The twenty-nine second interlude that is Stupid Dream’s title track may seem insignificant. Why devote the whole space of a track to an ephemeral bit of orchestral tuning and operatic singing? Musically speaking the song (if you can call it that) isn’t memorable in its own right. But what it does is effectively segue into the tripartite cycle that forms the midsection of Stupid Dream. Brief though this musical vignette is, it serves as the conductor readying the baton for this masterpiece of the album.

The three cuts that follow—“Pure Narcotic”, “Slave Called Shiver”, and “Don’t Hate Me”—collectively form what I like to call the “Unrequited Love Trilogy”. Though not officially designated as a trilogy, the theme of each song’s lyrics is consistent, presenting the emotional rollercoaster that is being in love with someone who doesn’t return that love. Each has a mood that captures the specific state the unidentified narrator occupies in his journey into the hazards of romance. And though Porcupine Tree has come to be known for its dark atmospherics, “Pure Narcotic” remains one of the band’s most genial-sounding songs. Despite the pleading and begging in the apologetic chorus, the music sounds uncharacteristically cheery.

There are a lot of ways you can critique someone. You can come right out and say it. You can gently question the person until he realizes the wrongness of his ways. Or, in the case of “Piano Lessons”, the closest Porcupine Tree has come to writing a pop single, you can satirize them through clever mimicry, pointing out their absurdity. The lighter side of the coin whose opposite is the melancholy “Dark Matter” (from Signify), “Piano Lessons” is the purest example of Porcupine Tree’s criticism of the music industry. Given Stupid Dream’s release during the time of boy-band pop, the argument was and is especially relevant. The genius of “Piano Lessons”, however, is that it’s not just a particularly great critique. It’s also a particularly great song.

The premise is simple enough: satirically critique pop music within the structure of a pop song. Though the most psychedelic of all of the album’s tracks, “Piano Lessons” is primarily driven by an absolutely infectious chord pattern, as well as a gorgeous vocal harmony in the chorus, something that lead vocalist/guitarist Steven Wilson has become well known for. (He cites the Beach Boys’ use of harmony as a formative influence on Porcupine Tree’s “poppier” music, especially on this record and the one after it, 2000’s Lightbulb Sun.) The song’s hook might be the best one the group has conceived, despite its more popular releases being heavier offerings such as Deadwing (2005) and Fear of a Blank Planet (2007). Many might miss the song’s pointed criticism given how catchy it is, which only adds to the tongue-in-cheek irony of it.

The sound of an orchestra tuning up slowly increases in volume. A slide guitar enters, ringing loudly of Pink Floyd. Then the song kicks into overdrive, with distortion pedals in the “on” position.

So begins Stupid Dream, legendary British prog band Porcupine Tree’s transitory masterpiece. This opening track, “Even Less”, is stunning in its power, a sort unseen in the UK proggers’ previous works. There were prior hints that Porcupine Tree would crank the amps up to 11 at some point: tracks like “Dark Matter” on 1996’s Signify had its riff-heavy moments, and even the group’s off-the-wall psychedelic material of the early ‘90s had some elements of prog rock. But the opening of Stupid Dream marked an important shift in the genre(s) that Porcupine Tree played in. Before this album, they were a psychedelic prog band with rock flourishes. With Stupid Dream that has been reversed, and given their ascent to the top of the progressive rock scene it’s clearly been for the better. And while that rise to prominence has seen these Brits do their best work (namely 2007’s Fear of a Blank Planet), Stupid Dream often gets overlooked in discussions of the band’s finest efforts, due in large part to its output in the “Aughts”. Yet 13 years after its release, it still feels vitally important, and—more importantly—classic Porcupine Tree.

Here we arrive at the culmination of all the Beastie Boys’ and the Dust Brothers’ insane rhyming and production chops as featured on Paul’s Boutique. “B-Boy Bouillabaisse” is one of the great denouements in the history of pop music, a 12-minute suite in the tradition of the collection of unfinished song fragments that make up the second half of Abbey Road. This final track consists of nine movements, each a distinct little world that could stand on its own but has greater meaning when combined with the others. On “B-Boy Bouillabaisse”, the Beasties give us a definitive, multifarious view of urban life in the late 1980s. Like all great conclusions, it sums up what the Beasties have said throughout the record, but also gives us a renewed sense of curiosity, all while succeeding in leaving us wanting more. 

After the danceable “Shadrach”, we get a ten-second track that leads us into the mammoth “B-Boy Bouillabaisse”. “Ask For Janice” is simply a ten-second commercial for the fictional Paul’s Boutique, one that never existed in real life. We do get the number to call for “the best in men’s clothing”. This throwaway track does help establish the credibility of the Paul’s Boutique mythology. It grounds the fragments that are to come in reality, even if it’s a made-up one.

Over the course of Paul’s Boutique, the Beasties have made so many cultural references, both high and low, that it’s almost impossible to keep track of them all. We’ve heard about The Flinstones and Ernest Hemingway, Looney Toons and Hunter S. Thompson, Die Hard and Leonardo da Vinci. “Shadrach”, the last full-length track on Paul’s Boutique before the Boys launch into the short-fragment suite “B-Boy Bouillabaisse”, may be the most allusion-filled and self-referential of all. On this tune, the Beasties audaciously use religious allusions to talk about their own greatness. Believe it or not, it doesn’t come off as pretentious or distasteful.

The central conceit of “Shadrach” is that the Beastie Boys are a lot like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, three characters from a biblical story found in the book of Daniel. These three were Babylonian Jews under the reign of King Nebuchadnezzar. The ruler ordered his subjects to bow and worship an idol when they heard certain ceremonial music. The three Jews refused the king’s orders and were cast into a fiery furnace. Shockingly, the three were not burned upon being thrown into the fire, so King Nebuchadnezzar ordered his people to worship the Jewish god instead.