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 » Full Dark, No Stars - Stephen King's new novella questions mankind's ability to trust others.
[02.21.2011 by Bridget Doyle]

MUSIC

 » The Top 30 Albums of 2010 - Fashionably, fabulously late, our favorite music (and believe me, there was a LOT) of 2010, the year that some have called the best year for music ever. And only some of those fools work here. Plenty of usual suspects, lots of ties and a few surprises that I won't spoil, including our unexpected #1.
[12.24.2010 by The LAS Staff]

MUSIC

 » Live: Surfer Blood/The Drums at Lincoln Hall, Chicago, IL - Remember when Weezer used to put together records that you could sing along to and rock out to? That's what Surfer Blood's show was like!
[11.04.2010 by Cory Tendering]

Music Reviews

Screaming Females - Castle Talk
»Screaming Females
Castle Talk
Don Giovanni
Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross - The Social Network [Original Soundtrack]
»Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross
The Social Network [Original Soundtrack]
The Null Corporation
Deerhunter - Halcyon Digest
»Deerhunter
Halcyon Digest
4AD
No Age - Everything in Between
»No Age
Everything in Between
Sub Pop
Robyn - Body Talk Pt. 1/ Body Talk Pt. 2
»Robyn
Body Talk Pt. 1/ Body Talk Pt. 2
Konichiwa
The Walkmen - Lisbon
»The Walkmen
Lisbon
Fat Possum
Portishead
Third
Mercury

Rating: 8.3/10 ?


June 3, 2008
Funny story - at the time Portishead's Third leaked, I don't think I'd played the band in years for anything but to soundtrack sexual encounters. I think they had a Pavlovian effect at the time on me and my then-girlfriend, so we decided to forgo our usual rule of No Fucking To New Albums (a position wisely proposed by Jen after I once commented on the music during). But we cranked Third anyway and started getting hot and heavy. Mistake. Horrible, horrifying, arrhythmic, amelodic sounds began unfolding, along with Beth Gibbons' most out-of-tune singing ever. This time she interrupted to comment. Pissed. Portishead made my sex life, and they can take it away.

So naturally I hated this annoyingly willful piece of shit. If I wrote this review during my first week with it, it would've read like Sia Michel's, who gave it 1.5 stars out of 5 in Blender: "It's groove-deprived and difficult, and not in a particularly inventive way."

With the benefit of hindsight, I've now spent almost six months cringing through and putting away this box of horrors and I can no longer deny that the shakes it gives me are not bad. In fact, for all my bitching about how tame the echo chamber of Indie has gotten, it's truly a blessing to have a puzzle worth parsing. Michel was wrong about one thing: this ain't groove-deprived. It just splatters suffocatingly ugly hues of acrid, lead-based paint over its grooves like so many anti-fur activists. Check out the way the guitar, working against the Krautrock boogie in the opening "Silence," only gets its bearings by accident; for an act slotted "electronic," Adrian Utley and Geoff Barrow have little interest in holding a beat steady. Ditto for "Plastic," where the cadence creepily rewinds like a jack-in-the-box, popping out once in a while with an intentionally jarring drum fill to serve as the hook.

Let's talk about those, because these are hooks like you've never heard before. They're not catchy, they're merely what you remember about the songs, which barely exist to begin with. "Machine Gun," a propulsive endurance test that served as the first single because it's the least woozy, is built around a distorted drum machine "riff" that tries its best to bleed over the melody throughout the whole song. The sheer hypnosis, and heaviness of it, is easily the most striking (and least Portishead-like) thing here. "We Carry On" is similarly built around a constant tribal-ska thump. The most disturbing sound on the record, with some competition, is the seasick hellnoise that occurs every time a verse in "Hunter" stops. I will not listen to this song in the dark. You'll remember "Deep Water" not because it's the trio's first ukulele cut, but because it's completely out of tune. Even the ballads here won't let you exhale. And barely anything resembles a song.

The trick was taking Beth Gibbons at her self-parodic worst, warbling like Sylvia Plath in a karaoke booth after too many Absinthe-tinis, with nothing even close to a "Glory Box" or "Only You" to stop and rest in, and letting Utley and Barrow frame their creaky horror house around it. So right, this is the ugliest record I've heard in some time. But unlike the equally acclaimed (and execrable) TV on the Radio or Liars, Portishead circa 2008 don't just put traditional songs through the studio shitringer…they take every route but the straightest and refuse to let you come at every turn. I learned the hard way.

Reviewed by Dan Weiss
Dan Weiss is the music editor for LAS. Formerly an editorial intern at CMJ and creator of the now defunct What was It Anyway?, his work has appeared in Village Voice, Pitchfork, Philadelphia Inquirer, Stylus and Crawdaddy among others. He resides in Brooklyn where he enjoys questionable lifestyle choices and loud guitars.

See other reviews by Dan Weiss

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