Xah Lee, 2011-06-09
A fantastic song by Portishead. Dreary, dismall, depressing — small.
“Portishead - Small” amazon
Like fine wine, this song takes quite some chewing to know how it tastes. The song is close to 7 minutes. It is a story, told in 3 segments.
In the first minute, you are invited to this warm place. Tranquil, cozy, totally comfortable and relaxed. Soft guitar music waltz in the background. You were lying on the sofa, in rapture with the host's love story, and completely lost in the warmth.
Then, at 1:10, all of a sudden, you realized something went wrong. Terribly wrong. You are not welcomed. You weren't invited. You weren't in some cosy room. You are actually amidst a sacred ritual of unknown cult, and you are a target of ridicule.
At 2:30, the inevitable sets in. Alien, cold, industrial. Like clockwork, it repeats, screaming.
If I remember the night that we met Tasted a wine that I'll never forget Opened the doorway and saw through the light Motions of movement and I felt delight She spoke of freedom, “A way in,” she said “A wisdom that took me away from the bed” Spoke of the glory that we had become I felt forgiven in all I've become
Small, tasteless and flawed Hoping to see, blinded like me You tried to understand But you're just a man Hoping to score just like me Failure again, tried to pretend Who you were then, Who you are now Hating the lord, Hating the lord Hating the lord, hating the lord