All dressed up
Where else can Portishead go?
By Charles Taylor
It's no accident
that the music of Portishead (whose homonymous second album on
London has just
hit the stores) has never sounded better than when it's been used
in the movies. Portishead make
an almost wholly atmospheric sound -- sinuous, snaky, and
slightly ominous -- that nonetheless
feels incomplete, amorphous, waiting for something to attach
itself to in order to find its meanings.
When you see the black-hooded figure of Elina Lowensohn in Nadja
gliding tearfully down an East
Village avenue in a snowstorm while Portishead's
"Strangers" plays over the image, or when you
see Garance Clavel running happily down a sunny Paris back street
in the exhilarating final shot of
When the Cat's Away to the accompaniment of "Glory Box"
(Portishead's finest moment to date),
the music, at last, feels whole.
That's the pleasure of Portishead and also the band's limitation.
There is soundtrack music that can
stand on its own, even drown out the visuals it's meant to
accompany. (Hooverphonic's "2 Wicky"
first appeared on the Sleeping Beauty soundtrack, but it's more
memorable than any image in the
film except for the way Liv Tyler cupped her hands around a
joint.) Portishead's isn't that sturdy,
and perhaps the band suspect as much. That may be why their
UK-only EP Numb came out with
a band-made short film called To Kill a Dead Man, a title as
suggestive and needy of something to
flesh it out as the band's music.
When Portishead's debut, Dummy (London), appeared in 1994, it was
positioned somewhere
between the lounge craze and the advent of electronica. This was
dance music (or cabaret music)
for depressives, film nerds, rock-club kids -- moody, insular,
and draped in its own chic hauteur.
A calculated sonic collage of trip-hop beats, the crackle and pop
of a scratchy pile of old Stax
singles, busy signals, vocalist Beth Gibbons's soul-manqu?
mannerisms, '60s spy-movie music,
Ennio Morricone guitars, all of it filtered through the hippest
sense of ennui, Dummy managed to
be a record equally for socially inept introverts and too-cool
fashion plates.
Portishead is a calculated sonic collage of trip-hop beats, the
crackle and pop of a scratchy pile
of old Stax singles, busy signals . . . you get the idea, believe
me, by the second track you get the
idea. Portishead do what they do awfully well. The trouble is,
they do the same damn thing over
and over again. They may turn out to be the Cowboy Junkies of the
'90s, the band who hit with a
sustained mood piece that connects with all sorts of different
listeners, and then show themselves to
be one-trick ponies on the follow-up.
I tried, I really, really tried to concentrate on Portishead, but
something kept claiming my attention
-- a magazine, the ironing, sorting through the papers on my
desk. The harder I tried to bear down
on this music, the more it seemed to squirm away. There is an
affectless, tossed-off quality that
seems deliberate on the band's part. It can be very amusing to
hear Gibbons's borrowed funk
phrasings, the way she sings the word "fantasy" as
"fanta-say" on "Over," but her sangfroid
makes
you wonder, didn't she have any fun listening to those George
Clinton records she copped her licks
from?
Occasionally something distinguishes itself from the wash, like
"Only You," or the way Gibbons's
voice seems to be reaching us through a wire on "Half Day
Closing," or the cocktail jazz noir of
"Undenied." The latter seems to pick up where the old
standard "Angel Eyes" stopped. It proceeds
through a deserted landscape of dark streets and nearly empty
bars where everyone is moving in a
fugue state. The effect is like those moments in David Lynch
movies that are like tableaux, where
the only living thing is the undercurrent of insistent malevolent
lassitude.
For the most part, Portishead sticks to narrowly defined turf.
Which is harder to accept when you
consider the drama and experimentation that other performers are
providing in dance-oriented
music. (Put on Bj?rk's new Homogenic and try tuning out.) Maybe
the band have enough good
will built up from Dummy to cast their spell again. Me, I'm
waiting for the movie.