As the quintessential group to come out of the trip-hop movement of the 1990s, Portishead’s suave, cinematic style could fit snugly on many a spy movie soundtrack—that is, if their songs weren’t stomping grounds for the morbidly depressed. It’s been 11 years between studio albums for this Bristol, UK trio, and judging by the moods and ideas that dominate Third, they still don’t find the bright side of life all that interesting. “I can’t deny what I’ve become/I’m just emotionally undone,” laments lead singer Beth Gibbons on “Magic Doors,” one of many tracks on this disc that show Portishead hasn’t lost a step. Gibbons’ voice is a revelation, its brink-of-tears quaver making it more than just beautiful: As she delivers the chorus of “Magic Doors,” one gets the sensation of being haunted by a ghost that means no harm.

Perhaps it was one of those ideas that had the proverbial “sounds good on paper” factor going for it. Take a Hollywood it-girl—one who we know can at least sing passable karaoke (see Lost in Translation)—and give her the songs of one of America’s foremost modern composer/performers, a hip producer, and the guest superstar who fell to earth. Scarlett Johansson’s foray from silver screen to singing is instead a dull car crash of Tom Waits songs (plus one lame number penned by Johansson) as delivered by a singer who sounds like she doesn’t care, mired in needlessly thick and ethereal production.