BY EDGAR ORTEGA,
a STUDENT.COM CORRESPONDENT

It's a sign of the times that the most interesting thing about Portishead's follow up to its ground breaking debut Dummy is the process by which the record was made and not the music itself. Geoff Barrow, Adrian Utley and innocuous Beth Gibbons have made a virtual legend of their self-titled sophomore release, adding mysticism to hype and an almost magical aura around otherwise very good music.

After inaugurating "trip hop" as a genre with Dummy, Portishead had nowhere else to go. The band had grown bigger than the two could have wished; Barrow's beats laced MTV spots, Gibbons' evasion of the press was duly documented and blown out of proportion, and Dummy sold more than 2,000,000 copies. A score of imitators were quick to follow and Portishead's music-noir had been overshadowed by Hoverphonic, Morcheba, Lamb and Sneaker Pimps.

Reportedly, Portishead nearly broke up, as Barrow obsessed over how to produce a second album of "pure originality and perfection."

Barrow's obsession led to very unorthodox recording techniques: in a remarkable effort not to use sampled sources, Barrow and Utley recorded full songs only to press them onto vinyl and feed them back into a sampler and start writing songs anew.

The music would then be sent to Gibbons who would add her vocals and send a tape back to Barrow's studio. They would then discuss the songs via phone, either scrapping them or adding finishing touches. The only outside sources sampled on the album are a short phrase from the Pharcyde, a bit of a "Hookers & Gin" from Henry Mancini's "Inspector Clouseau" music from the Pink Panther movies. Both samples are featured in the delicate "Only You."

Despite the innovative recording methods, Portishead does not sound much different: The Wurlitzer pianos, old Rhodes organs, Leslie speakers, Vox Continental and Hammond organs, plus plenty of tape echoes and long-wave radio static can still be heard. The range of Gibbons' vocals, however, have broaden, reaching heights of unsurmountable beauty as in "Undenied," the twisted lows of "Cowboys" and "Over" and an the piercing clarity of "Western Eyes."

Despite the imitators, Portishead proves that "trip hop" is exclusively owned by its creators. The dark arrangements, thick grainy beats and Gibbons' acerbic vocals restore some edge to the now-blunted genre. Indeed, Portishead is at its best when songs are more adventurous. The album's first single "Cowboys" inevitably sounds too loud, the bass is too low, Barrow's turntable gurgle too fierce, and Gibbons' ghostly vocals too fuzzy. In short, the song is overwhelming. "Seven Months" features yet another dose of odd clashing chords and throbbing bass drums. The high notes are ear-splitting, while Gibbon's vocals seem eroded by static, yet the song's emotive force is unadulterated.

Portishead's sonic prowess is astounding. The consistent uniqueness of each song makes this an epic album, which tells eerie stories of sorrow and beauty as if heard from a small radio in a dark narrow alley playing very, very loudly.

A little-known fact: our own Edgar Ortega invented trip hop.