel so helpless, can’t stop counting time (but in the morning). Don’t know why, hands stealin’ my heart. Graceful dives, other leads apply (roses rain down from the sky).
The first line of this quatrain—“Raining all day, trying to reach you”—carries some weight. For starters, “Raining all day” may serve as scenery or as a symbol for the speaker’s depression hitting the breaking point. But a more-striking phrase appears in the form of “trying to reach you.” There’s an ambiguity present in what the “you” refers to. Two ideas entail that the “you” identifies the other person in a failing relationship (hence the song’s title of “Significant Other”) or that it refers to a perceived failure to achieve a purpose. If one believe the latter, it’s left unknown as to what that purpose is and to who/what determined it to be of such importance as to warrant suicide over failing to achieve it.
Regardless, the line which follows—“Feel so helpless, can’t stop counting time”—appears to take this idea of a vague purpose and run with it. For instance, “Feel so helpless” derives its sense of meaninglessness due to how hopeless it appears to the speaker that the purpose can come to fruition. This leads me to think that the ‘purpose’ and the failed relationship (or more accurately, the failure to start a relationship) which appear to split the meaning of “you” are one-and-the-same. Especially considering the level of obsession inherent to a detail such as “can’t stop counting time,” where the speaker constantly keeps track of how many times he’s failed.
Another reason to believe that the ‘purpose’ relates to a failure to start a relationship becomes apparent in the line “Don’t know why, hands stealin’ my heart.” While “Don’t know why” indicates that the reason for this is unknowable since it varies in intensity from person-to-person, the meat-and-potatoes of analysis comes from “hands stealin’ my heart.” That phrase alone uses two symbols (“hands” and “heart”) to create a web of meanings—it’s probably no accident that Steven chose symbols associated with actions and emotion. Probably the best way to interpret the phrase suggests that actions (perhaps unconsciously in a moment of panic) betray the emotions—either by suppressing them or avoiding a risky situation (such as talking with someone) which can also potentially yield rewards in the long-term. This also means that when the “hands” are motivated by a different set of emotions (in this case, fear) than that of the “heart,” the force exerted by the “hands” always win out since the “heart” can’t fight back.
That’s not a happy thought, but the song does end—with the line “Graceful dives, other leads apply”—on a note that’s kind of happy and kind of sad. To get the sad part out of the way first, “Graceful dives” implies that the unhappy thoughts of the previous line have triggered a lapse of suicidal thoughts—namely thinking that suicide is a way out of his distressed mental state. This dire notion is somewhat tempered by the familiar phrase “other leads apply,” which now entails that the speaker’s actively pursuing other routes of recovery.
On the topic of the interlocked harmony—“But in the morning/roses rain down from the sky”—that runs throughout this final verse, there’s some weight to it. Following the fluff of “morning” entailing a definite time and place, there’s two qualities at play: symbolism and ambiguity. The symbolism of “roses” marks the physical manifestation of the ‘purpose’—linking that to the failure to start a relationship proves ironic and adds to the ambiguity inherent to “rain down from the sky.” That phrase proves ambiguous on multiple fronts. First, it’s unclear whether the image of “roses rain down from the sky” reflects the speaker handing roses to the other person or the other person chucking the roses back at the speaker. Second, that distinction marks the difference between a new opportunity opening up for the speaker to achieve his purpose and the death rattle of that purpose. That double-ambiguity leaves the fate of the speaker up to the listener’s imagination.
“Only Child” (4:24)
“Only Child” was—for the longest time—a song that struck me as unmemorable. That’s a mistake evident from the dominant bass and guitar pattern grabbing my attention when I listened to it this time. Steven’s vocal delivery is as understated as usual, but this fits the laid-back tone of the instrumentation. So for this one to stick with you, the magic comes in the little things.
On the surface level, the lyrics to “Only Child” concern a bunch of random phrases. But a deeper dive uncovers a story about a kid-at-heart adult being visited by the devil. This story doesn’t end with the kid-at-heart getting dragged to Hell, but with something worse.
Apart from Gavin’s drumming, this and “Harmony Korine” are the only songs on Insurgentes without guest appearances.
Steven’s opening lines comprise a striking introduction to the song:
A raven holding to narrow wrist. Pull it tight. Clothes are torn and the body twists A single light.
Right from the first line of “A raven holding to narrow wrist,” Steven’s lyrics lay the symbolism on thickly. First, this “raven” serves as a metaphor for a dark-and-ominous presence—appropriate given that it’s the devil in disguise. Secondly, “narrow wrist” carries connotations of a child-like figure or emaciation (probably more likely given this person’s an adult). But where things become interesting is through the raven’s utilization of force (in the phrase “Pull it tight”) in order to overtake the boy. Overtake involves a robbing of bodily autonomy, which leads me to make a comparison to something else in mythology (specifically Greek) that may be a stretch. Namely, the devil’s possession of the boy while in the form of an animal is comparable to Zeus’s raping of Leda. In this myth, Zeus transforms into a swan in order to rape and impregnate a mortal woman named Leda—conceiving Helen of Troy in the process. My point being that rape and this instance of demonic possession are comparable in that both involve an aggressor using brute force to strip a victim of one’s autonomy—either through total control in the case of the possession or through a host of psychological and physiological defense mechanisms being used against you in the case of the sexual assault (not to mention rape culture).
On a note with less potentially foot-in-mouth-bullshit emitting from my mouth, there’s the next two lines: “Clothes are torn and the body twists/A single light.” First, “Clothes are torn and the body twists” provides a visceral visual detail regarding the end-result of the force that the raven imposed upon the boy via “Pull it tight.” Secondly, the “single light” refers to the destination of the boy, the raven, or both—probably both given that demonic possession is involved.
The severity of the situation escalates in Steven’s next set of lines:
The worse the struggle, the more you fail. Strands fall down. The more you like it, the more it hurts. Why stop now?
Beginning the proceedings with the line “The worse the struggle, the more you fail” carries sinister connotations. Namely that this line is coming from the mouth of the devil himself. Furthermore, the devil believes with the fullest conviction that he’s already won the boy’s soul. So he tries to convince the boy that resistance is futile—moreso than the idea of resisting the Borg (watch no one get that Star Trek reference).
This whole act isn’t without consequences on the boy. Just look at “Strands fall down,” where the continued struggling from the boy seems to unravel aspects of the boy’s personality bit-by-bit. That idea of suffering takes on a new dimension with the line “The more you like it, the more it hurts.” Aside from the connections to an earlier song’s lyric of “Waiting…to be disciplined,”[8] this line carries a fucked-up connotation regarding the devil and the nature of his trickery. In essence, in order to goad the boy (as proven by the blatant temptation of “Why stop now?”) to surrender to him, the devil inverts the boy’s physiological responses—things that were pleasurable to him before are rendered painful and vice-versa.
These lines are what “Only Child” has in regards to a chorus—and also offer a glimmer of hope to this song:
An only child. A winning smile. A killing trial.
Line one of the chorus—“An only child”—coheres when one considers that the imagery of “child” isn’t literal. Instead, it conveys that the boy either acts like a child or remains a kid-at-heart despite the torment the devil put him through. In fact, it’s that kid-at-heart quality which fuels the “winning smile,” that’s starting to sway the judge of the “killing trial.” However, “killing trial” remains a wording with two meanings. First, there’s the notion that a “killing trial” amounts to a test regarding whether a person can go through with actually killing someone. Second, the phrase “killing trial” is a judgement made about whether or not a person should die—albeit with the divine stakes that can make the death actually occur.
The next lines of the song are where the results of the trial are made clear:
A broken rib and a bloody lip, All in hell. The fire’s gone and your pride is stripped, A private hell.
Starting off with the first two lines of “A broken rib and a bloody lip,/All in hell,” there’s a sense that a listener invested in this tale can breathe a sigh of relief. After all, the judge of the trial let the boy live. On top of that the only injuries the boy sustained “in hell” were “A broken rib and a bloody lip” that were possibly the result of the force exerted upon him by the devil (in the form of a raven). I’m no expert on demonic possessions or being dragged to hell, but I’d say that given how terribly wrong this could’ve ended up (for example, see Steven’s later song “The Holy Drinker”), the boy got off pretty lucky.
The next two lines—“The fire’s gone and your pride is stripped,/A private hell”—essentially say ‘Not so fast’ to the notion that the boy was lucky to escape hell. First of all, saying that the “fire’s gone” both states that the boy isn’t in hell anymore and that the boy has nothing motivating him to achieve excellence. One may think that literally going to hell and back would make one grateful for what they have, but “pride is stripped” entails a humbling effect associated with being thrust back into reality after something like that. But the most sinister phrase of all is “private hell.” Indeed, that’s the reason why the devil and the judge let the boy live—the devil considered the boy’s meaningless existence as something worse than hell. Or at least worse than hell from the perspective of the devil.
Considering all of that, Steven’s last lines in the song contains something ironic:
You never know why it is this way. Leave here now. Live through this on another day. Tonight sleep sound.
That sense of perspective remains vital for the first two lines of this verse: “You never know why it is this way/Leave here now.” For one note, “You never know why it is this way” registers rather directly—neither the devil nor the judge told the boy why he was allowed to live, just to leave hell (but that’d imply that there’s an open door out). It’s kind of ironic that the phrase “Leave here now” gets used here considering that the context of this song (escaping hell/death and living another day) is the exact opposite of the suicidal connotations that that same phrase had in Porcupine Tree’s “Sleep Together.”
While on the subject of irony, the song’s last two lines—“Live through this on another day/Tonight sleep sound”—boast the biggest use of irony in the whole song. Sure, one may find the fact that the ability for the boy to live in content with such a mundane life was made possible by ignorance to be a thing of irony, but there’s something else even more so. That’s the fact that while the devil surely intended for the refusal to inform the boy of why he’s allowed to live to register as an act of cruelty, it can also come across as unintentionally merciful. Depends on how much the boy chooses to linger on the unknown specifics.
“Twilight Coda” (3:25) [instrumental]
In terms of sounds, “Twilight Coda” serves as the closest thing to ambient music on Insurgentes. Which registers as appropriate since someone (I forget who) pointed out that one of the recurring background noises in this track has origins in a Bass Communion track. Apart from that, there’s fingerpicked acoustic guitar from Sand Snowman, restrained bass from Tony Levin, and shimmering piano from Jordan Rudess. The lack of drums makes “Twilight Coda” one of two tracks on Insurgentes (the other being the title track) where Gavin’s completely absent.
There’s not much to talk about with this one. It serves as more of an interlude than a full-fledged track
“Get All You Deserve” (6:17)
In terms of the music contained in the track, “Get All You Deserve” consists of two rather different sounds. One comes from the quiet, minor-key piano ballad of the verses which register as spooky—and the tones of Steven’s voice only make the sound veer into eeriness. The other type of sound in the song reveals itself in the second half—a drone-based build-up which intensifies over the course of three minutes. Louder and louder becomes the way this section builds up until much of the last minute overwhelms the listener with the deafening sound of static. One reason I prefer the live version on Get All You Deserve is that that version substitutes the static for an impromptu noise-based jam—not ideal, but better than the ear-grating static on the studio version. At least the static makes the serenity of “Insurgentes” all-the-more striking.
For the lyrics, “Get All You Deserve” ends up covering the subject matter of people who think the world owes them everything that they think they deserve. This isn’t only true of the lyrics, but the noise-based outro that’s as senseless and furious as the ravenous appetite of the type of people Steven describes in only six lines.
Only one guest appearance adorns “Get All You Deserve.” That one person’s the guitar drones of Dirk Serries.
Steven’s first triad of lyrics are eerily sung as follows:
Open the car door slow.
Don’t think that you’ll ever know my name.
Get all that you deserve in this world.
The song’s first line—“Open the car door slow”—serves the function of setting the scene. That scene’s that of a car crash and the driver coming out to see who he ran over. What this carries over into with the next line—“Don’t think that you’ll ever know my name”—warrants special attention. On one level this serves as a literal statement, but another level renders this a line functioning as a metaphor for the driver going about life with reckless abandon while using people as if they’re things. In that sense, it’s not dissimilar to a speech given within the pages of Thomas Pynchon’s 1973 novel Gravity’s Rainbow regarding the dehumanizing effects of a materialist culture during World War II:
Mister Information tonight is in a kind mood. He will show you Happyville…Yesyes, Skippy, the truth is that the War is keeping things alive. Things. The Ford is only one of them. The Germans-and-Japs story was only one, rather surrealistic version of the real War. The real War is always there. The dying tapers off now and then, but the War is still killing lots and lots of people.[9]
There are differences between that quote and the context of this song. But those differences amount to the difference between wartime and peacetime. That the latter’s the case in this song’s arguably more insidious since it illustrates the corrosive effects of a materialist culture on humanity in what should be a prosperous time.
That insidious quality permeates the song’s refrain of “Get all that you deserve in this world,” a line containing several elements worth poring over. Namely the words “Get,” “all,” “you,” “deserve,” and “in this world.” To get the minor quibble dealt with first, “in this world” illustrates that this speaker isn’t aligned with Steven’s beliefs since this phrase implies some sort of afterlife/spirituality. Starting the meat-and-potatoes of the line come “you,” a reference to either the speaker or the run-over person—if it’s the latter, the speaker’s stating that the other person deserved to die. On the topic of “deserve,” that word alone conveys that the speaker feels like he’s owed things, resulting in such a strong sense of entitlement that the speaker’s perfectly willing to destroy the lives of others in order to obtain them—all while showing not a shred of remorse. As for the things themselves, “all” makes them misleading—the invention of new things and the refinement of old things guarantees that there is no “all” since everything is ever-expanding faster than the speaker can possibly keep up with. Yet the mechanical, non-specific wording of “Get” informs us that the speaker’s doing his damnedest to keep up with the flow of product—he’s stripped of free-will and is essentially a mindless drone following the program that the capitalist society told him to.
That alone renders this refrain Steven’s briefest and most-effective critique on the hollowness of material culture.
Since “Get All You Deserve” contains very sparse lyrics, Steven’s second triad of lyrics are the song’s last:
Love more than you can know.
Have more than you’ll ever need from me.
Get all that you deserve in this world.
Carrying over the ideas of dehumanization from the previous triad, the line “Love more than you can know” develops them into a frightening new direction. In essence, to state “Love more than you can know” amounts to saying that the speaker loves people and things. But by stating that he loves some of them “more than” anyone “can” ever “know,” than this ‘love’s a front for some of these people/things—he doesn’t love some of the people/things that he claims to love. In fact, it leaves it an open question whether or not the speaker’s even capable of loving anyone or anything at all.
The final line of non-repeated lyrics in the song—“Have more than you’ll ever need from me”—ends the song on a dour note. On one level, this line illustrates the speaker’s cruelty—the speaker’s not saying “Have more” to the run-over person, but to himself. That means that because the speaker already has every material possession that the run-over person could possibly offer, the speaker has no reason to exploit this person to his own selfish ends. So the speaker does something even more selfish and leaves the person to die.
"Insurgentes” (3:55)
The title track of the album demands context in understanding both the title and the lyrics. One layer of that considers the fact that Steven spent a large chunk of the recording sessions for Insurgentes in Mexico. So much so that the album title shares that of the longest street in Mexico City. The other important layer concerns the Virgin of Guadalupe—a religious cultural symbol whose deemed the Mother and protector of the humble and simple people in the central region of Mexico. Specifically, the lyrics most likely concern a person’s faith in the Virgin of Guadalupe becoming shattered. Considering that Steven had likely been exposed to the social phenomenon of the Virgin of Guadalupe, he may have been in awe at the millions who travel to Guadalupe’s temple in order to pray on December 12th of each year.
As for how the song sounds, “Insurgentes” caps off the album with an open-ended ballad which evokes tears based off of how beautiful the song sounds. Part of that serene-yet-exotic sound remains indebted to one important guest appearance: Japanese contemporary classical musician Michiyo Yagi, who plays on a 17-string bass koto. This—combined with the lack of drums—imbue “Insurgentes” with a spacious and ethereal vibe which places Steven’s vocals front-and-center.
The opening lines of lyrics set up Steven’s themes of faith, expectations, and reality crashing down:
Holy Mother of a simple one, When you smile at me, you bring me down. You betray your thoughts. All your prayers to naught.
Right from the first line of “Holy Mother of a simple one,” themes pertaining to religion and a criticism of religion rear their head. As previously mentioned, the song contains ties to the Virgin of Guadalupe, which (as “Holy Mother” exhibits) can serve as a cultural equivalent to the Virgin Mary (although I’m no expert on cross-cultural interpretations of various sects of religion, so I could be wrong). The point where this becomes an implied critique of religion is through “a simple one”—if “Holy Mother” conflates the Virgin of Guadalupe with Mary, then this reads as a reference to Jesus. And “a simple one” registers as a loaded remark because it entails that Jesus (to some extent) had an easier time to be ‘holier than though’ because being the Son of God meant he was the Christian equivalent of a demi-god instead of a mortal man. That same argument—that expecting an ordinary mortal man to adhere to the bar set by the Son of God is a fundamental flaw—fueled the famous “The Grand Inquisitor” chapter of Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, a section that’s influenced arguments on religion, philosophy, and morality since the publication of Dostoyevsky’s novel in 1880.
That same Dostoyevsky novel contained a focus on human suffering which relates to the next line: “When you smile at me, you drag me down.” Here, a listener has to wonder why the smiles “drag me down.” One simple conclusion to draw involves the speaker having experienced unstated personal turmoil. As a result of said personal turmoil, the ‘grace of God’ feels like rubbing salt into an open wound. In this respect, the Dostoyevsky-esque suffering makes religion seem inadequate.
Line number three—“You betray your thoughts”—contains a rather interesting thought behind it. There’s an ambiguity as to whether “You” refers to the speaker or to the Virgin of Guadalupe. Considering other lines of the song, it’s probably the Virgin of Guadalupe. In this regard, “betray your thoughts” presents the contradictions of doctrine as an identity crisis within the Virgin of Guadalupe.
As for the last line of this verse (“All your prayers to naught”), that’s a bit more self-explanatory. With “prayers to naught” outright invoking one to ask whether ‘thoughts and prayers’ have ever done anything without actions driving them, this line extends the critique of religion. Particularly blindly following belief.
Between this set of lines and the next, Michiyo Yagi’s koto plays an unforgettable melody which probably has symbolic resonance. On one level, this melody can represent a fear of isolation in the speaker as he’s about to leave something he’s believed his whole life up until now. In a sense, that can generate an inner torment that’s also represented by this koto melody. Alternatively, the koto melody also mirrors the process of questioning faith on an internal level.
Steven’s second set of lyrics—the one’s which he chooses to end the album with—offer a new development in the speaker:
Now out of death you speak in tongues. And out of breath your work is done. And your dreams absolve. And your paths dissolve.
Without some context of the Virgin of Guadalupe, the lines “Now out of death you speak in tongues/And out of breath your work is done” appear nonsensical. First, “out of death” refers to a miracle ascribed to the Virgin of Guadalupe involving the time she yanked an arrow from the neck of a Native American without drawing even a drop of blood (allowing the Native American to undergo a full-recovery of what would’ve otherwise been a mortal wound). Secondly, “speak in tongues” refers to Catholic accounts which state that the Virgin of Guadalupe’s capable of speaking the following languages: Nahuatl (language of the Aztecs), Spanish, English, and any other language found in Mexico. Third, “work is done” involves a cultural reference to how native Mexicans pray to her: regularly asking her for food in order to feed the poorest people in the country. However, there’s also a criticism of religion in the phrase “out of breath” since that phrase relates to the idea that prayers are pushed to the limit when applied to their practicality in the real-world—the speaker can’t see any practical reason for religion.
That lack of practicality directly affects the last two lines of the song: “And your dreams absolve/And your paths dissolve.” That these two lines repeat like a refrain are not insignificant as they’re the path to the speaker’s future. Regarding “dreams absolve,” the dreams are of the religious kind, which the speaker forgives himself for believing at all since it blinded him to the contradictions inherent to religion. The natural extension from that to “paths dissolve” states that the speaker has severed ties to religion.
Final Thoughts:
While still an excellent album, Insurgentes appears as the least cohesive of Steven’s five (as of this writing) solo albums. That’s not to say it’s a stinker since some consider Insurgentes as his finest solo album—something not without merit due to the diverse and well-written material found on the album. It’s just that Grace for Drowning, The Raven That Refused To Sing (and Other Stories), Hand. Cannot. Erase., and To The Bone all outclass this album in one respect or another—with Hand. Cannot. Erase. potentially supplanting In Absentia as my favorite album that Steven’s ever written.
Citations
[1] Inside joke between me and one of my teachers—Illinois is one of her all-time favorites.
[2] Sufjan Stevens – “John Wayne Gacy Jr.” (from Illinois, 2005—an album often deemed one of the best of the first decade of the 21st century)
[3] This isn’t proof of Steven’s sexuality. Although Steven has had girlfriends at points of his life, various factors—including his refusal to have children and his privacy—have led some to believe that he’s bisexual/pansexual/queer but has seen no reason to come out.
[4] Porcupine Tree – “Time Flies” (The Incident, 2009)
[5] James Joyce, Ulysses (Episode 2, line 386; pg. 34 of my edition).
[6] Tool – “Lateralus” (from Lateralus, 2001)
[7] From On the Sunday of Life, Porcupine Tree’s 1992 debut album.
[8] Porcupine Tree – “Waiting (Phase One)” (from Signify, 1996)
[9] Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow (page 658).
Next at Bat:
Steven Wilson - Grace for Drowning (2011)
Steven Wilson - The Raven That Refused to Sing (and Other Stories) (2013
Steven Wilson - Hand. Cannot. Erase. (2015)
Steven Wilson - To The Bone (2017)
Come October, I'll be interspersing Steven Wilson-related reviews with albums from Nine Inch Nails (who formed thirty years ago in October 1988) and Tom Petty (whose birth-date and death-date both fell in the month of October).