[review 2008: half-measures and quiet victories]

The last time most of the world had seen Portishead, it was with the backing of a full orchestra at the Roseland Ballroom in New York City back in 1997. That performance, immortalized on CD and DVD, was excellent, but also seemed to signal a sort of apex for the traditional Portishead sound. Trip-hop, as a term, was well on its way to becoming a punchline. And though bands like Portishead and Massive Attack have successfully outlived the term, there was still a sense that the next albums would require a more overt evolution towards a different sound.

Fast forward a decade, and the memory of Portishead had loomed larger than the band itself for years. Whispers of new material and a reunion would occasionally surface, only to disappear without a trace or be revealed as a hoax. There was at least one fake album release rumour; Alien, the supposed 2003 return of Portishead, turned out to be the product of another band entirely. When finally Portishead resurfaced last year at All Tomorrow’s Parties—and with new songs, no less—it seemed almost like a hallucination. That’s not actually Beth Gibbons belting out a song I’ve never heard before, is it?

But the performance that will mark Third for me, the way Roseland marks Portishead for so many others, is a live internet performance called Portishead in Portishead. Recorded in Geoff Barrow’s old school, the performance evokes claustrophobia and cool sterility, a marked change from the Roseland performance. So it is with Third, an album that manages the amazing feat of reviving a long-missing band, forever associated with a dated genre they never quite embraced, and makes them sound fresh and current.

The big change is a renewed embrace of dissonance and noise. First single “Machine Gun,” arguably the least successful track on the album, takes this new element to an extreme, stripping everything down to a few harsh percussion samples, a vague electronic tone, and Beth Gibbons’ voice as the only human anchor in a sea of jagged edges and sharp points. Of course, my dislike of “Machine Gun” is personal; you might find it one of the best songs they’ve ever done, admiring its direct approach and clarity of purpose. It’s a purpose-built song intended to evoke a very specific feeling of dread and tension; considering the band’s past forays into cinematic grandeur, “Machine Gun” may actually be one of the tracks that comes closest to Portishead’s old modus operandi, even if the attack comes from a completely different vector than before.

Elsewhere, though, the additional grit works wonders. Most of Third maintains a creeping, sinister tension. “Deep Water” and perhaps “The Rip” are the notable exceptions, two well-placed ballads that offer time to breathe before returning to the relentless claustrophobia of the other tracks. If you’re game for it, Third is one of the best albums of the year. Myself, I find it easier to admire than to love; it requires a certain mood and setting for best results, but when you’re there it’s hard not to marvel at Portishead’s magnificent renaissance.