No Dummies
By: Mark Jenkins
Source: Washington Post, April 28, 1995
Geoff Barrow is calling from a Bristol studio, and that's just
where he'd like to stay. In an interview occasionally interrupted
by squawks of guitar noise, the Portishead songwriter and programmer
explains that "we never really wanted this tour. We just
wanted to put out lots of records."
The group's American label, London, insisted on at least a short
U.S. jaunt to bolster the success of Portishead's debut, "Dummy."
(The band will apprear Tuesday at Radio Music Hall.) Barrow wanted
to make a second album before hitting the road but adds that "I
can't blame them for it." "Dummy," after all, has
gotten substantially more attention in United States than might
be expected of an album of leisurely British post-hip-hop torch
songs. "It's gotten a bit silly, really," says Barrow,
"It's been a major suprise to us."
Like other acts that have developed out of the Bristol scene,
including Soul II Soul, Massive Attack, and Tricky, Portishead
is basically a producer (or production team) and a singer. Beth
Gibbons sings such tunes as "Sour Times," "Glory
Box," and "Numb," the backing tracks of which were
crafted by Barrow in Bristol studios where he worked in exchange
for free recording time.
"I really enjoy Bristol," says Barrow, who named his
group for the nearby coastal town where he grew up. Of his home
town he says, "It's incredibly depressing and small-minded.
It's just a very very boring place. I really wanted to fight and
get away from there."
And what of the musician's new home? "It's really laid-back.
It's very slow," Barrow says of the southwestern English
city. "People are not really influenced by what goes on in
London. In London, people just go for the buck. People down here
do music for themselves."
Barrow started doing music after leaving a graphic-arts course
- "When it comes down to academic studies, I'm useless, really."
- and wangling a job as a "tape op," the lowest form
of recording studio fauna. To make initial contacts, he agreed
to help build a studio for free. "I didn't really have any
late teenage years," says the 24-year-old.
In his spare itme, Barrow prowled used record stores for possible
samples, buying both heavily rhythmic music and soundtrack albums.
"I see soundtrack music as a musical genre," he explains,
"separate from the film." He admits that he greatly
admires composer John Barry, who's best known for his James Bond
film scores, even though "it's kind of trendy" in Britain
these days to champion Barry's work.
Barrow picked used albums by "if it's a good year,"
which meant nothing later than 1976. "The production of drums
sort of changed around then," he notes.
"It's like wine, innit?" he suggests of vintage vinyl.
"I'm not an encyclopedia of players or styles. But if it's
cheap enough, you haven't wasted much money."
Though a hip-hop fan, Barrow has carefully appropriated his heroes'
techniques for his own style, which is spooky, vaguely eastern,
and languid. "I could not imagine what it's like to live
in L.A.," he says, arguing that it would be "disrespectful"
to attempt to simulate the work of such models as A Tribe Called
Quest or Gravediggaz.
The studio hound has also been influenced - negatively - by the
furious beats of techno, house, and it's various mutations. "It's
an anti-house thing," he says of Portishead's sound. "House
has sort of destroyed music in this country."
"I like emotional songs," he notes, "and emotional
songs have never been that fast."
"Dummy" samples Issac Hayes, War, Weather Report and
the "Mission Impossible" theme, but Barrow says he will
abandon rhythm tracks made with tape loops of moments from other
people's records. "I think there's an art to finding an incredibly
good sample and using it in a good way," he insists, but
he's tired of debates over who found what sonic snippet first.
"There's no skill at all" in employing a sample someone
else has already used, he contends.
Barrow also has strong ideas about a 10-minute film, "To
Kill A Dead Man," made to publicize the group, and about
how to play his music live. "We thought it was a good idea
when we did it," he says of the project, but "there
was a misunderstanding of what we wanted in style." Though
he dislikes the film, he's been unable to squelch it. "It's
going to be showing before we play," he says he's recently
been informed. "Great," he groans.
Although Barrow admits his group has only "done about three
gigs," he announces a possibly daring approach to live performance.
On stage, he says, Portishead will number six: vocals, keyboards,
bass, drums, guitar, "and them I kind of make weird noises
from the record decks."
"I don't like the idea of using DATs or samplers,"
Barrow explains. "because I don't think it's live."
"You won't recognize 'Sour Times,'" he promises. "We've
completely changed it, 'cause we're bored with it. As long as
we can create the same kind of vibe, that's what I'm interested
in."
"I don't know," he adds after a pause. "I might
be wrong."
And what will be the effect of this two-week tour on Portishead's
postponed second album? "We'll become more mechanical,"
Barrow jokes. "Cause I will have had it with live instruments."
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