Bless Steven Wilson's stubborn, old school ways!

As the melody-happy leader of the cannot-be-categorized British band Porcupine Tree, Wilson is responsible for conceptualizing each new album - and he simply refuses to go gently into the download-a-song, MP3 Era.

Wilson believes that music is best enjoyed as a compact between the artist and the listener - much like the experience of watching a film or reading a novel. In that context, downloading a 99-cent song for regurgitation over an iPod is not the ideal delivery system for either party, either in sound quality or as a representation of an artist.

Porcupine Tree albums, then, are frequently categorized as "prog rock," and certainly there are those elments. Their albums are meant to be enjoyed from start to finish as a complete statement - with the artwork, lyrics and packaging all part of the experience. You know: the way you did when you were younger and you couldn't wait for the latest Beatles or Pink Floyd or U2 or Radiohead disc to land like a helicopter in your brain.

Perhaps Younger Folks have no idea what I'm talking about - which is precisely Wilson's point. There is nothing wrong with a great song being appreciated as a great song, but technological convenience has reduced much of the musical experience to nothing more than pushing a button and adding a tune to a massive, formless list - much like you'd get a candy bar out of a vending machine and toss it on a pile of other candy bars.

It isn't as though Porcupine Tree archly demands your allegiance through a series of worshipful supplications. If you're the sort that enjoys them, the opportunity to submerge yourself into each new project is a commitment you look forward to.

In the case of their newest CD, a twin-disc effort called "The Incident," I've been digesting it for almost two weeks, now, and each listen leaves me more in awe at how it all fits together. I thought their last album, the ire-fueled, algebraic metal "Fear of a Blank Planet," was a masterpiece. So is "The Incident," but they're very different.

The titular "Incident" disc contains a 55-minute song cycle in 14 distinct but flowing sections. The substructural pieces range from quick, hooky sketches to full-blown prog-rock roller coaster rides, haunting and autumnal ballads, and sweeping stretches of almost cinematic scope. As always, the band - along with Wilson, keyboardist Richard Barbieri, bassist Colin Edwin and drummer Gavin Harrison - performs with passion and tongue-in-groove precision.

Wilson's inspiration for the album sprang forth when he was in a traffic jam caused by a fatal car accident. A highway warning sign that said "POLICE - INCIDENT" struck Wilson with its clinical phrasing given that it was a euphemism for a cataclysmic event.

He begin to write tunes based on a variety of "incidents" from his own life and stories he encountered in mass media. These range from typical experiences like the loss of a girlfriend and pondering whatever had happened to a childhood friend to the evacuation of teenage girls from a religious cult in Texas and a body found floating in a river by a group of fishermen.

While the work is almost overwhelming in its surface complexity, it's also, immediately, an almost uncannily accessible effort. With time, it coalesces into something that shimmers with majestic beauty and power. The hood ornament of "The Incident" is the 11-plus minute "Time Flies," an affectionate, nostalgic, narcotic-strength look back at the magic of childhood - from the perspective that there are simple but essential lessons to be learned from the past.

On that tune, as with "The Blind House," "Your Unpleasant Family," "Great Expectations," "Kneel and Disconnect" and "Séance," I almost can't digest how superior Wilson's sense of melody is - and I'm reminded of something he said in an interview once. He told me that every time he sets out to write a melody, he holds Brian Wilson's "God Only Knows" up as the eternal high-water mark.

Well, Wilson has a pretty damned impressive high tide, himself. To that end, "The Incident" cycle closes with "I Drive the Hearse," a reflective, anthemic speculation whose deceptive and lullabaic quality underscores a theme of regret but, possibly, resolve. A stunning way to end the piece.

Not to be overlooked is disc two. It contains four tracks that, while thematically separate from the main concept, evolved while the Tree was in the studio working on the song cycle.

"Flicker" sounds like Crosby, Stills & Nash floating through space with Hawkwind, while "Bonnie the Cat" - a fixture on their just-started American tour - hints of Trent Reznor. He's also floating through space but not near so happy about it. And "Black Dahlia" and "Remember Me Lover" gorgeously represent a sorcery that's apparently organic whenever these four players step onto a stage together.

R.KOSTER@THEDAY.COM