When Porcupine Tree began work on 2005 album Deadwing, they did so under something of a cloud. They were working with Lava Records, who’d cut the budget in response to the relative failure of previous release In Absentia.
“I think there was an implicit understanding that when we signed to Lava – we would be expected to come up with songs that they could take to radio,” Steven Wilson says. “They didn’t have to ask; I understood that.”
He points to two songs on Deadwing which embodied this approach. One was Lazarus, which smoothed out Porcupine Tree’s sharp edges without diluting their personality. “People seemed very excited by Lazarus,” says Wilson. “I think they saw some potential in it on the radio.”
The other was Shallow. That one was a different matter; it was Wilson at his most deliberately straightforward. Although it was hardly Bon Jovi, by his standards it had the whiff of cynicism.
“Shallow was the only time I’ve really thought, ‘Oh, I must write a rock radio crossover song,’” he admits. “I felt a little bit grubby, because I knew that it hadn’t necessarily come from a place of complete integrity.”
It worked to an extent, reaching 26 in the US Mainstream Rock chart – although the band stymied plans to have it released elsewhere. But the experience added to Wilson’s unhappiness about doing the promotional circuit.
“You’d have to do those early-morning breakfast radio shows, where you’d have some zany DJ and his posse of sycophants,” he sighs. “It’s 6am and I’m fucking barely awake, and I’m being wheeled into these shows basically so they could take the piss out of progressive rock: ‘Hey, we got Steve Wilson from this British prog rock band Porcupine Tree, and what is it about Rick Wakeman and capes?’
“It was terrible; I was completely out of my depth and I hated every minute of it. And I made a vow never, ever to do that again.”
Shallow was supposed to persuade the world that they were a viable radio rock band. But was dropped from the Deadwing tour set after just a few shows due to the fact that it went down like a turd in a punchbowl.
They put on Shallow, and some girl came onstage and stripped to it
Gavin Harrison
“Completely,” says Wilson. “I think people were suspicious of our motivations in doing it. And they were right to be. That’s another thing I learned about myself. There are artists who are very good about contriving to create radio songs, and they somehow pull it off. When I do it, it just sounds fake a mile off. It stinks. And I don’t know why.”
Drummer Gavin Harrison offers a contrasting view. “I really like the song,” he says. “But I think everybody else hated it.” He recalls an incident that emphasises just how far the track was from their comfort zone, which took place in Syracuse, New York.
“Next door to the venue was this strip club, like a Bada Bing, Tony Soprano type of place,” he says. “After we finished playing, they invited us in. So we go inside and they put on Shallow, and some girl came onstage and stripped to it. We were encouraged to put five dollar bills into...” He mimes slipping money into some unspecified orifice. “It was surreal.”
You must confirm your public display name before commenting
Please logout and then login again, you will then be prompted to enter your display name.
