FOR a while in the mid-90s, Portishead seemed like the future of music.
Their debut album, Dummy, seemed to come out of nowhere and quietly, subtly, changed the UK’s musical landscape.
Essentially a hip-hop album infused with the spirit of jazz and John Barry, Dummy, was made truly special by the presence of singer Beth Gibbons.
Her voice conveys both youthful naivety and embittered world-weariness, often in the space of the same song. In truth, she owes more to Billie Holliday and Nina Simone than anyone in hip-hop, and her presence dominates the record.
Beth met producer Geoff Barrow on a training course for young entrepreneurs in the early nineties. They were both involved in music and decided to share some ideas.
Neither thought much of the other’s work and nothing came of it.
Until one day, on the off chance, Beth sent Geoff one of her songs to play with. The resulting collaboration was enough to cement them as a duo.
They later added jazz guitarist Adrian Utley and the band officially formed in 1991, with Dummy following three years later.
It’s strange to think of this record being released in the year that Britpop dominated the charts, but it was.
There are no cheery odes to ‘cool Britannia’ here, just songs of longing and despair by a singer who seems truly lost in her misery.
But this isn’t depressing or defeated music. It’s an incredibly vibrant and sexy record.
Utley’s music, with its clear love of early hip-hop and film soundtracks fits remarkably well with Gibbons’ vocals.
At times, particularly on tracks like Sour Times and Glory Box, its scratchy atmospherics sound like the soundtrack to some long lost spy movie.
It’s warm and nostalgic, but with a very modern edge.
The beats are crisp, the grooves constant and funky. You can dance to most of Dummy.
The record was a huge success. It sold well and became ubiquitous mood music for TV shows like This Life. It has been cited as an influence on artists as diverse as Radiohead and Dr Dre, and even won the 1995 Mercury Music Award beating off stiff competition from the likes of Oasis and P J Harvey.
Alas the pressures of success caused the band to panic and retreat into silence for four years with a severe case of writer’s block.
A self-titled second album finally emerged in 1998 but was met with mixed reviews.
A host of imitators had ensured that the Portishead sound was longer unique. They toured the new album (including a Bridlington show, where they were on impressive form and mobbed by fans at the end) and then vanished.
Nothing had been heard from them since, until earlier this year when they played a couple of charity gigs and confirmed that a third album is in the works.
They may be slow workers then, but Portishead remain a much-loved band with a strong cult following.
And in Dummy they created one of the most important and enduring albums of the nineties.