Prog rock's crown prince, Steven Wilson this week embarked on his first shows in Australia since 2018, in support of his latest magnum opus 'The Overview', the expansive two-song LP that somehow manages to capture and commit the cosmos to tape.
The night (13 November) opened with 'Objects Outlive Us' from this very album. Wilson stood alone at first, the only figure lit on a stage packed with electronic instruments as he sculpted sound from his vast synth network.
Gradually in the dark space textures began to bloom, and one by one the band joined in. What started as a faint, electronic pulse grew into a surging, shape-shifting piece that seemed to inhale and exhale with the theatre itself.
The stage layout was clean and striking: band members Craig Blundell, Nick Beggs, Wilson, Randy McStine and Adam Holzman all positioned in an equal line, equally visible – unusual for Wilson's usual setups of past.
Image © Mike Lockheart
Behind them, a massive LED screen projected vivid, otherworldly visuals, vast cosmic landscapes that expanded the music's sense of scale without distracting from it. The sound was frankly, beyond perfect. Her Majesty's Theatre is already an acoustic jewel, but this was something entirely different.
Wilson and his crew had mixed the performance for total immersion. Sound came from every direction, surrounding the audience in a swirl of texture and movement. Having regularly seen Wilson live since 2011, I can say this was the most spatially ambitious and flawlessly executed show he's ever staged.
'Objects Outlive Us' morphed restlessly, flowing from section to section with logic that felt emotional rather than structural. Every member of the band watched the others, catching Wilson's small cues; a glance, a twist of the body, aiding to navigate impossible rhythmic changes.
Image © Mike Lockheart
When it finally reached its crescendo, it was a harmony of colour and motion, a living organism breathing through light and sound.
Read our recent interview with Steven.
Then came 'The Overview', continuing the journey with equal ambition but different gravity. Its long-form progression felt meditative and grand at once, the music unfolding like a slow panorama of Earth from orbit. It was easy to lose yourself in it, and for a while the theatre felt completely still, like a spacecraft locked in the traction of a black hole.
Wilson broke the trance between songs, speaking with humour and warmth. He joked that all the metal fans had gone to see Blood Incantation across town, which is why "there are no under-30s here tonight". The crowd roared, and from that moment he had Adelaide in his pocket. What began as a polite audience became something far more animated, laughing, cheering, calling out between songs.
The Porcupine Tree era deep-cut 'Voyage 34 (Phase I)' drifted in after a short interval, a nod to his psychedelic roots. 'Home Invasion' and 'Regret #9' followed, a one-two punch of blistering modern prog.
Image © Mike Lockheart
Guitarist Randy McStine shone here, often taking centre stage, tearing through solos with precision and soul. Wilson even stepped back to watch him play, grinning in admiration. Steven's speech about being "the least talented member of the band" wasn't false modesty. This line-up is exceptional, and his pride in them was obvious.
'What Life Brings' and 'Staircase' from 'The Harmony Codex' offered a glistening, futuristic contrast. Nick Beggs' Chapman Stick work on 'Staircase' was jaw-dropping, equal parts technical and joyful. You could sense how much the musicians trusted and admired each other — a band of equals having the time of their lives.
Then came 'Dislocated Day', a snarling Porcupine Tree resurrection. The riff hit like a shockwave. It was less pristine, more primal, and Wilson even unleashed some of his own guitar firepower, a reminder that he's a seriously underrated shredder.
Image © Mike Lockheart
'Pariah' brought a tender pause, its emotional weight magnified live; following which Wilson joked about needing a toilet break, disappearing offstage and leaving the band to fill the gap.
Beggs took the mic, delivering a hilarious improvised lecture on how to make the perfect cup of tea, complete with jazz-fusion accompaniment. When Wilson returned, shaking his head and disapproving, having warned them not to indulge, the audience was in hysterics.
The energy ramped back up with 'Luminol', 'Harmony Korine' and 'Vermillioncore', a closing sequence that blurred light, rhythm and emotion into one seamless trip. The lighting was astonishing, sparks of colour seemed to fall from the ceiling, syncing perfectly with the on-screen visuals and the music's pulse during 'Harmony Korine'.
Wilson's signature hand contortions during 'Vermillioncore' felt almost ritualistic, his movements echoing the twisted phrases of the song. 'Ancestral', introduced by Wilson with a self-deprecating comment about not having any famous songs, lead off the show's deserved standing ovation encore. When someone yelled for 'Trains', he shot back: "Ask the first 200 people outside if they've heard it. I guarantee none of them have."
Image © Mike Lockheart
'Ancestral' and 'The Raven That Refused To Sing' proved his point in the best possible way, timeless, sprawling and deeply moving, so very personal, as many can attest it feels like Steven Wilson is our shared collective secret, an unknown quantity of momentous talent.
Wilson's work has always had a strange emotional gravity for me, but this show reaffirmed it completely. When counterparts 'Home Invasion' and 'Regret #9' swelled to its final peak, I found myself tearing up.
You don't just listen to Steven Wilson, you inhabit the world he builds; and for a few hours, it's the most beautiful place imaginable. Run, don't walk to catch these shows on Australian soil.
