Steven Wilson, Symphony Hall, Birmingham - review

Last night, fans at a jam-packed Symphony Hall were waiting to see if, as some suggest, Wilson had sold his prog soul at the altar of pop success - he almost scored a No 1 album and plays three nights at the Royal Albert Hall next week - or if his artistic credentials remain unsullied.

The answer, of course, depends on each listener's viewpoint - many hate some of the "progressive pop" on his latest album To The Bone, others embrace it as an artist spreading his wings and taking in any genre he darn well pleases.

Wilson, of course, would argue for the latter and proudly included no fewer than nine of To The Bone's 11 tracks in a fascinating, eclectic setlist.

Following Truth, a powerful, thought-provoking short film, the near three-hour show kicked off with a statement of intent. Nowhere Now, from the new album combined a light as air chorus with a Who-like kick to the solar plexus, along with a jaunty clap-along middle eight straight out of 80-s era Genesis.

It was followed by the dark and brooding Pariah. With a fine gause screen stretched across the front of the screen, a projection had Israeli singer Ninet Tayeb hovering hauntingly in mid air above WIlson and, seemingly, the audience. It was a stunning effect used sparingly and effectively throughout the concert.

Then back to Wilson's groundbreaking Hand. Cannot. Erase album for a truly emotional Home Invasion and Regret #9, featuring a sublime keyboard solo from Adam Holzman.

With The Creator Has a Mastertape, Wilson turned the clock back to his solo-turned-band-project Porcupine Tree, the first hint that this show was to be a mix of the old as well as the new.

Wilson, barefoot, congenial and relaxed, continued the dark theme of the first half of the show, brooding on the refugee crisis with Refuge and terrorism with The People Who Eat Darkness, before closing with the darkness of Ancestral.

But after a gorgeous performance of Porcupine Tree's Don't Hate Me, it was the second song of the show's second set that would prove the litmus test for fans' acceptance of Wilson's current direction.

"It's time for disco dancing!" Wilson teased, warned and cajoled.

Permanating, the love child of Abba and ELO - with a dash of DNA from Genesis's Turn It On Again - was met upon its release last year with apoplexy by many, gritted teeth by others and uncontrollably tapping feet by still more.

Last night the latter seemed to win, with most of the audience on their feet and a good proportion clapping along, if not cutting loose with the John Travolta moves.

Anyway, Wilson told his audience, if you don't like it "I. Don't. Care!"

The second set was heavily weighted towards Porcupine Tree, with the beautiful Lazarus, along with Sleep Together and The Sound of Muzak, standing out, along with a solo version of Even Less, just Wilson and the new love of his life, a vintage 1963 Fender Telecaster.

Among them, newer songs like Song Of I and The Same Asylum as Before held their heads up proudly, although the wig-out of instrumental Vermillioncore, might have been better replaced by one of the fan favourites inevitably left out of the setlist (Drive Home, Routine, Perfect Life, as an example).

If a song about an old man mourning the ghostly apparition of his long-dead sister in the form of a raven can be considered uplifting, then that's exactly the note the final song of the night struck.

Aided by the song's spectral video, The Raven That Refused to Sing soared into the rafters of Symphony Hall, a majestic, heart-wrenching conclusion to a magnificent evening.