PJ Harvey
If ever there was an artist whose body of work, or at least their earliest efforts, portrayed more intensely and accurately the rage, anguish and pain of a love gone awry or sour, that artist would be P.J. Harvey. Her second LP, Rid Of Me, is an absolutely brutal jarring trek through some of the most base, disturbingly dark and angry explorations of loves labors lost that I've ever heard. Her aggressive lyrical passion for vengeance and portrayals of pain and longing so emotionally overwrought they burn white hot, dripping with a madness of mythological proportion, made the undeniable mark of a fresh new talent with a dark old soul ready to confound all with an unbridled power indicative of her place among the most important singer/songwriters to emerge in the '90s.
Those who didn't completely embrace P.J. Harvey at that time, myself included, were likely just frightened by the exposed and pure emotional nature of her work. It was unsettling to hear a song about cutting off your lovers legs to keep them from walking away, or ending a song with the lines, "I might as well be dead/ But I could kill you instead," or the harsh repeated refrain, "You were going to be my life," a sentiment so honest and terrifying one might only say it to themselves in their own heads, not to a lover, not in a song. Musically the guitars snarled with abrasive tension and throughout the record volume levels were turned up and down drastically and sporadically--quiet intros jump to searing guitar crunches, suddenly testing your speakers upper limits. Harvey's vocals are monumentally emotional, not about hitting notes, octaves, ranges, but more like hitting flesh, bone, blood, dirt, heaven, womb. Her work was bold and unique and scary and female. In the world of contemporary female singer/songwriters and Lillith Tour menstrual cycle-matching female folk warblers and wannabe's, this artist is completely different. This aint no Jewell, Pieces of You, this is pieces of something else, like warm, torn flesh, definitely not vegan, probably not P.C. either.
Since Rid Of Me in '92, P.J. Harvey has released four or so albums including the dark dramatic breakthrough, To Bring You My Love and the most recent full length lp, Is This Desire? and has toured extensively but it was not until this recent tour in support of the latest album that I finally got a chance to see her, and I almost didn't due to a big dilemma regarding another show on the same night. Some people find this hard to believe for some reason but when I learned that P.J. was playing the same night as Shirley Bassey, the famous brit diva responsible for such beguiling vocals as on "The Theme from Goldfinger" among many other grand numbers of ultra-dramatic camp bravado, not to mention her forays into contemporary music with her work with the group Yello back in the '80s and her recent collaboration with Propellerheads. I was first introduced to Bassey while watching the legendary Doris Fish lip-synch her version of "This is My Life" which has got to be one of the ultimate high-drama powerhouse lip-synch numbers of all time. Miss Bassey is now 62 years old and she rarely if ever plays in the states, and essentially as far as great divas go, Judy Garland is dead, and I can't really think of another artist comparable stylistically when it comes to vocal interpretation and a certain star-power and mystique. So I was faced with a decision between Bassey and Harvey and in the end I decided based on a gut instinct and the lower ticket price. Little did I know that concerning the word Diva, I made the right choice in seeing P.J.
I took my friend Joey to the show. He was only slightly familiar with P.J.Harvey's music yet quite interested and looking healthy and vibrant with a new hair cut and color and mustache that makes him a dead ringer for a certain porn star by the name of Chase Hunter, whom I introduced him as to friends of mine several times as we made our way through the lobby. Our seats were pretty high up in the balcony but I didn't mind too much, The Warfield is a pretty great venue for concerts, even in the balcony seats. We amused ourselves before the show by looking at the crowd and spotting people who looked slightly like certain celebrities and saying to each other, "Look it's Roseanne!" or "Look, it's Mariam Makeeba," or "Swear to God, it's Peggy Lipton and Quincy Jones!" Just as the lights went down, Kristy Macnichol was seated right beside me.
P.J. and her band of four sometimes five musicians casually sauntered out on stage and in dim lights slipped into the song, "I Think I'm A Mother," a slow, brooding kinetic bass throb of a song, the lyrics delivered in a low chantlike fashion, an organ adding just the right constant feel to shut out all the holes and immediately convert and create an atmosphere within a song. I knew immediately that this band was a pack of fine musicians by how alive and effective they could make a very sparse arrangement sound and feel. Something about how the band was physically placed on stage, in an arc shape with the drums on one end and keyboards on the other, and bass, guitarist and P.J. forming the rest of the curve, felt and looked elegant and precise.
The audience responded to the first and second songs in that palpably loyal and solid way that indicated that they'd be soon held in the palm of Miss Harvey's hand. As the second song, a selection from the new LP which was executed in a much more sinewy, loud and punchy way than on disc, drew to a close and P.J. picked up an electric guitar, a charge ran through the house and the crowd was right there, where they remained for the entirety of the set and encore. She had them. Clad in a form-fitting knee-length skirt and a tight red top, she looked casual and comfortable and very tiny. Flanked by a guitarist on each side of her, they ripped into one of my favorite earlier songs, "Joe," a rolling grinding momentum-gaining guitar assault that live, became powerfully rigid and sharp like cutlery--tight as tight can get, the drummer giving a fast furious backbone to it all and P.J. proving effortlessly that she can get down and really tough with the guitar. The song nearly had me shoot up to my feet by its close. Joey commented, "She's Tough!" No doubt.
I noticed while watching her onstage that the rather understated ways she moved with the music, no matter how subtle or wild, nor occupied with an instrument or free to just vocalize, each and every movement was in absolute time with the music. It was not as if she even thought about it once though, but more like the music is her, her physical being resonant with not just one part or one instrument but the total of all it's parts, her creation. She is extraordinary and masterful beyond anything I could have anticipated. With this level of technical perfection you might expect a person to seem dour or stoic but she truly appeared to be having a great time while performing.
As the set progressed through a wonderful mix of material from all points in her career, I was amazed at the number of different voices she seems to use, changing song by song from very smooth and low to shrill and high, emotionless to enraged, pretty and lullaby-ish to bellowing and pained. Her range is tremendous and her band also exhibited an unflinchingly broad scope of ability, standing up to some of the flat out hard-driving guitar mayhem of say "Meet Ze Monster" or "Dress" yet producing some of the most subtle accompaniment on the softer selections from Is This Desire?, not to mention some of the most beautifully mournful and slow slide guitar I've ever heard, and the keyboard player also seemed to push the limits with innovations involving emphasis in arrangements tonal distortion. All this and these musicians could stop on a dime instantaneously, from a roar to silence. There are no two ways about it, this band was making fresh, unique and forward sounds.
All the songs featured from Is This Desire? which was almost the whole lp if memory serves, took on a new level of importance upon hearing the live rendition. For a record I already loved, I'm surprised to say I love it more now and was prompted to put it on right away after I got home. It's definitely one of the years best.
There was one song in the set that I didn't recognize at all, and it really made for a riotous live moment. It started out with P.J. speaking the words rapidly, reminiscent of Patti Smith's Babelogue and as it grew more heated and loud she started sounding like a Pentecostal minister whipping the congregation into a spirited frenzy, building up to her singing voice high and shrill saying something about Jesus while swinging her hair back and forth making these incredible sounds like the channeling of spirits and demons, seeming a touch out of her body, experiencing some form of catharsis. The audience was going wild. The audience was with her and her head moved in perfect time. This was genius. No fancy gowns and wigs and make-up, pared down and casual, there was no hiding the fact that P. J. Harvey was every bit the Diva, all the Diva I need.
