Graeme Virtue 

Marillion review – unfashionable prog veterans still questing into unknown

Sometimes they’re more slog than prog, but the unfashionable yet enduring popular band are given drama by frazzled frontman Steve Hogarth
  
  

Steve Hogarth fronting Marillion at Royal Concert Hall Glasgow.
Steve Hogarth fronting Marillion at the Glasgow Royal Concert Hall. Photograph: Murdo MacLeod/The Guardian

If the essence of prog rock is having the nerve to voyage into the unknown, then Marillion are battle-scarred veterans. After initial success in the 1980s – when their spidery, questing songcraft struck a popular chord – the English prog stewards survived the departure of original singer Fish in 1988 by rolling the dice on Steve Hogarth, who claimed to have never heard a Marillion album.

Then, after a turbulent time in the 1990s, the band consciously uncoupled from the standard music business model in 2000, embracing crowdfunding long before Kickstarter became cool. They have never looked back: next week they will play two nights at the Royal Albert Hall, their second visit in two years. But after cultivating such a fiercely loyal fanbase, is there a risk that a Marillion show in 2019 might resemble an AGM?

Not with Hogarth out front. For two hours, the swooping, self-dramatising singer strives to elevate every song into an epic – not difficult in the case of broiling opener Gaza, which rumbles and churns for 20 minutes – while also providing some appealingly frazzled between-song repartee and nipping off stage to change into a series of dystopian sci-fi jackets.

As well as his long-standing bandmates – bassist Pete Trewavas, guitarist Steve Rothery, keyboardist Mark Kelly and drummer Ian Mosley – Hogarth is backed by a string quartet, French horn and flute, adding chamber-music poise to the limpid sway of Estonia and the deceptively chiming serial-killer snapshot A Collection. A new album of old Marillion tracks rerecorded with this compact ensemble is imminent and may offer a slightly more accessible entry point to their gorse-dense discography.

The New Kings, a 2016 four-song suite roasting Russian oligarchs, is greeted enthusiastically, but is so blunt that it feels more slog than prog. Far more transportive is a magnificent version of the sweetly sorrowful Fantastic Place, a 15-year-old song that sounds timeless. Unfashionable they may remain, but Marillion are also pleasingly unvanquishable.

• At Sage, Gateshead, on 13 November. Then touring the UK until 19 November.

 

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