Portishead - Dummy
August 22nd, 1994.
Go!
Portishead's debut Dummy turns 30. Trip-Hop - the world of music in general - would never be the same. Portishead may well be the most respected band of the past 30 or so years of popular music. The uncompromising gloom which begrudgingly circles their material has become their defining feature; that and what you could happily refer to as the best beats ever put to tangible tape.
Dummy is a moody, moody record. It would siphon the soul from the Sun and spit it into obscurity just to spite it, just so nobody else could get a hand on what they require. It would gut a good time just to let life know how it feels.
Eventually the excitement fades and you're left alone with the thing itself. No lust surrounding results. No want. No need. The emotional pull which once yanked you along now shrouded in self-doubt and disbelief that this was the thing. This empty vessel thought it knew what it needed. It thought it could see through it's own fog - alas, we are here. Tears have an acidic quality, a sour taste. They stain cheeks with a gloomy sheen. A waterfall of economic constraint; there are only so many tears to give, but it wants them all, and then some. That bitterness behind your teeth and atop your tongue has become commonplace. A day-in-day-out debacle. An ever-growing worry that won't go away. A weight on your being. It rids your lungs of oxygen. Strips peace from your mind. Taps at your window as you try to get some sleep. Tut-tut-tuts as you take the rest in which you deserve. Picks your pockets, only to let you find your things are still where they were; always reminding you that chaos is just one small domino away.
By just having your feet on earth you're already on the edge. The edge of yesterday. The edge of forever. The edge of now. The edge of never.
