The capacity for change is a natural one, but the capacity for people to accept change can be another thing altogether. Particularly in the music industry, where something that not be harpooned to a specific genre often becomes too cumbersome to market or even intelligently discuss, and must therefore forge innovative roads to recognition. Even worse when a band takes the bold motion to actually dramatically alter their sound. Thus the challenge the band Marillion have faced for the last 13 years, since the departure of their original vocalist and the gradual redesign of their music from its past roots in long form (prog) rock to their current sound, one that defies formal categorization and thus will struggle to achieve the recognition it deserves.

There is nothing innately original about the new Marillion CD, other than perhaps its name. Anoraknophobia (which roughly translates to fear of being unfashionable, or possibly, fear of geeks) is an odd name for such a musically chimeric wonder, and belies very little about the music beneath the package. The cover, depicting some bizarre rainbow coalition of South Park Kennys wielding wire coat hangers does little to provide additional clarity. But the pastiche of musical genres and influences found beneath the packaging does have one thread in common, an unflagging sense of triumph. Perhaps this was a therapeutic exercise for the band, who were able to raise (quite boldly, I may add) the entire pre-distribution cost of this record from online preorders, something now casually referred to in the industry as “pulling a Marillion.” Perhaps this is their way of saying this time they were going to do it their way. Because the result sounds like a band standing on a pinnacle of some remote mountain hollering triumphantly, and perhaps even flipping off a few people along the way.

In order to properly place the gravity of this release, it is important to have some historical perspective, or at least a summary thereof. Marillion enjoyed its greatest success in the mid-eighties, very early in the band’s history, and have basically been relegated to a cult (albeit large and unprecedentedly zealous) following since that time. They have used the Internet to their benefit more than any other group that I can think of, creating and gilding a community while also leveraging their ability to market themselves more effectively than any label would have the inclination to do. In an industry that routinely turns out bands and discards them like last month’s milk, it is refreshing to see such outside-the-box innovation.

After the exit of their original vocalist, Fish, the band took a more middle-of-the-road pop route that was met with some success, but on some levels felt like a band that was trying too hard to find an identity within a market. Brave, a brilliant conceptual work that later followed, was to me an anchor in the band’s career- a place where their past and future would converge. Brave was unfortunately overlooked for the masterpiece it is, and the band went on to create four subsequent albums that have wavered between rock, pop, alternative and experimental. All of these albums were crafted with the integrity the band put towards everything they do, but none of them stood out as some bold defining statement. Something that bowls you over with an unyielding intensity and then proceeds to pummel you while you are down. That is what Anoraknophobia does to me.

Why? I guess the first place to start is the rhythm section. Bassist Pete Trewavas and drummer Ian Mosely sound like they have been jolted by some musical cattle prod. On some level I’m confident this is related to the recent side projects both have been involved in. Specifically I am aware that the intensity Trewavas displayed both on the Transatlantic album and the subsequent tour (just please don’t let him sing those high notes ever again) was something that clearly took him to another level. On the last few albums, perhaps even going all the way back to Season’s End, both Trewavas and Mosely mostly sound like two guys going through the motions. Solid but not inspired. On Anorak they sound possessed.

Similarly there is a new creativity apparent in Steve Rothery’s guitar playing. This evolution (er, progression) has been evident since This Strange Engine, three releases ago. Gone for the most part were the aching, soaring solos that were Rothery’s watermark. In their place was a often blues-inflected jangle, a Jeff Beck inspired edge, and a funkiness that would have never been appropriate in the past. He was bringing new styles into the mix and clearly mastering them along the way. Anoraknophobia is the culmination of those efforts, and you will hear him pinballing from mad axeman to Buddy Guy to Ani DiFranco folk frenetics. Rothery floats in and out of the throbbing rhythm section, the exposed nerve of vocalist/ lyricist Steve Hogarth and duels with the multifaceted attack of keyboardist Mark Kelly. And that it what it sounds like, some harmonious duel where water laps up against fire, then gets swallowed by some diving bird of prey, and we are left stunned, backstepping from passive/ aggressive sets of speakers, angling for perspective.

And yes, there are actual songs here too. From the opening cinematic headfake of the power pop Between You and Me into the bitter slashes of the raucous Quartz, you know early on that you’re not on safe ground anymore. Quartz in particular arrives as the sinister cousin of The Uninvited Guest, a track that measures the distance between two diametrically opposed friends from the perspective of one jaded eye: “And everytime I smile d’you wonder if I’m laughing at you? With every little grin you don’t want to be wonderin.” Elements of Anoraknophobia speak to the band’s (recent) past: some of the edgier elements in the latter half of Brave arise now and then, and songs like Separated Out recall earlier Hogarth-era tracks like Hooks In You, except done a little more authentically. Fruit Of The Wild Rose leaves the experimentation more exposed, culminating in a Phish-like jam unprecedented in Marillion’s studio output. Additionally, some of the more experimental tracks from Marillion.com (an album title here, not a web site) like House and Cathedral Wall are recalled in places on Anoraknophobia, but they are somehow more cohesive and vital. Perhaps part of what the band have done on this one is take pains not to overdo it, to let the songs grow organically in the studio and detach once they have achieved fruition.

But for me the track that is the backbone of Anoraknophobia is without question This Is The 21st Century. This massive, sinuous beast writhes in and out of a belting, breathing rhythm, orbited by a swarm of ectoplasmic keyboard samples and assorted binaria. A lyrical masterstroke (Hogarth seems to have written this album with a dull scalpel), this track examines how the demystifying effects of science and technology can marginalize the spirit and magic of the universe. And then the album gets rounded out by the bizarre twists of If My Heart Were A Ball It Would Roll Uphill, which sounds like nothing I’ve ever heard before, and frankly didn’t know what to do with when I first encountered it. From its strange childish chantlike opening to the idiosyncratic jam that closes the door, the track sounds more like an experiment than an actual song. On some level this is indicative of the album as a whole, that it sounds like some grand experiment that somehow goes just right. The potions swirl into magnificent colors, a few of them explode here and there, but they’re good explosions, the kind you will eventually heal from, and when all of the smoke clears you are left with this stunning monolith that you hadn’t expected, but it is there and you cannot deny it.

And that is what is there when the smoke clears. A complex, triumphant icon of a band that are the very picture of perseverance through adversity, integrity though change. It is a testament to a committed fanbase that allowed a band the freedom to unravel themselves from two decades of expectations, labels (both record and stereotypical), and the constant uphill struggle that has strapped many a band to take the easier route and opt out. It is a testament to finding your own way. It is a triumph indeed.