Portugal. The Man
SHISH
KNIK
Major life changes can usher in creative surges or sink us. For creators like John Gourley, grace under pressure proves itself ten times over on SHISH, the 10th album from Portugal. The Man and the first on his own label, KNIK. I like to think the addition of a handicap-accessible home studio in Portland, (his daughter with wife and bandmate Zoe Manville, Frances, was diagnosed with a very rare genetic disorder four years ago) contributed to the magic on this record.
Compared to 2023’s Chris Black Change My Life, SHISH is spare in concept, but with depth and revelation that doesn’t need a large ensemble cast to get across. With production by Kane Ritchotte, Gourley and Manville give us a generous wall of sound here, peppered with aggression on “Pittman Ralliers,” and vulnerability on “Angoon,” “Knick,” and “Tyonek,” where I hear traces of The Shins’ contemplative and sometimes pensive tone. Both the title track and “Mush” have a playful take on treading the edge, with tempo changes and minor chord injections pulled from the “don’t get too comfortable” toolkit.
I’m really fond of the short spoken-word sample as intro to “Kokhanockers,” a likely reference to the Alaskan village of Kokhanock and part of a lovely ode to the band’s home state. Phrases like “You can stand before the people, but the people don’t see you,” have me eager to dig into the full lyrics when they are available. An outro that repeats, “dry your eyes girl, no more crying… believing that you’re happy” and then cuts abruptly is just the sort of curve ball that Gourley can throw with finesse, even in the most challenging of times.
“Tanana,” rich with political commentary, is enjoying good radio airplay now. I like hearing it for its pure sonic appeal, but a deeper listen lets these gorgeous lines rise to the surface: “I feel the sadness coming down. The pigs running the zoo. Paranoid spinning out. There’s murder in the news.” The Shins’ James Mercer appears in the writing credits here, which explains why I hear those signature Mercer traces.
Closing SHISH with “Father Gun,” another track reminiscent of 1970s rock theatrics, is a fitting varnish. Like so much of the album, the lyrics are bleak in nature but against a beautiful canvas: the unforgiving landscape of rural Alaska and the necessary comforts and adaptive nature of a home studio in Portland. SHISH is the oscillating high speed fan just under the window.
