Few veteran bands possess the confidence to devote large portions of their setlist to recent material. Fewer still can do so without provoking complaints from the audience. Marillion belongs to that rare category. Touring behind An Hour Before It's Dark, the British progressive rock institution spends much of the evening presenting songs from its latest album and its predecessor F.E.A.R, a decision that says as much about the strength of the band's contemporary output as it does about the trust that exists between musicians and audience.
It is a trust that has been earned over decades. While many of their peers now rely primarily on nostalgia, Marillion continues to treat new music as the centrepiece rather than an obligation. The remarkable thing is that the audience seems perfectly happy to follow them there. An Hour Before It's Dark receives an extensive showcase, its ambitious arrangements, thoughtful lyrical themes and sweeping melodies fitting seamlessly alongside older material.
Visually, the performance is enhanced by a light show that manages to be striking without becoming distracting, complementing rather than overwhelming the music. The musicianship is, unsurprisingly, exceptional. Steve Rothery remains one of progressive rock's most distinctive guitarists, his lyrical phrasing and carefully sculpted tone often recalling David Gilmour without ever descending into imitation. Steve Hogarth brings warmth, humour and emotional depth to the role of frontman, while Pete Trewavas continues to perform the difficult task of anchoring the music while navigating arrangements dense with keyboards, percussion and shifting dynamics.
Yet for all the quality of the newer songs, certain moments inevitably provoke a particularly strong response. "Afraid of Sunlight," "The Great Escape" and, perhaps most notably, "Sugar Mice" transform the venue into a giant choir. The latter, one of the few surviving links to the Fish era, is greeted with obvious affection. More importantly, these performances serve as a useful reminder that progressive rock's reputation for technical complexity has always obscured one of its greatest strengths. At its best, the genre is every bit as concerned with emotion as it is with virtuosity, and Marillion has long understood that distinction better than most.
After two hours of music, Steve Hogarth leaves the audience with a promise that the band will return soon. Judging by the reaction in the room, that promise is being taken very seriously. And if they do return in the near future, there is only one sensible response: F.E.A.R.
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