Portishead

Enough context, though. For me, Portishead is one of those bands that bridges the gaps between genres, that uses silence in new ways, that has had a massive impact on the way electronic music has developed. In short, Portishead needs to be heard. Along with Massive Attack and a few other pioneers, they developed a style that was unique, using sampling techniques usually associated with hip-hop and blending all kinds of influences into haunting, atmospheric beats over which Gibbons’ voice bursts out like a ray of light, illuminated with emotion. This is music meant for ‘after the club’, for dingy studios and broken hearts, drawing from the disparate worlds of punk, hip-hop, easy listening and old soundtracks, creating a feeling that is dark, haunting and weirdly comforting. It is music that sounds deeply alone and moody, yet connected instantly with the headphone generation, music that is could have floated out of some mythical suburban opium den, vinyl scratches and all.

The number of hip-hop, downtempo, dub and even commercial acts (including Kanye, Radiohead, Burial, the Weeknd) who sample or reference them is huge, and with good reason. What has drawn me and countless others to their music for many years is the unique rawness of the sound and the lyrics, the sense of a soul being laid bare, the strange textures and horror movie soundtrack moments that create a deeply jarring, affecting flow. For me it is the kind of music that seems to fit with the strangeness of modern urban life, a blues for the global age, that retains its mood whether it is in a Levi’s commercial or a basement in London, part of a movie soundtrack or listened to at home at 3 AM.

Part of the reason behind Portishead’s hiatus and notoriously long gaps between albums was their initial success, and their later records seem very aware of this. Barrow has spoken of the strangeness of hearing his own music co-opted by pop culture, and the self-doubt and depression that came after having redefined an era of music only to hear it in commercials and at dinner parties. But arguably, this was their power of affect, an appreciation of their experimental and boldly expressive music. The power of music whose words grip you as chords reverberate ominously. The way that their productions use pauses and breaks, the way they combine live instrumentation with samples and create a grungy, dub-soaked atmosphere that is tinged with melancholy: it’s a true signature sound that stands the test of time.

The way that they made music has changed so much in terms of what came after, their ways of combining disparate worlds leading indirectly and directly to all kinds of new avenues, crossing genre boundaries. But that’s not why you should revisit or just discover their music. Just listen to Roads or Sour Times or Only You or more or less any song and try not to feel a visceral sinking, the words echoing in your mind, the hook haunting you long after. The playlist below is a good place to start.