Rock bands usually get tender with age, but not Porcupine Tree!

While Steven Wilson, the band's undisputed leader, is a sucker for melodies (this should be taken as a compliment, as we will further elaborate in our review of Blackfield's latest release), he traded some of the accessible, immediate-impact songwriting, which dominated the band's last few releases, for an even deeper sense of drama on this new concept album, making the teenage reflections with which the album deals appeal to a wider, universal audience.

The drama is threefold in its aesthetics: First of all, the album is most possibly the most cinematic album the band has produced, as the songs are composite, and, enhanced by a neurotic ambience, they portray concrete scenes that are bound to trap the listener.

Secondly, the album is probably Porcupine Tree's most menacing work to date, and as closest to metal as the band has ever gotten: electrocuting guitar work, unleashing with subtlety through shuddering solos and black-hole riffs; masterful, intense drumming that proves Gavin Harrison not only as one of the most sensitive drummers around, but also as one of the most fearsome — punching your heart with every bash and trapping you within his massive grooves; and, of course, there's the anxious vocal delivery to match all that.

One cannot ignore the Opeth influence that hovers in the air, but (as we expand shortly) the implementation is strictly from the Porcupine Tree perspective.

Finally, the music elaborates the already singular Porcupine Tree sound (which, at this point in the band's career, no one can deem as a shallow derivative of one band or another), as it combines the two aforementioned characteristics with the instantly recognizable songwriting as well as a few references to earlier works — such are the primeval, early ‘90s electronic rhythms that get a more natural treatment without sparing on density; the spacey journey, which is fully realized to integrate (with the right proportions) into the body of work, creating mesmerizing layered effects; and a brief revisit to In Absentia's "Trains."

After taking some months to digest Fear of a Blank Planet, we feel safe to say that it is one of those rare albums that offer lifetime expectancy. (9.9/10)