“Balance is key,” is perhaps the key phrase for Lesoir on an album whose title that sums up the overriding mode of thought. On where the future is no longer something distant; a concept yet to happen. The focus now on the things we hope for, fear, dream of or fight for being already present. What Eckhart Tolle called ‘the power of now’. Perhaps on Tomorrow Is Now Today, Lesoir have soundtracked a guide to spiritual enlightenment.

It’s a record that sees Lesoir channelling their craft yet more deeply. An album that buys into embracing the present while musically, seven minutes sees album opener Is It Nothing? unlock several doors to the variety of melodies, contrasts, atmospheres and boldly defiant Rock in an arena shaking crescendo. The kind of uplifting moment that requires an immediate rewind.

Hard to follow? The answer is don’t try, but offer up a journey that takes in a subtle combination of fragile moments and grand scale cinematic gestures aided and abetted by a string quartet. Back To You lulls while Hidden Fire heads into musical theatricality but early signs of the instrumental prowess are spotlighted in Nadali. A flowing piece where acoustic and electric exist in harmony to create an all-enveloping large scale grandeur around a quirky mid section diversion.

The second instrumental, Pendulum, sets off in a funky groove until the curveball strikes to put the brakes on the tempo and briefly head into shrill Post Rock territory. The avalanche and rebellion of the lyrics to Free Pass and the restrained fury of “now what have you done” (imagine being delivered in a growl for full effect) skirts Nu Metal, the aggression sitting in total contrast to the emotional turn taken by the operatic swing of the wistful reflections in Stay Close To Me.

Making the seemingly simple combination of the loud bits/quiet bits dynamic work to great effect, Army Of Love devastates with a seamless transition from Maartje Meesen’s tender lullaby into a huge symphonic and heavy pinnacle complete with strings and kitchen sinks. Just one of many touches of opulence which see Lesoir channel their magic in the finest sense.

Remember Dr Who’s Weeping Angels (“don’t blink!“)? We’re in that ballpark with the latest opus from Pure Reason Revolution, with mainman Jon Courtney taking on the theme of angels as less spiritual and more ominous. The dichotomy of salvation and destruction – symbolising situations, feelings and relationships that produce both transcendence and suffering simultaneously. A chilling thought and one bound in an ominous Dark Third type cover.

The album follows a narrator who repeatedly mistakes salvation for safety as the musical soundscape balances the signature PRR harmonies and atmospheres with an aggressive edge that’s as unanticipated as it is welcome.

And terrifying angels is an apt description – terrifying in terms of the musical reaction to the chilled atmospheres of the 2024’s Coming Up To Consciousness yet balance with the lush/angelic vocal textures. Maybe even a hint of a revisit to the sounds of The Dark Third as Spin Like Fire and the wild ride of Haywire Heart throw down an almost punky gauntlet charged with dominant fuzzed up guitars. Even the opulent tones of singer Annicke Shireen on the title track gets barged aside by rampaging riffs, balanced by the more calming textures offered by below Radiance.

Remaining true to their Prog associations, 14 minutes of Hold Your Wrath is a snapshot (albeit a long exposured one) that captures the essence of Terrifying Angels. An idle winding leads inevitably to a dirty industrial intervention – all metallic guitar (think Porcupine Tree’s In Absentia) and hypnotic tempos.

Courtney’s final word on a record about encountering forces that appear redemptive is fully evidenced by the PRR transformation into heavier; and transformation is never gentle.

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If ever there was a musician you’d have no qualms about tagging as ‘progressive’, it’s K.Torabi Esq. Work shy isn’t a term you’d associate with Kavus. Finding time from a schedule that listed, might take up much of the review, the boy goes solo again

Kavus has called October By Name “The beginning of my Autumnal phase.” Some would say the most beautiful of seasons and matched by a forty minute exercise in evocative and psychedelically shaded concoctions.

Six brews of potent Torabi alchemy ease in with the parlour ballad nostalgia of Signals Shine. Hypnotic and shimmering, it opens the door to a lesson in how to create and craft arrangements that wind and meander around a whimsical Beatles and Barrett toned escapades. The preview of Water Into Wine sees the guitar ring clean and clear as he muses over days gone by and the parting of ways.

The word ‘quirky’ is never far from the surface, as lo and behold My Shameful Namesake (with some cross-picking elements of Eighties Crim to these ears) comes to play right on cue. No manic vocals though as a softly offered lyric

Having ticked off the parlour ballad, the moody atmosphere of From The Storm – we love a drone and it perhaps comes closest to the improv experiments of The Utopia Strong. – is all sombre Sunday chapel. For a while at least, until the chapel becomes a ceremony of incantation of the more disquieting sort. From praising the Lord to summoning Lucifer. Or something totally different. The muse is again picked up and let loose revisited on the finale of Ancestor’s Song – a title, or just the word ‘ancestor’ that delivers on an ancient aura.

An artist who ranks with the Bowies and the Gabriels in creative visions and stepping beyond conventions and setting his own agenda. Perhaps even more so, taking their inspirations and working his magic (with a ‘k’).

Kavus sees as the third part of a trilogy of solo albums – whatever comes next, it’s sure to be like his pal Steve Davis – interesting. And last but no least, magnificent artwork (again). It does count. A radiant work that captures the supernatural quality he sees in music – especially prevalent in his own.

Songs to be played live is how the new music from The Pineapple Thief has been described in recent interviews. Just as Queen used to proudly declare on their early albums, ‘no synthesisers!’, you’ll find no acoustic guitar on Far And Wide (cue the line about saving on excess baggage). Bruce Soord raises the points: “Why have we got four or five guitars? Why have we got six-part harmonies when there’s only three of us singing? We’re a rock band, there’s five of us on stage, this is what we should be about in the studio.”

Yes, they might still exist on the fringes of the Prog zone with their arrangements, atmospheres and personnel attuned to complexity, but Far And Wide is a leaner beast. More than ever before, The Pineapple Thief feel more like a living breathing rock band than ever. Much has been made of the impact of the decade and seven albums since the arrival of Gavin Harrison on drums

Far And Wide broods and smoulders in distinctly non-flashy manner as is their wont. At their rockiest, God Knows – a phrase that invites and gives an insight into the Soord take on our troubled world hard – hits an incisive three minute turn straight from Harrison’s former day/moonlighting job in Porcupine Tree. The spikiness and off-kilter time signatures kick in immediately and a telling “what have we done / what the hell’s been going on” gives fair warning of the harsh and chilling side of Far And Wide.

By contrast, many of the arrangements spend time exploring more sparse and restrained soundscapes. Guitar solos break though as a clear excitement in the ensemble playing takes off – check the middle section of Scattering Like Flies – yet a dreamy ambience dominates, most successfully in the ease with which Through The Noise gently builds.

Ever aware of the bigger picture, Harrison ponders: “Like, ‘this would be amazing live when we do this, if this section just went into this other thing’, and you can picture it with the lights and the atmosphere on stage.” Well worth taking a punt on The Pineapple Thief live experience (we can recommend) when Far And Wide comes alive.

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