IPOD
RADIO
Portishead
By Erin Broadley
May 5, 2008
Portishead’s pre-Coachella, private rehearsal in L.A. is about to get a lot less private. It’s still daylight but people are lined up for a city block outside the Mayan Theater on downtown’s Hill Street. Inside, the venue is crowded with industry people and journalists -- experienced and sometimes weary veterans of many rehearsals, concerts, and bands -- and even they buzz with anticipation for tonight’s performance. There is a flush of excitement in the air that has become contagious. This is the first time Portishead has played a gig in Los Angeles in a decade and it might be the last. Singer Beth Gibbons takes the stage and at the first sound of her voice, the crowd goes silent, enchanted. By the encore’s finish, Gibbons eases off stage and into the crowd. She smiles, shakes hands… she is both delicate and devastating. The crowd goes nuts.
The media may love its rock gods and heathen priests, but it loves its elusive characters as well. Portishead’s power comes from the unspoken, sensual language used to craft each song, piece by piece, with the elegance and self-discipline of musicians who respect one another. Theirs is a camaraderie borne from essential privacy. The band has no public story, per se. They neither feed the headlines nor have managed media personas of any sort. They lead private lives and from that, draw great strength and create great art. Geoff’s rhythm reinforces Beth’s meaning, while Adrian’s tone shapes our mood. The music is mysterious but never misleads; it is never what you expect, but shows it’s meaning when you finally just shut up and listen. Some say its theme is loneliness, but others might say it’s about the possibility of human connection. Regardless, its affect on the audience is spellbinding.
Three days before the rehearsal, I meet with Portishead at the Roosevelt Hotel: Beth is relaxing in her room, Adrian Utley is busy with another interview, Geoff Barrow and I are sitting poolside and we can’t stop laughing. I’ve just given him permission to throw me in the pool. We are surrounded by strange people acting up in strange ways and it’s making him a bit uncomfortable so I’ve suggested an alternative way to relieve the stress of an afternoon filled with press and publicity functions. Indeed, poolside is an odd place to find oneself with Portishead, discussing Third, the band’s new album and first in ten years, released April 29 to coincide with band’s appearance at the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival.
Erin Broadley: You seem like you have a very healthy sense of humor. Do you think Portishead is misinterpreted as overly serious most of the time?
Geoff Barrow: Yeah, massively, but you don’t really get to hear from us a lot. Most people are full of bullshit so there’s not many truths out there. You’ve got to take everything with a pinch of salt. I mean, we are [laughs] fairly serious about making music but… I can’t really take myself seriously as a performer. I’m 36-years-old; I’ll probably lose my hair in a couple of years and put a nice little ponch on, you know. Our seriousness comes down to trying to project our music in [a certain] way… we look really miserable because we’re just trying desperately. A lot of people nowadays have backing tracks and tape and we just don’t. We shit our pants every time we play. So far we’ve been really lucky and things have worked out. But you never know in a big gig scenario. We do live on the knife-edge of it actually sounding any good or totally rubbish. [Some bands] work in ginormous situations. We work in a studio.
EB:
Controlled, personal…
GB:
Yeah, controlled environment. But when it comes to taking ourselves seriously, Beth really doesn’t take herself seriously at all.
EB:
One thing Beth said about you is that you’re a contradiction of sorts: in some senses very traditional and then in other senses just hell bent on breaking the rules. How do you find the balance between the two?
GB:
I’m passionate about music. I think there’s just so much shit everywhere… politically, business wise, the way that people interact, communication. Portishead really comes about through frustration and we write about the inability for human beings to communicate, human conditioning and the way you’re supposed to live your bullshit life, things that you’re supposed to buy that you don’t really need, mass marketing demographic swipes… talent-less fucks being popular for no reason. It always happens; it was always sex symbols. I’m not a grumpy old fuck at all but I feel passionate that we’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere and we constantly keep on taking those wrong turns. I mean, I think sites like yours make a difference to people. I think that you can live outside the box without fuckin’ being attacked.
EB:
Like you can create your own little world where what you do makes sense.
GB:
Yeah, and you’re not alone in that world. Because that’s always the preconception that as soon as you disagree with the mainstay of kind of human conditioning then you’re ostracized outside and it’s bullshit, really. It’s strange because we’ve always been considered like dance music…
EB:
Really?
GB:
Well, I think so, by people who hang around by pools like this.
EB:
[Laughs] Doing laps…
GB:
[Laughs] Doing laps, drinking cocktails, doing their party drugs, getting their skin cancer. It’s pretty weird; the most horrible people I’ve ever met have actually been through dance music. And all the people I really love are the people that make rock and roll [laughs]. But there’s a definite distinction, especially in England because dance music is so enormous. Dance music in England is extreme electronic, Detroit-based, doing loads of pills and getting off your head… that kind of vibe.
EB:
You have always seemed a bit more organic than that.
GB:
I mean, we’re fairly hard to categorize but [I don’t know whether] that’s not a good or bad thing, really.
EB:
What are some of the other misconceptions that you run in to?
GB:
We write music for people to chill out to. That’s the biggest misconception you could ever have.
EB:
Do you think people are overly hyping the fact that it’s been so long between albums?
GB:
Of course, yeah.
EB:
Some are calling it a reunion but, well, you guys never broke up.
GB:
We didn’t, no.
EB:
How do you keep from being frustrated with that kind of thing?
GB:
Well, the thing is, the media as it works, most people you see have already answered your questions. That’s why they’re asking that question because they want a certain answer, because it works for their publication, because it lets them deliver what it is they need to deliver. There’s a lot of journalists out there so they want to make sure they get the job the next time… then it all turns into one cluster-fuck of crap [laughs].
EB:
[Laughs]
GB:
So, it’s really weird. We’ve met some really nice people and done some good interviews but all you’re doing is fulfilling their needs for product.
EB:
The balance between art and commerce…
GB:
Oh, massively, yeah. I think that that’s the big thing. I think it’s a ginormous thing, actually, that we seem to always struggle with. When we do TV shows, sometimes we present ourselves in maybe a slightly harsher way. People have got this preconception that we’re actually this arty, English culture…
EB:
Standoffish?
GB:
Yeah, they might think we’re standoffish because we just present music in quite a harsh way sometimes. In England, recently, when they were telling us to play this track and chop this up it’s like, “You asked us on, you know what our record sounds like. This is us. If you don’t like it then fuck off.”
EB:
It seems a lot of popular music lately is compromised by compromise.
GB:
[Laughs] So why doesn’t it sell anything? Because it’s shit and it’s been compromised.
EB:
It’s like the snake eating it’s own tail.
GB:
Yeah, feed the monster. We call it “feeding the monster” all the time …
EB:
Feed me, Seymour!
GB:
[Laughs]
EB:
Being on both sides of the glass, as a producer and musician, how do you know when a song or album is done?
GB:
It’s in your gut, really. That’s what it comes down to at the end of the day. I always over think everything [laughs]. But it’s in your gut when it feels finished.
EB:
Like, when your kid grows up and you finally just know it’s time to kick it out of the house.
GB:
Yeah, exactly. I’ve got two little girls. One’s been sick back in England at the moment. She’s not seriously sick but she’s only four and a half so we’re a bit nervous about it. Kids are kids.
EB:
She’s got your feisty genes. She’ll be a fighter.
GB:
[Laughs] I fuckin’ hope so.
EB:
What were some of your favorite parts of this recording process? You wrote something on your website comparing it to a Tomb Raider or “Lost”. This journey with no answers…
GB:
It is. That’s what it was like. And now since we finished it, all the doors are open again so we can really go back into those things again.
EB:
Do you enjoy recording?
GB:
I enjoy the recording process because the writing and recording and mixing process for us kind of all happen at once, even though we do eventually do a mix of all the tracks at the end. We generally try and write and record at the same time and keep on edging it. Like, one track might have started off as an acoustic track and ends up as something completely different at the end of the album. It’s not over-remixing; it’s just evolving. We definitely try hard not to do just standards. The idea for us is to progress musically, all the time, if we can. The whole idea of this album was to progress, to sound like us, but not repeat ourselves. Which is really hard.
EB:
You did an interview with Pitchfork where you were talking about how you like to discover new things in the studio. What are some favorite tricks you’ve discovered? Like something that came about randomly but turned out really well…
GB:
There’s very little randomness in our studio. On this album there’s a track called “The Rip” and it starts with an acoustic guitar and vocal and then I put some drums on it and a synth bass from the start because the idea of an acoustic track was doing my head in. I thought, I’ll write this completely different thing. I decided to play half the track acoustically and then fade the track in, which is kind of like a studio thing anyway, but I did it and listened to it back I was like… there’s these things that you do, they’re really rare, like once every five years you get something that gives you chills. And that’s what you do it for, totally.
EB:
It’s different for every artist but for actors sometimes the only reason that they do movies is to get to experience something they’ve never experienced before. Is it the same for you?
GB:
Yeah, I think it is. We changed. It might be subtle direction change to some people but it could be massive to others. I’ve heard the people go, “Oh I can’t listen to that its weird, that’s not Portishead.” And it’s like, “Well, it is because we’re us.” But other people go, “Oh yeah, it’s great, I really like that…
EB:
Who is anyone to decide what Portishead sounds like?
GB:
Yeah. But you get these people, especially nowadays in our media friendly world. It was sort of weird; in 1998 we did this massive tour and we did all this stuff and then I kind of quit music for like three years.
EB:
You also started your own label, Invada, during that time.
GB:
Yeah. The label mainly deals with drone metal and just experimental jazz stuff and anything that’s just fucked and a bit interesting. I met so many nice people that are just so not into the music industry… no commercial aspirations because they know what they’re doing is just fucking odd. I met those people and just instantly it was like…
EB:
You’re home.
GB:
Yeah. It really was. And I discovered bands like Sunn O))) and Ohm. I fuckin’ love Ohm. And people like Electric Wizard and bands like Silver Apples and lots of old English psych stuff. The Coral, we produced their album and they’ve got an amazing collection of stuff. Interesting, old, horror rock-and-roll stuff.
EB:
I read that you love old soundtracks and they’re a big influence on you.
GB:
Yeah. Not so much on this record but in the past it used to be. Soundtrack people used to be able to really experiment with sound. Because they don’t have to write a song, they just have to hit a drum and put it through an echo and all that kind of mad stuff. So lots of stuff… Can, the Plastic People of the Universe who are a Czech republic psychedelic band from the mid-70s, they’re brilliant. Really out there. And they got locked away for playing music.
EB:
In jail?
GB:
Yeah. In the Czech Republic.
EB:
Wow. Are you excited about where this album might take you? You’ve said before that with the amount of time that went by between albums, what it allowed you to do was get rid of that pressure to come out with a big success which was nice because then you got to do whatever you wanted.
GB:
Well, we’re contract free now in publishing and recording. So, to be honest, we’re just kind of not too sure whether we want to play the media game anymore, at all. I think we could always play it and I don’t mean that in an arrogant way. I just mean that if we release interesting music then hopefully people will be interested in it. I think that we might disappear even more and just carry on releasing music and just let the music talk.
EB:
Would you miss performing live?
GB:
Well, we could possibly still do that. I just don’t know how because if you consider traditionally on a 10-pound album in the UK, the band would get 80 pence and then we would give 20 percent to management and then might end up with 15 pence on an album or something. And I’m not just talking about money here, but obviously that’s what you need to live.
EB:
That’s the thing, we can talk about art versus commerce all we want but at the end of the day you gotta eat. Your family’s gotta eat.
GB:
Exactly. So we’re going to investigate. We’re talking to people about deals but, to be honest, I’m finding it’s tougher and tougher doing the interview thing and finding it tougher and tougher to communicate with the media. Because, there are some brilliant journalists out there, but everyone’s got to do shit to survive and sometimes I’d rather not be part of that game. And that’s a really lucky position to be in, to have that choice. But sometimes I think we just think, fucking hell, how ridiculous is this. I think you can just put out a mission statement and just put out how you feel about that stuff on the Internet now. Why we took so long to make this record [is because] we had to feel it, really. So the future’s going to be interesting, I’m actually genuinely excited about releasing music by ourselves and not having to compromise.
EB:
How’s it been with your fans?
GB:
We have very little contact with our fans, really. It’s not because we don’t want to, because everything that we do is in our music...
EB:
Audiences can be harsh, like asking you to apologize for taking time to record the album you wanted.
GB:
[Laughs] Yeah. See, that’s kind of fairly weird. That’s just the monster. The monster has created people like that. They basically go, “Well, I want it now.”
EB:
They’re all Veruca Salts.
GB:
Basically, yeah. That’s who I see; Veruca Salts everywhere. But they don’t know any different because that’s the way they’ve always had what they wanted, because manufacturing in China is cheap.
EB:
And information is cheap.
GB:
Yeah, exactly.
EB:
But you have you draw the line somewhere because an album might belong to you but the band doesn’t.
GB:
Yeah, I know, but a lot of people probably think that the bands do. Strangely enough, I think a lot more people in America think that the band owes them something more than any other country. That’s what I’ve noticed. Like, “Why haven’t you done this?” That is the weird thing about the Internet. We dip our toe into it. I usually drunkenly add a blog [laughs].
EB:
How do you keep from losing your head?
GB:
I kind of do, a lot. I kick the shit out of stuff. It’s usually just using my punch bag or throwing Yorkshire pudding through a window, which I did recently. I burnt it and it was after a bad week so I just chucked them through the kitchen window. Not a good idea, really.
EB:
There’s nothing like the sound of a shattering window.
GB:
[Laughs] I know. Dangerous! I play a lot of football, you know, soccer. It’s never violent ‘cause I’m fairly unfit… any anger that I have is just taken out by collapsing on the floor.
[Both laugh]
Third is available in stores now. For more information go to Portishead’s official site.
Portishead’s pre-Coachella, private rehearsal in L.A. is about to get a lot less private. It’s still daylight but people are lined up for a city block outside the Mayan Theater on downtown’s Hill Street. Inside, the venue is crowded with industry people and journalists -- experienced and sometimes weary veterans of many rehearsals, concerts, and bands -- and even they buzz with anticipation for tonight’s performance. There is a flush of excitement in the air that has become contagious. This is the first time Portishead has played a gig in Los Angeles in a decade and it might be the last. Singer Beth Gibbons takes the stage and at the first sound of her voice, the crowd goes silent, enchanted. By the encore’s finish, Gibbons eases off stage and into the crowd. She smiles, shakes hands… she is both delicate and devastating. The crowd goes nuts.
The media may love its rock gods and heathen priests, but it loves its elusive characters as well. Portishead’s power comes from the unspoken, sensual language used to craft each song, piece by piece, with the elegance and self-discipline of musicians who respect one another. Theirs is a camaraderie borne from essential privacy. The band has no public story, per se. They neither feed the headlines nor have managed media personas of any sort. They lead private lives and from that, draw great strength and create great art. Geoff’s rhythm reinforces Beth’s meaning, while Adrian’s tone shapes our mood. The music is mysterious but never misleads; it is never what you expect, but shows it’s meaning when you finally just shut up and listen. Some say its theme is loneliness, but others might say it’s about the possibility of human connection. Regardless, its affect on the audience is spellbinding.
Three days before the rehearsal, I meet with Portishead at the Roosevelt Hotel: Beth is relaxing in her room, Adrian Utley is busy with another interview, Geoff Barrow and I are sitting poolside and we can’t stop laughing. I’ve just given him permission to throw me in the pool. We are surrounded by strange people acting up in strange ways and it’s making him a bit uncomfortable so I’ve suggested an alternative way to relieve the stress of an afternoon filled with press and publicity functions. Indeed, poolside is an odd place to find oneself with Portishead, discussing Third, the band’s new album and first in ten years, released April 29 to coincide with band’s appearance at the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival.
Erin Broadley: You seem like you have a very healthy sense of humor. Do you think Portishead is misinterpreted as overly serious most of the time?
Geoff Barrow: Yeah, massively, but you don’t really get to hear from us a lot. Most people are full of bullshit so there’s not many truths out there. You’ve got to take everything with a pinch of salt. I mean, we are [laughs] fairly serious about making music but… I can’t really take myself seriously as a performer. I’m 36-years-old; I’ll probably lose my hair in a couple of years and put a nice little ponch on, you know. Our seriousness comes down to trying to project our music in [a certain] way… we look really miserable because we’re just trying desperately. A lot of people nowadays have backing tracks and tape and we just don’t. We shit our pants every time we play. So far we’ve been really lucky and things have worked out. But you never know in a big gig scenario. We do live on the knife-edge of it actually sounding any good or totally rubbish. [Some bands] work in ginormous situations. We work in a studio.
EB:
Controlled, personal…
GB:
Yeah, controlled environment. But when it comes to taking ourselves seriously, Beth really doesn’t take herself seriously at all.
EB:
One thing Beth said about you is that you’re a contradiction of sorts: in some senses very traditional and then in other senses just hell bent on breaking the rules. How do you find the balance between the two?
GB:
I’m passionate about music. I think there’s just so much shit everywhere… politically, business wise, the way that people interact, communication. Portishead really comes about through frustration and we write about the inability for human beings to communicate, human conditioning and the way you’re supposed to live your bullshit life, things that you’re supposed to buy that you don’t really need, mass marketing demographic swipes… talent-less fucks being popular for no reason. It always happens; it was always sex symbols. I’m not a grumpy old fuck at all but I feel passionate that we’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere and we constantly keep on taking those wrong turns. I mean, I think sites like yours make a difference to people. I think that you can live outside the box without fuckin’ being attacked.
EB:
Like you can create your own little world where what you do makes sense.
GB:
Yeah, and you’re not alone in that world. Because that’s always the preconception that as soon as you disagree with the mainstay of kind of human conditioning then you’re ostracized outside and it’s bullshit, really. It’s strange because we’ve always been considered like dance music…
EB:
Really?
GB:
Well, I think so, by people who hang around by pools like this.
EB:
[Laughs] Doing laps…
GB:
[Laughs] Doing laps, drinking cocktails, doing their party drugs, getting their skin cancer. It’s pretty weird; the most horrible people I’ve ever met have actually been through dance music. And all the people I really love are the people that make rock and roll [laughs]. But there’s a definite distinction, especially in England because dance music is so enormous. Dance music in England is extreme electronic, Detroit-based, doing loads of pills and getting off your head… that kind of vibe.
EB:
You have always seemed a bit more organic than that.
GB:
I mean, we’re fairly hard to categorize but [I don’t know whether] that’s not a good or bad thing, really.
EB:
What are some of the other misconceptions that you run in to?
GB:
We write music for people to chill out to. That’s the biggest misconception you could ever have.
EB:
Do you think people are overly hyping the fact that it’s been so long between albums?
GB:
Of course, yeah.
EB:
Some are calling it a reunion but, well, you guys never broke up.
GB:
We didn’t, no.
EB:
How do you keep from being frustrated with that kind of thing?
GB:
Well, the thing is, the media as it works, most people you see have already answered your questions. That’s why they’re asking that question because they want a certain answer, because it works for their publication, because it lets them deliver what it is they need to deliver. There’s a lot of journalists out there so they want to make sure they get the job the next time… then it all turns into one cluster-fuck of crap [laughs].
EB:
[Laughs]
GB:
So, it’s really weird. We’ve met some really nice people and done some good interviews but all you’re doing is fulfilling their needs for product.
EB:
The balance between art and commerce…
GB:
Oh, massively, yeah. I think that that’s the big thing. I think it’s a ginormous thing, actually, that we seem to always struggle with. When we do TV shows, sometimes we present ourselves in maybe a slightly harsher way. People have got this preconception that we’re actually this arty, English culture…
EB:
Standoffish?
GB:
Yeah, they might think we’re standoffish because we just present music in quite a harsh way sometimes. In England, recently, when they were telling us to play this track and chop this up it’s like, “You asked us on, you know what our record sounds like. This is us. If you don’t like it then fuck off.”
EB:
It seems a lot of popular music lately is compromised by compromise.
GB:
[Laughs] So why doesn’t it sell anything? Because it’s shit and it’s been compromised.
EB:
It’s like the snake eating it’s own tail.
GB:
Yeah, feed the monster. We call it “feeding the monster” all the time …
EB:
Feed me, Seymour!
GB:
[Laughs]
EB:
Being on both sides of the glass, as a producer and musician, how do you know when a song or album is done?
GB:
It’s in your gut, really. That’s what it comes down to at the end of the day. I always over think everything [laughs]. But it’s in your gut when it feels finished.
EB:
Like, when your kid grows up and you finally just know it’s time to kick it out of the house.
GB:
Yeah, exactly. I’ve got two little girls. One’s been sick back in England at the moment. She’s not seriously sick but she’s only four and a half so we’re a bit nervous about it. Kids are kids.
EB:
She’s got your feisty genes. She’ll be a fighter.
GB:
[Laughs] I fuckin’ hope so.
EB:
What were some of your favorite parts of this recording process? You wrote something on your website comparing it to a Tomb Raider or “Lost”. This journey with no answers…
GB:
It is. That’s what it was like. And now since we finished it, all the doors are open again so we can really go back into those things again.
EB:
Do you enjoy recording?
GB:
I enjoy the recording process because the writing and recording and mixing process for us kind of all happen at once, even though we do eventually do a mix of all the tracks at the end. We generally try and write and record at the same time and keep on edging it. Like, one track might have started off as an acoustic track and ends up as something completely different at the end of the album. It’s not over-remixing; it’s just evolving. We definitely try hard not to do just standards. The idea for us is to progress musically, all the time, if we can. The whole idea of this album was to progress, to sound like us, but not repeat ourselves. Which is really hard.
EB:
You did an interview with Pitchfork where you were talking about how you like to discover new things in the studio. What are some favorite tricks you’ve discovered? Like something that came about randomly but turned out really well…
GB:
There’s very little randomness in our studio. On this album there’s a track called “The Rip” and it starts with an acoustic guitar and vocal and then I put some drums on it and a synth bass from the start because the idea of an acoustic track was doing my head in. I thought, I’ll write this completely different thing. I decided to play half the track acoustically and then fade the track in, which is kind of like a studio thing anyway, but I did it and listened to it back I was like… there’s these things that you do, they’re really rare, like once every five years you get something that gives you chills. And that’s what you do it for, totally.
EB:
It’s different for every artist but for actors sometimes the only reason that they do movies is to get to experience something they’ve never experienced before. Is it the same for you?
GB:
Yeah, I think it is. We changed. It might be subtle direction change to some people but it could be massive to others. I’ve heard the people go, “Oh I can’t listen to that its weird, that’s not Portishead.” And it’s like, “Well, it is because we’re us.” But other people go, “Oh yeah, it’s great, I really like that…
EB:
Who is anyone to decide what Portishead sounds like?
GB:
Yeah. But you get these people, especially nowadays in our media friendly world. It was sort of weird; in 1998 we did this massive tour and we did all this stuff and then I kind of quit music for like three years.
EB:
You also started your own label, Invada, during that time.
GB:
Yeah. The label mainly deals with drone metal and just experimental jazz stuff and anything that’s just fucked and a bit interesting. I met so many nice people that are just so not into the music industry… no commercial aspirations because they know what they’re doing is just fucking odd. I met those people and just instantly it was like…
EB:
You’re home.
GB:
Yeah. It really was. And I discovered bands like Sunn O))) and Ohm. I fuckin’ love Ohm. And people like Electric Wizard and bands like Silver Apples and lots of old English psych stuff. The Coral, we produced their album and they’ve got an amazing collection of stuff. Interesting, old, horror rock-and-roll stuff.
EB:
I read that you love old soundtracks and they’re a big influence on you.
GB:
Yeah. Not so much on this record but in the past it used to be. Soundtrack people used to be able to really experiment with sound. Because they don’t have to write a song, they just have to hit a drum and put it through an echo and all that kind of mad stuff. So lots of stuff… Can, the Plastic People of the Universe who are a Czech republic psychedelic band from the mid-70s, they’re brilliant. Really out there. And they got locked away for playing music.
EB:
In jail?
GB:
Yeah. In the Czech Republic.
EB:
Wow. Are you excited about where this album might take you? You’ve said before that with the amount of time that went by between albums, what it allowed you to do was get rid of that pressure to come out with a big success which was nice because then you got to do whatever you wanted.
GB:
Well, we’re contract free now in publishing and recording. So, to be honest, we’re just kind of not too sure whether we want to play the media game anymore, at all. I think we could always play it and I don’t mean that in an arrogant way. I just mean that if we release interesting music then hopefully people will be interested in it. I think that we might disappear even more and just carry on releasing music and just let the music talk.
EB:
Would you miss performing live?
GB:
Well, we could possibly still do that. I just don’t know how because if you consider traditionally on a 10-pound album in the UK, the band would get 80 pence and then we would give 20 percent to management and then might end up with 15 pence on an album or something. And I’m not just talking about money here, but obviously that’s what you need to live.
EB:
That’s the thing, we can talk about art versus commerce all we want but at the end of the day you gotta eat. Your family’s gotta eat.
GB:
Exactly. So we’re going to investigate. We’re talking to people about deals but, to be honest, I’m finding it’s tougher and tougher doing the interview thing and finding it tougher and tougher to communicate with the media. Because, there are some brilliant journalists out there, but everyone’s got to do shit to survive and sometimes I’d rather not be part of that game. And that’s a really lucky position to be in, to have that choice. But sometimes I think we just think, fucking hell, how ridiculous is this. I think you can just put out a mission statement and just put out how you feel about that stuff on the Internet now. Why we took so long to make this record [is because] we had to feel it, really. So the future’s going to be interesting, I’m actually genuinely excited about releasing music by ourselves and not having to compromise.
EB:
How’s it been with your fans?
GB:
We have very little contact with our fans, really. It’s not because we don’t want to, because everything that we do is in our music...
EB:
Audiences can be harsh, like asking you to apologize for taking time to record the album you wanted.
GB:
[Laughs] Yeah. See, that’s kind of fairly weird. That’s just the monster. The monster has created people like that. They basically go, “Well, I want it now.”
EB:
They’re all Veruca Salts.
GB:
Basically, yeah. That’s who I see; Veruca Salts everywhere. But they don’t know any different because that’s the way they’ve always had what they wanted, because manufacturing in China is cheap.
EB:
And information is cheap.
GB:
Yeah, exactly.
EB:
But you have you draw the line somewhere because an album might belong to you but the band doesn’t.
GB:
Yeah, I know, but a lot of people probably think that the bands do. Strangely enough, I think a lot more people in America think that the band owes them something more than any other country. That’s what I’ve noticed. Like, “Why haven’t you done this?” That is the weird thing about the Internet. We dip our toe into it. I usually drunkenly add a blog [laughs].
EB:
How do you keep from losing your head?
GB:
I kind of do, a lot. I kick the shit out of stuff. It’s usually just using my punch bag or throwing Yorkshire pudding through a window, which I did recently. I burnt it and it was after a bad week so I just chucked them through the kitchen window. Not a good idea, really.
EB:
There’s nothing like the sound of a shattering window.
GB:
[Laughs] I know. Dangerous! I play a lot of football, you know, soccer. It’s never violent ‘cause I’m fairly unfit… any anger that I have is just taken out by collapsing on the floor.
[Both laugh]
Third is available in stores now. For more information go to Portishead’s official site.
[Both laugh]
Third is available in stores now. For more information go to Portishead’s official site.
