Review Summary: Falling Into Infinity: A Retrospective Reconsideration, or: Understanding Progressive Giants, A Study, pts. I-V
I’ll admit it, I used to be a proghead, one who wished death upon any group that lacked a “progressive” genre tag on their Wikipedia page. I was one of
them; the
bad type. I basked in the superiority I derived from flaunting my iPod and the song lengths of its contents at my Green Day-loving friends. Come to think of it,
Kid A probably saved my social life. It didn’t just redirect the trajectory of my embarrassing musical self-definition, it smashed it to pieces, as I reckon it continues to do for countless others like myself. And all of a sudden, in the summer of 2007, progressive rock, progressive metal, progressive-symphonic-what-have-you, they all became enemy genres. I hung up my beloved Dream Theater hoodie in the back of my closet, erased half of my library, took Radiohead’s gateway drug, and resolved to never look back. Trouble is, rarely do resolutions hold water; stop by the gym every week following New Years’ Day, and you’ll understand. Dead interests are like bittersweet memories of that first ex-girlfriend, inescapable. I should’ve realized it, in retrospect, that one day I’d revisit the band I once boasted to be the end-all of technical proficiency, of music in general.
Honestly, absorbing Dream Theater’s discography anew was a pretty dull experience. I mean, these are albums and songs formerly in such heavy rotation that, three and a half years later, I still have them memorized. By heart. Every John Petrucci shredfest, every Mike Portnoy drum fill. Memorized. This isn’t to say I didn’t learn anything, because I did, and it has nothing to do with Dream Theater’s current obsession with acting as emotionless clockwork. ‘Cause
that I already knew. What I learned is that they should’ve sold out long ago, and as proof I point to none other than
Falling Into Infinity, the group’s fourth, most radio-friendly, studio effort. Diehard fans will testify that it’s the unfortunate runt amongst an otherwise spotless litter. The band themselves come across as being sorry to have ever put something so straightforward to tape, since everything since has been increasingly ambitious if just for the sake of ambition. Still, by Dream Theater’s standards, “straightforward” includes a twelve-minute track, a thirteen-minute track, and extended instrumental sections complete with bountiful time signature changes. We’re not talking Top 40 pop here. So what if
Falling Into Infinity isn’t a fantastic listen, if there are some really nasty duds nestled snugly into its runtime? In the context of its creators’ own progression, it’s a truly fascinating, if not essential, look into the frustrated identity crises of musicians so talented they don’t quite know how to channel their abilities.
Following the relative success of the prog stalwarts’ second-album,
Images and Words, and its noticeably moodier follow-up,
Awake, not to mention MTV sleeper hit “Pull Me Under,” it’s understandable that producers urged the five-piece to explore level, friendlier territory. Because, you know, money. What happens is this: the label denies Dream Theater their pretention, forces them into collaboration with Desmond Child, and essentially pisses them all off. The result? A messy combination of dissatisfaction and passionate focus. And there, my friends, is the word. The word that finds itself attached to most everything which is great – passionate. Don’t get me wrong,
Infinity’s predecessors have spectacular moments of inspiration, “Space-Dye Vest,” for instance; don’t get me wrong on this, either: certain cuts like “You Not Me” aren’t just awful, they’re flat-out abominations, but guess what? They’re special abominations. If for just a few minutes, it’s as though Dream Theater break their own fourth wall to say, “Look, guys, it’s not our fault. We know some of these songs kind of suck, but we’re under a lot of pressure. But don’t worry, the throwaways are actually veiled jabs at those pushy exec f
uckers.” There’s no denying that a third of
Falling Into Infinity falls into this self-aware parody crap, but at least Dream Theater reveal a sense of humanity in the process. The sad thing is, many fans fail to notice the brilliance scattered throughout the album’s remaining two-thirds. Brilliance born of passion born of vexation born of, uh, selling out.
In all fairness, most of
Infinity is Dream Theater going through the usual motions, what’s usually referred to as “wankery.” This is all fine and dandy, since it’s harmless wankery, not the surreal metal circus wankery of
Train of Thought or the evil vampire dark lord wankery of
Systematic Chaos. Enough talk of the band’s disease, though. About the redeeming factors I mentioned; three notable exceptions save
Falling Into Infinity from noble failure status, instead catapulting it just outside of failed masterpiece range. The first, and least, of said triumphs is “Peruvian Skies,” a seven-minute emulation of
Black Album-era Metallica songwriting that feels effortless. It’s a breath of fresh air sandwiched between the worst song in the world that’s not a Rick Astley tune, and “Hollow Years,” an innocuous albeit bogus ballad. The second, “Trial of Tears,” is, perhaps barring
Octavarium’s title track, the most perfect closer in Dream Theater’s entire catalogue. A three-part, thirteen-minute exercise in atmospheric sprawl, its cathartic impact nearly absolves the band of all guilt. Sadly, it’s a fluke; future stabs at prog-epics find the band trading substance for a more-is-better mentality. And then, kids, there’s “Hell’s Kitchen.” The best damn recording in Dream Theater history, I can only describe it as a cross between post-rock and whatever kind of music Fang Island does. It’s perfect, it’s life-affirming, it’s an unlikely piece of gold buried under a mound of dusty earth. And, as an added bonus, James LaBrie doesn’t contribute vocals to it.
That’s all I have to say about
Falling Into Infinity. Actually, that’s all I have to say about Dream Theater in general. Like that ex-girlfriend, they’re a thing of the past. But I’m glad I looked in reverse. You should take a backwards peek, too; there’s a lot to glean from these things. Am I sound in thinking a band should’ve sold out? Honestly, what’s it matter? Minus Portnoy, they’re all still chugging away, formulaic album after formulaic album, a group of free men...or are they? I saved my final, and most intriguing, revelation for now. Dream Theater never sold out. Their fanbase wouldn’t allow for that to happen. Does this constitute as selling out, and if so, what’s worse, prostituting to the green or to the genre? I leave the answer to you. Oh, and one more thing – you know, I should probably get rid of that hoodie. I’ll never wear it again.
