The songs she sang when James Bond left her

Looking back through the reviews of this album, I was surprised to see that none of my favorite writers had done a write-up. 'Sup with that? Should I keep my love for Portishead a secret?

Well, I just can't. I've been digging on "Dummy" for over ten years now, and my love for the album just hasn't diminished. Other CD's have come and gone according to the changing winds and tides of my musical tastes, but Portishead has managed to survive, like a plastic square version of Richard Hatch that refuses to leave the island. The difference, of course, is that Richard is a sweaty, tax-evading blabbermouth, while "Dummy" is a trip-hop classic.

I can honestly say that no one turned me on to Portishead, unless you consider MTV's "120 Minutes" to be a person. I caught the video for "Sour Times" back in 1994, and was instantly drawn into whatever noirish, gloomy world the band was trying to create. Those of you who are familiar with their sound know exactly wha'm I'm sayin', while the rest of you bes' buckle up and prepare to hear about it.

The cover of "Dummy" has vocalist Beth Gibbons looking like she just spent the night with Viagra Man. She's all disheveled, with make-up running and hair a mess; basically, her appearance suggests that she's not had a real good time lately (or maybe she had TOO good of a time). The music lying therein is very much the sonic equivalent of that- "Dummy" is an aching, spooky album that comes closest to capturing the essence of female loneliness and longing.

Like most trip-hop music, the folks of Portishead (essentially Geoff Barrows, Adrian Utley, and various guests playing a variety of instruments under Beth's sexy croon) employed lots of samples and slowish stiff beats to create a sense of desolation. In the case of this band, much of what they borrowed or wrote themselves has the melancholy feel of a spy movie, or a Hitchcock soundtrack. But why be so general when I can torment you with a song-by-song analysis? I WORK for my Very Helpfuls, baby.

I've never really known what "Mysterons" are, but my theory is that they are morons that intrigue rather than infuriate. No matter. The song firmly plants the listener in that dreamy, eerie realm of their own design, with a rhythm barely held together by strategically placed snare rolls. It's very oppressive and sparse, with a haunting mood that's likely the result of using a Rhodes and thereman (their spelling). Beth broods about something vague, but sounds sexy in the process.

Their best-known would have to be "Sour Times", where the Portis pull in Lalo Schifrin "Mission Impossible" samples and a Leslie speaker sound to create a sense of mystery that one might get from a multi-part movie on PBS. Definitely the kind of song that works best on an overcast day. Beth complains in her plaintive way that nobody loves her like you do, but I don't know what she's talking about. Only you know how to rock her world, I guess.

The darkness breaks for the next few songs, beginning with "Strangers". A persistent beat riding on a "bleep bleep bleep" combines with a Weather Report sample and pieces that come drifting in from the void to hold aloft the voice of Beth. "It Could Be Sweet" is both seductive and vulnerable, making me think of a ménage-a-trois that may or may not have happened back in my college days. Beth sounds like she's opening up her soul while getting ready to bare her breasts, to a minimalist Rhodes piano and drum machine escort.

One of my favorites would have to be “Wandering Star”, a pulsing piece of darkness that has disembodied guitar noodlings, record scratching (one of their favorite devices), and some high-pitched crescendos. I adore the simple beauty of the following line: “and the masks that the monsters wear to feed upon their prey”. Muy bueno.

The only song that is not an absolute smash with me is “It’s A Fire”, though I’d not call it awful. Just too mellow after the previous track, and maybe a bit too friendly in an orchestral way. Actually, it almost feels like an intermission before we reach the second, even darker half of the album.

“Numb” reminds me a midnight walk through a warehouse district, minus the pimps that might accost one there. Beth feels lonely and unholy, while the Hammond organ screeches out a vibe that borders on horror-movie.

All of the songs are rather slow, but the only real track I’d call a ballad is “Roads”. It starts out with that echoey Rhodes, then opens up into a sorrowful, captivating piece, with strings and some guy named Dave McDonald on “nose flute” (isn’t that a slang term for the whistling sounds made by a stuffed-up nose?). The way Beth erotically says “oooh” makes me want to say “oooh” right back, though it might make some of you want to play the “skin flute” (and I'll not define that here).

The atmosphere created by “Pedestal” is that of a dim bar, late at night, perhaps one that might be found in the Twilight Zone. Beth sounds like she’s singing from the “other side”, where Dizzy Gillespie is huffing those cheeks of his in a muted trumpet solo. The lyrics are not discernible enough for me to figure out what we’re dealing with.

There’s a slowed-down sample in “Biscuit” that sends my skin a-crawlin’. It’s of some probably-dead chap named Johnny Ray groaning “I’ll never fall in love again- it’s all over now”, and I’m inclined to believe him. The rhythm sounds like a heart that’s struggling to beat, and Beth calls herself a “slave of sensation” (at least I think that’s what she says), which is one thing for sure that we have in common.

And then comes the grand finale, “Glory Box”, the first of two trip-hop songs to borrow from Isaac Hayes’ “Ike’s Rap III” (Tricky, as you probably know, used it on “Maxinquaye”). It floats in like a cloud on which are reclining the fifteen most carnally gifted women who ever lived, so sweet and seedy does it sound. Beth gets kinda sassy and reveals that she just wants to be a woman, as opposed to a man or hermaphrodite. There’s even a bluesy guitar solo to notch the steam factor up by one.

This album runs from eerie to naughty to sensitive as if these things all belonged to the same family. They struck an excellent balance between consistency and variety, and while some have accused "Dummy" of being uneven, I don’t get that at all. There is a yearning and hurt mingled in Beth Gibbons' voice that definitely sounds genuine, and I feel that she lost some of that by the second album. She went for a more wicked, in-your-face approach on that one (which was just called "Portishead"), and I don't really think it worked that well. "Dummy" was a miracle, and still sounds like nothing else I've heard.

This was probably the trip-hop album that came closest to entering the American mainstream. It seems to have been an underground classic of sorts, and most of the girls I dated in college had it lying around somewhere (which is a good indicator of what my love life was like back then). After two studio albums and a live release, Portishead fell off the radar, and while I constantly hear talk of a forthcoming album, nothing has yet materialized. Even if nothing does, "Dummy" will continue to stand on its own, like a musical confession poured from the heart of a film-noir fallen woman.