Pitchfork

The Bristol-born trip-hop scene Massive Attack helped forge in their younger DJ days with the Wild Bunch sound system deserves more credit for changing the direction of pop music than a thousand My Bloody Valentines. Dramatic, instrumentally driven hip-hop, crowned by stunning long-players from Portishead, Tricky and DJs Krush, Spooky, Food and Shadow, produced more innovative and arresting albums than any other single genre in the 1990s. While the breadth of its scope has something to do with that, its finest works flow seamlessly together: DJ Shadow's "Midnight in a Perfect World", Krush's "Kemuri", and any Portishead track are individually fantastic, but together illustrate a trancelike, danceable sound previously ignored by many rap artists as mere foundation.

The reverb-soaked synth pianos and press-play strings heard on Massive Attack's early work-- awkward new age elements that, on sober reflection, reduced most rave and house music to soap opera themes-- came together with soul samples and breakbeats to produce an entirely new sound. It was an entirely British sound, in point of fact, with all the stately drama and guarded emotion of a BBC miniseries. Still, in the face of "Buffalo Stance" and Cathy Dennis, "Unfinished Sympathy" and "Safe from Harm" were revelations, and if much of Blue Lines was bound to that odd, late 80s Nubian swing, it was the spark that lit Bristol on fire. Though grunge delayed its arrival, trip-hop's influence would infect every aspect of pop, realizing a relaxed, almost depressed tempo-- part dub, part break-- overlooked because you couldn't dance to it.

Predictably, trip-hop became trip-pop, spawning a whole host of pretenders, from the Sneaker Pimps, Ruby and Propellerheads to Morcheeba, Theivery Corporation and Moloko. Massive Attack answered with the dense, lush Protection, still among the best chill-out albums ever released; their 1998 landmark Mezzanine also lays claim to that crown, and would have been the definitive funeral and wake for trip-hop, but the genre was already merging, and is now inextricably linked with electronica. As that change paved new roads-- most notably for Björk-- Massive Attack's even-keeled 4/4 approach sounded comparatively basic, and though standout classics like "Teardrop" and "Karmacoma" will still resonate in twenty years, much of their catalog has worn thin over time.

100th Window isn't going to stand that test either. 3D's hilariously clipped Geddy Lee impression has finally been beaten into submission, and though it's something many of us prayed for, it's a Faustian gamble we lose, as he ends up approximating Thom Yorke and Jason Pierce on each of his tracks. "Future Proof" may or may not sample ESG's "UFO", but if not, it might as well have: The presentation is flawless and powerful as expected, but the sounds are altogether familiar, with the exception of an unnecessary guitar solo that winds in and out of the mix. That guitar solo is a harbinger of mainstream elements to come, as most of 100th Window is positively lobbying for inclusion on a major motion picture soundtrack.

The ace production and pacing is too cinematic; rather than provide ambience or an emotional landscape on which to project, these ornate cuts mandate fantasies so melodramatic, they can only come true in the movies. As you can imagine, Sinead O'Connor hardly helps personalize the record, though she lends her breathy wail to "What Your Soul Sings", Massive Attack's sadly obvious quest to replicate Mezzanine's "Teardrop". In a more positive reincarnation, the overcast genius of Protection peeks through on the post-Radiohead "Smalltime Shot Away"-- featuring Blur's Damon Albarn on backing vocals and a passing nod to the Talking Heads' "Once in a Lifetime"-- as well as "Everywhen", an insistent demonstration of the simplicity that defined their best work; it's over seven minutes long, but subtle shifts in focus pull you back whenever you start to drift.

I'm perhaps biased against what Massive Attack consider progress on this album, namely world music melodies better suited to anti-terror action films. This is most egregiously demonstrated when Sinead O'Connor plays the diva during "Special Cases", with its awful chorus of, "Take a look around the world/ You see such mad things happening/ There are a few good men/ Ask yourself is he one of them." The grandiose, continental orchestras heard all over 100th Window nearly warrant the more offensive accusation of imitating Björk's Homogenic, and while it seems an easy out to dismiss anything with strings as such, the band's intentions are even more suspect if that's not the case.

"Antistar" spends eight minutes closing 100th Window, but it might as well be opening the next Mission Impossible sequel; it sounds that much like the original theme. When it diverges halfway through, it's only to bring back the unconvincing, displaced strings that prevent this record from making any clear statement or impact, circling the proceedings like a 35mm camera on a crane. This sort of pomposity never tainted true trip-hop, and though Massive Attack were never standard-bearers, they always conveyed a streetwise existential exhaustion they seem barely able to recall here. The stolid "Prayer for England"-- a shockingly direct O'Connor sermon that could have come from her 1994 album Universal Mother (had anyone actually heard it)-- contains the empathetic plea, "The teachers are representing you so badly." This sadly says it all for Massive Attack in 2003.