Portishead’s small discography — only three albums in 30+ years — contains numerous amazing songs, including “Sour Times,” “Strangers,” “Roads,” and “All Mine.” Every single one of them is a remarkable example of fusing heartache (courtesy of Beth Gibbons’ voice) with cinematic style and rich sonic detail. And every single one could be counted as a favorite of mine. But “The Rip” is the Portishead song that arguably haunts me the most.

As a bleak but arresting ballad, it finds Gibbons’ voice and lyrics suffused with weariness. (I’ve always enjoyed watching this live performance in particular; holding onto her mic stand for dear life, Gibbons seems so heartbroken she can barely stand.) “The Rip” begins with an almost folky vibe courtesy of Adrian Utley’s acoustic guitar, but it morphs into something else during its second half. Gibbons’ heartbreaking voice is stretched out into a drone that’s slowly subsumed by synth arpeggios and krautrock rhythms.

“The Rip” is a deeply sorrowful song, no doubt about it, but in the hands of masters like Portishead, such emotion becomes something deeply arresting.