Portishead: Third
Copy at Case Memorial Library
Sasha Frere-Jones wrote in the New Yorker: "Portishead’s new album, 'Third,' which is actually its fourth, sounds like nothing else on offer now. … 'Third' is at times delightfully abrasive, but the band members seem to have accepted that being soothing, despite their perverse streak, is part of what they do — even if the music, upon closer inspection, isn’t reassuring. … If I told you that I expected much from this album, I would be lying, but when I finally got 'Third' I played little else for weeks. … The opener, 'Silence,' announces a distinct break with the hip-hop rhythms that have long grounded the band. A distorted voice, speaking Portuguese with a Brazilian accent, recites lines derived from Wiccan lore: 'Be alert to the rule of three. What you give will return to you. You must learn that lesson. You only gain what you deserve.' Birds chirp, a guitar worries away at a note, a bass line unfolds luxuriously, and the drums … are dirty and clumpy, playing a pattern that people call tribal, but it isn’t part of any particular genre. It simply rolls. … The song builds and builds, with neither verse nor chorus, and stops abruptly."
Sasha Frere-Jones wrote in the New Yorker: "Portishead’s new album, 'Third,' which is actually its fourth, sounds like nothing else on offer now. … 'Third' is at times delightfully abrasive, but the band members seem to have accepted that being soothing, despite their perverse streak, is part of what they do — even if the music, upon closer inspection, isn’t reassuring. … If I told you that I expected much from this album, I would be lying, but when I finally got 'Third' I played little else for weeks. … The opener, 'Silence,' announces a distinct break with the hip-hop rhythms that have long grounded the band. A distorted voice, speaking Portuguese with a Brazilian accent, recites lines derived from Wiccan lore: 'Be alert to the rule of three. What you give will return to you. You must learn that lesson. You only gain what you deserve.' Birds chirp, a guitar worries away at a note, a bass line unfolds luxuriously, and the drums … are dirty and clumpy, playing a pattern that people call tribal, but it isn’t part of any particular genre. It simply rolls. … The song builds and builds, with neither verse nor chorus, and stops abruptly."
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