Pretty as Can Be Saturday, October 11, 2003

Gearing up for the drive. Unconscionably early for a Saturday: Every day's a weekday! Listening to a record a bought last year and forgot about--Beth Gibbons, she of Portishead, and some creature called Rustin Man, which sounds like a hippie gathering outside of Pittsburgh. It combines the usual Portishead trippy spy-movie thing with a folky sound, e.g. there are actual guitars and horns in evidence, and even a touch of Dead Can Dance. As usual, the lyrics are indistinguishable and unjudgeable, so you're coasting on vibe and voice. And Beth's got a wonderful one. It just occurs to me who she sounds like: Billie Holliday, of all people, if Billie Holliday were a trashy Brit go-go dancer.

I write paragraphs like that mostly to prove I'm not turning into a complete snob. But then I re-read it and realize: I'm defending something that shows minimal musicianship and presents lyrics as an afterthought--mood music for ravers. Alec Wilder would be spinning in his grave.

Now the car. See you in a couple.

@ 6:54:00 AM,

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