Portishead, ‘Third’
It was 1 o’clock this morning when iTunes kindly let me know that ‘Third’ was ready to download. ‘Third’ is Portishead’s new album, by the way. You might not know who Portishead are if you’re immature, because their last album came out 11 years ago, in the magical year of 1997, when everything was possible but very little actually happened. So, kiddo, if you don’t already, respect Portishead. Portishead do things when they’re good and ready and aren’t really in the business of ringtones.
Admittedly, 11 years is rather a long time to make an album, this being more or less the combined length of both world wars, and the album in question containing only 49 minutes of music. Does that matter? Perhaps, if you’re a music journalist but you’re not, and good for you. Still, as Ross has recently reminded us, we all should be making every possible effort to listen to every piece of recorded music in the world, so from a certain perspective (mine, or thereabouts) Portishead are doing us a favour.
Needless to say, having downloaded ‘Third’, I proceeded to set it to repeat indefinitely, put my body back under the duvet and proceeded to fall asleep. Perhaps I preceded to fall asleep, alternatively. Perhaps I alternatively succeeded in falling asleep. Perhaps I succeeded and preceded and proceeded to fall asleep, alternatively. Alternatively, I pretended to fall asleep, which turned out to be very tiring, as I result of which I stopped pretending to fall asleep, and fell asleep.
‘Third’ is quite a disorienting album, see. The Portishead of popular myth are pioneers of ‘the aging process’ approach to music: using contemporary instruments to make their sounds, then re-imagining them as lost 78’s from an alternate 1940’s cellar decked out as some fetishistic shrine to a misunderstood and frustrated ghost called Frank Sinatra, who may or may not be the ghost of Frank Sinatra. Simply put, that just meant adding layers of vinyl crackle and disciplined dollops of delay, but in 1994, another year when a lot happened (or pretended to happen) when the age of the CD was really dawning good and proper and clear, crisp, 128-track studio recordings were top of the menu, this was really a very provocative thing to do. Sadly, it all very quickly turned into wine bar music, which wasn’t Portishead’s fault at all; they’d never once confuse piped ambiance with actual soul.
So, nicely done, Portishead, who’ve spent their wilderness decade coming up with ‘Third’, an album that falls forward by leaping backwards. There’s very little crackle or reverb at all, apart from that already sandpapered by nature into Beth Gibbons’ vocal chords. There’s even a ukulele, which probably has more than a little to do with Ross as well. And the track, ‘Magic Doors’ could quite conceivably be number one in Iran. Naturally, listening to ‘Third’, even while fast asleep, over and over, is exhausting. Thanks. And not for the first time: Beth? Marry me?
Portishead / Third / Beth Gibbons / 2008 / album review
