creative research.
Since I discovered Portishead in high school, their 1994 debut record Dummy has been one of my most treasured works of art, a timeless and beautiful album that I refer back to for musical and aesthetic inspiration time and time again. The album consists of a slow burning but tightly knit collection of cinematic trip-hop pieces that, while sensual and cool, have an undeniable air of depression and complex sadness as well. It is fitting, then, that the album’s remarkable and understated cover reflects this dichotomy perfectly, conveying the group’s muted and secretive approach to musical expression while hinting at the dark emotions hiding beneath the songs’ mysterious exteriors.
Interestingly enough, the album cover was not explicitly taken from a shoot for the album itself; rather, it is a photograph taken from a spy film, To Kill a Dead Man, which was directed by the band and released the same year. As the film is credited only to the members of the group, it is unclear exactly who captured the particular shot that was used. The photograph itself, which is letterboxed on the top and bottom by a deep shade of blue, features the group’s vocalist, Beth Gibbons, in an obscure, undefined setting. She appears to be sitting in a dark room with scattered spotlights, her hands perhaps tied to the chair and mascara seemingly running down her eye. The scene and context are unclear without having watched the film, but it is a decidedly gloomy and solemn image. The only other visual information presented is the band’s name on the left and the album title on the right.
My initial impression of the album artwork was one of intrigue and fascination. Portishead’s music and visuals have often been associated with spy imagery, infiltrations, mystery and suspense, and Dummy’s cover concatenates these themes masterfully. Firstly, the palette used predominantly features shades of gray, blue, white and black. The general absence of bright, flashy colours instantly conveys moodiness and solitude, setting the stage for the minimalism of the music. The palette also aligns with spy tropes in cinema, which are recognized by the protagonists’ monochromatic suits, little information about their inner narrative and the tense, high-stake infiltrations they lead. The scene itself calls on these images as well. One might glance at the album cover and ask themselves: Where is she? Why is she being held? What emotion is her face wearing? Is she in danger?
However, the artwork’s meaning is two-faced: it also serves as an allegory for sadness and solitude. The same palette of deep, moody colours which initially suggest intrigue are also emblematic of loneliness, darkness and emotion turmoil. With this reading, it is easy to imagine a completely different reading of the photograph: Is she crying? Why does she feel trapped? Is she depressed?
The brilliance of Dummy is that it understands, addresses and allows for both of these readings. The chilling vocal delivery, obscure beats and cryptic lyrics instantly convey the mystery of a good spy film, which is why so many find pleasure in listening to them casually. However, for those who dwell on the material a little longer, the music also conceals great sorrow and heartbreak. For instance, the song Wandering Star warbles enticingly with its bass-driven riff, record-scratches and powerful snare. These drive the music forward with all the potency and drama the album cover suggests; however, the lyrics and pained vocals tell a different story: “Please could you stay awhile to share my grief / For it's such a lovely day / To have to always feel this way / And the time that I will suffer less / Is when I never have to wake”. The same effect is present on the song Biscuit: its ominous beat and monstrous hi-hats are a sinister backdrop for its themes of heartbreak, best conveyed by the twisted and warped sample used throughout: “I’ll never fall in love again / It’s all over now”.
Both the music and artwork of Dummy have long provided me with solace and served as an outlet for feelings of hopelessness. I connect with them deeply and respect their overwhelming darkness, which immediately grabs the listener and does not let go.
Works Cited
Classic Album Sundays. “The Story of Portishead 'Dummy'.” Classic Album Sundays, 29 Dec. 2018, classicalbumsundays.com/portishead-dummy/.