Dummy

People still send me to Endtroducing first. Fair. Shadow in the shop, flashlight, the hunt as a personality. I love that record. I also got tired of it being the only door we offer.

So here’s the other one. Portishead, Dummy, 1994. I put it on in Cumberland when the rain decides to stay, which is most days: radiator crackle, bass under the floorboards. Beth doesn’t explain herself, and I like her more for it.

Play “Sour Times” once without making a face at anyone. Then leave the album running. I’ve watched more than one person stop checking their phone and start watching the window instead. Half of what we’ve put out since is still chasing that humidity: the latch, the private mix, the walk home in a coat that isn’t dry. The shop can wait.