ALBUM: Portishead – Third

Whether down to a colossal case of writer’s block or just time off exploring individual side projects, Portishead’s decade-long hiatus has been an unexpected bonus. It’s difficult to think of many sounds that better encapsulate the 90s than the blend of scratchy hip-hop beats, dusty film-noirish samples and Beth Gibbons’ unmistakable voice that made up Dummy, Portishead’s 1994 debut. This new record’s prolonged gestation period has allowed the Bristol three-piece to skulk away in the shadows while a raft of styles came and went and their increasingly unfashionable signature sound was sanded down into a wave of Morcheebas and Didos.

Fast forward to 2008, and new albums are also expected from Massive Attack and Tricky. And while both of acts released 00s records to mounting indifference, Portishead have re-emerged from the wilderness years just at the right time with credibility intact. It’s clear within seconds of Third’s opening track that the band have no intention of soundtracking a straightforward trip-hop revival. Silence gallops along faster than anything you’ll have heard from them before, atop a clattering drumbeat and an icy flurry of strings and guitars. It’s a full two minutes before they deign to bring in Beth’s voice. They know this is an event, and it’s a spine-tingling one at that. “Wounded and afraid inside my head”, she sings. “Did you know what I lost? Do you know what I wanted?”

There’s no denying it, Third is bleak. In places, really bleak. There are four similarly uncompromising epics, each as compelling as the one before. We Carry On sounds like a distress signal beamed out atop an urgent 4/4 kick drum that gives it the feel of a long, dark tunnel of a house record, at least until the smacked-out guitars pile in to crank up the tension. The first single, Machine Gun, is a trawl through dark recesses of self-loathing, cattle-prodded along by one of the most emotionless, mechanical military drum loops you’ll ever hear, almost collapsing under the weight of a huge sub-bass noise before unexpectedly drenching you in mournful Blade Runner synth chords.

Small is the closest Portishead will ever come to stoner rock, nothing but Beth, some skeletal guitar and cello for the first couple of minutes before slowly building to a crescendo of steamroller guitars and organ. But it’s not until the closing Threads that Gibbons finally loses control, an prolonged wail of “I’m always so unsure” over torturously strung-out post-rock guitars. It comes straight out of the relatively sprightly Magic Doors, whose Eastern drones and backwards guitar are interrupted by something that might once have been a trumpet solo but now sounds like a horse being sucked into a black hole.

Mercifully, there are moments of sunlight, chiefly in the form of a brace of pastoral tracks that come as no surprise to fans of Gibbons’ 2002 album Out Of Season. Deep Water is a brief voice-and-banjo interlude that acts to cleanse the palette midway through the album, while The Rip is gorgeous. A delicate finger-picked folk song that flowers into a warm electro piece that makes the last Goldfrapp album feel instantly redundant.

Third may not be a comfortable listen, but it’s a monumental achievement nonetheless, and one that rewards repeated plays. Forget the 90s revival and set the course for the dark heart of the 21st century.     Matt D’Cruz

Order a copy for yourself here.