*Vinyl Re-Ripped and Updated 12/6/10*
I’m really excited to finally have the opportunity to share this online.
This album was one of the first I heard after the Miracle at Aural Canal–aka when I finally regained full hearing in my left after a mysterious year-long drought.
Anyway, I’ve had experience with Portishead in the past but always thought their tracks sounded a bit too much like Xanax-popping James Bond theme songs that are prevented from nodding off with repeated slaps by a cruel snare druminatrix.
However, Third completely broke out of this box. And thank the Lord Above.
This is what I envision when this disc drops and the lights dim.
I stand in a greyish-green, abandoned amusement park which lies dormant in the middle of rolling countryside. Nothing fancy, no big rollercoasters or log flumes–just a lonely carousel, a spinning swing, and a popcorn cart sitting derelict upon the side of a cobblestoned walkway. A thick, greasy film covers everything. Countless years have passed since the park’s seen any people. Now, the only visitor is the constant, frigid wind. It’s silent, bleak, and ever-so-lonely.
Suddenly, everything in the park springs to life. The carousel, with its faded pine fauna, begins to spin wildly. The giant swing whirls with rusted chains entangled in a dangerous waltz. It’s a terrible clash of sight and sound from which an ominous hum seeps. Sickly notes emerge in D Minor to give the attractions newfound voices in a ghostly chorus.
There’s a tug on my leg. At my feet stands a tiny doll with wooden hands, glass eyes and a paisley-printed dress. She grinds furiously to the throbbing sound. The feeling to punt her like it’s fourth and thirty is quelled as she speaks in a shrill, hollow voice. “Hello, sir. It’s been ages since I’ve seen a strapping buck like you. Will you be my kissing friend?”
Her ruby lips look warm, very warm. And I oblige as she tugs my hand all the way to the crawl space under the carousel.
Kissing turns to necking. Necking turns to petting. Petting turns to coitus. Coitus leads to baby. And of course a man and doll must marry once she’s with child. The Parish would be in an uproar if it were otherwise.
In a flash it’s 10 years later and I’ve fathered a litter of doll babies who’ve overrun the park and cater to my every need. It’s not easy to keep the townsfolk at bay, with their pitchforks and torches and whatnot, but I’d do anything to protect my tinderbox family. They are so a tiny and their lips are so, so warm.
What it boils down to is that this album creeps me the fuck out…in exactly the right way.
The following video uses “Plastic” from this album.
|Cello – Charlotte Nicholls
Voice [Spoken Intro] – Claudio Campos
|Bassoon – Wendy Bertram|
|Clarinet – Team Brick|
|B3||We Carry On||6:28|
|Vocals [Additional] – Ben Salisbury , David Poore , Somerfield Workers Choir, The , Team Brick|
|Electric Piano [Rhodes] – John Baggott
Hurdy Gurdy – Stu Barker
Saxophone – Will Gregory
|Bass – Jim Barr
Cello – Charlotte Nicholls
Drums – Clive Deamer
Guitar – Beth Gibbons
Saxophone – Will Gregory