Dress

I am always surprised when people describe me as peaceful or calm; the child who got her head stuck under the bed in a fit of rage (who stomped and punched and yelled, and passed out because she cried so hard she couldn't breathe) is still camped out inside me.

Maybe music isn't like this for everyone-- maybe our souls are tuned to different bandwidths-- but there are songs that unleash that child: feral emotions slink around the corners of my ribcage, dart to my stomach, and prepare to attack. With this music singing  through my veins I become intoxicated with the ferocity, the jubilance and anguish of this present moment, an exhilaration that is my gut reaction to the best of all music.

I imagine this might be what a skydiver feels as s/he hurtles towards the ground, a ripcord away from death.

Maybe this is what I was after on the basketball court all those years ago, throwing elbows and pitting myself against 6'-something giants I had no business guarding. 

Memorized lines from Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself" rise-up, ecstatic, 

I celebrate myself, and sing myself!

...I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,

Nature without check with original energy!

(Exclamations are my own)

I give you now a song that fills me with original energy, drum beats and bow-sawing-across-cello-strings that move my dancing feet across the floor, vocals that evoke the narrator's precarious control over her life, and a rare PJ Harvey guitar solo.

Black Hearted Love

 

One of the things I appreciate most about the John Parish/PJ Harvey collaboration is their willingness to explore a wide range of material both lyrically and sonically. The last collaboration, A Woman a Man Walked By, contains ballads and punk. The whole album is fantastic. Even several years after its release, when the first track "Black Hearted Love" comes on (and it often does), I cannot turn it off or skip it.

At the outset, "Black Hearted Love" feels like something that can't be contained, a flood bursting an embankment, an explosion of guitar following the eight beat, closed hi-hat intro. The song dips down into something more dubious a few bars before PJ begins singing, the guitar mimicking, shadowing portions of the vocal. It's almost like the character in the song is having this relationship she sings about with the guitar (as representative of the man). The insistent, scratchy guitar emerges every time she begins addressing the namesake of the song, and it's the last thing you can hear as the song fades out at the end.

The eeriness of the song, the way it pulls the listener in, is well represented in the official video; the colorful bouncy house shining brightly in the dark, damp woods, lightning flashing ominously at every side. There is something strange and twisted at work and the camera just can't stay away. On the other hand, maybe the singer was drawn in the same way the camera was, magnetized by a man who's gonna do nothing but rain on her and put her in danger-- exploding light bulbs and all-- until she's alone in the dark. 

Still, it's her choice, she knows the game she's playing.

For you are my black hearted love...

In the rain

In the evening
I will come again

 

Let England Shake

Each of PJ Harvey's albums is nothing short of brilliant.

I'm a dyed-in-the-wool loyalist to Artists I connect with on a deep level; if I don't get an album immediately, it is my job to sit with it and learn to hear what it has to say. Unlike some Harvey albums, it's obvious from the start that Let England Shake is something special, and it's exhilarating that every listen continues to astound and deepen my appreciation for this masterpiece.

This a complicated album. Among it's themes are life and death, distance and proximity, the destructive forces of man and nature, loyalty and self-preservation, and the nature of time. Joy and tragedy are present on an album that is both immediate and universal, and features the most concrete images Harvey has ever written.

Sticking to the sonic realm, one of the first things that hits the ear with this album is the dissonance, the slightly off-kilter quality of many of the tracks. Sometimes it's the high vocal against warm guitar chords, sometimes an underlying track (trumpet on "The Glorious Land," a woman's vocal on "England") juxtaposed with the main track, or just the collective din of chimy, scratchy, jangly, and fuzzy instruments ("Let England Shake" is a great example). This makes the moments of pure melody, a bass line, a harmony, all the more moving (the bass line on "The Last Living Rose," a simple piano line in "On Battleship Hill," just kill me).

In this bed of occasional cacophony, pinpoints of dazzling beauty, and sporadic, irresistible sing-a-longs, are tucked lyrics of deceptive complexity. The simply worded and emotionally evocative song, "The Colour of the Earth," captures a heartache, a powerlessness, that the music itself doesn't allow to resolve.

Louis was my dearest friend
fighting in the ANZAC trench.
Louis ran forward from the line,
I never saw him again.

Later in the dark
I thought I heard Louis' voice
calling for his Mother, then me,
but I couldn't get to him.

He's still up on that hill.
20 years on that hill.
Nothing more than a pile of bones,
But I think of him still.

If I was asked I'd tell
the colour of the earth that day;
it was dull and browny-red
"the colour of blood" I'd say.

It's no secret that PJ Harvey grew up in the country, amidst animals, and there's not one song on this album that doesn't mention nature or death. While many city dwellers (myself included) can spend years pretending that death and decay aren't all around (as well as in bellies and guts), it just can't be done on a farm. It's not surprising then-- in addition to the psychological and spiritual aspects-- that Harvey is comfortable exploring the physical landscape of death and war.

The scent of Thyme carried on the wind.

Jagged mountains, jutting out,

cracked like teeth in a rotten mouth.

-"On Battleship Hill"

Bitter branches spreading out.

There is none more bitter than the wood.

Into the white world it grows,

twisting its roots, a swarm of bees,

twisting under soldier's feet.

-"Bitter Branches"

I have seen and done things I want to forget;

soldiers fell like lumps of meat,

blown and shot out beyond belief.

Arms and legs were in the trees.

-"The Words that Maketh Murder"

What Harvey so powerfully conveys is the absolute matter-of-factness of violence, the shock of it, and that it somehow means everything and nothing at the same time. Life continues as it has always done, and this violence is a part of it.





Harvey's lyrics steer the minds' eye like a film director. The pointedness of her gaze, the imagery she uses, would be auteur-like if Harvey hadn't done such a fabulous job of finding the voice of the characters. (Her mastery will come as a surprise to those who've assumed that she is exactly like all the characters she's sung before.)





Another intriguing aspect of Let England Shake is the use of birds as the central visual theme. Not only does the cover of the album feature a flock of birds (they look like seagulls) flying haphazardly, her outfits for this album incorporate feathers.



















From what I can tell, seagulls (as they are used in the British Isles) are meant to represent freedom (as opposed to the raven or blackbird which represents death). On this album, birds are described as being silenced.

...the birds are silent in the branches

-"Let England Shake"

There are no birds singing

the 'White Cliffs of Dover'

-"Hanging in the Wire"

Freedom, or innocence has been put to death. (Psst- is possible that the germ of this idea started as "Untitled (Seagulls)" from Uh Huh Her?) This isn't surprising in the landscape of war, that England finds itself without innocence, right down to the children:

And what is the glorious fruit of our land?

Its fruit is deformed children.

And what is the glorious fruit of our land?

Its fruit is orphaned children.

-"The Glorious Land"

One of the most amazing things about Let England Shake is that amidst the vivid images of death, decay, and brutal reality, there is a real desire for joy, a sense of tenderness in the lyrics and music.

Let me watch the night fall on the river,

the moon rise up and turn to silver,

the sky move,

the ocean shimmer,

the hedge shake,

the last living rose quiver.

-"The Last Living Rose"

In the immediacy of grief there is warmth, in helplessness connection. These songs of Harvey's homeland could be the songs of my homeland. There can be no sorrow without love. It takes an artist of the highest order to fully realize these tensions.

Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea

PJ Harvey, April 15, 2001 at the Rose Garden.

April 15, 2001. Easter Sunday. MY FIRST ROCK CONCERT! My first trip on the MAX. What a great night. PJ Harvey opened for U2. Bono sang "I Remember You," dedicated to Joey Ramone, who had just passed away earlier in the day.

*     *     *

PJ Harvey, glorious music goddess. If I had to narrow it down to one artist/band to love and listen to for the rest of my life, it would be her. But I've got to set the stage for my completest obsession and total admiration for this artist.

One of the great things that I've discovered about getting older, is my increasing ability to ask questions. Sometimes those questions are "why?" or "why not?" (Thanks, Yoko! Check out these two fantastic Plastic Ono Band songs if you like Experimental/Punk music!). Questions that began to plague me during my freshman year in college: 

Why don't I have any female musicians I can fully identify with?

I'm just not a big pop/folk fan. These genres contain the most easily accessible female artists in our culture. I hear tell there's some sexism in the music industry...and I'm not going to spend time talking about it, because the person who can't see it is missing their eyeballs.

Asking this question helped me see sexism for what it is-- not just in music, but everywhere.

Where can I find out about female musicians?

DIY at its best. Headed my little lonesome down to Powell's on Burnside, of course. I owe these two gems for giving me history and leads. I owe Napster for letting me sample before spending my dough.

I LOVE this book cover.

O'Brien is an awesome writer.

Who is speaking for me about my experience as a woman in this world?

A man sure can't. This question sent me running on my marathon of musical discovery. I'm still going! I'm still discovering!

So where does PJ enter into things? 

Maybe I will bring an imaginary child into this story. I will name her "imaginary daughter", or Id. ;)

My daughter, Id, when young girls become young women, they find that there is a fire that burns within them. For many, they turn the fire against themselves, and burn all the things that the world does not like. If this were so, you might see a woman who has strong feelings become a woman who tears down other women that have strong feelings. A woman who will fawn and preen in order to impress, and never ask herself what she feels or thinks in her hidden heart. She will burn herself forever, like a lump of coal in hell. For other girls, they turn the fire outward, they are filled with anger that the world does not like who they are. Sometimes the currents of the world turn the fire back on its owner, and she must let the fire roar even larger to make a space within her for the new growth of her person-hood.

Your mother was a violent young woman; she was meek and quiet, and had her nose stuck in a book most of the time, but when she was on the basketball court, even the 6'4" girls had a tough time making a lay-up. 

Your mother's anger made room for her to learn to speak with the voice she lost when she was a teenager.

I hope she will nod sagaciously.

My corps of discovery grew as I explored. Jeff Buckley walked me to a parking meter where I met Patti Smith, Nico sat with me in a smoky den (she did not offer me drugs!), Tori held my hand, Bjork invited me to belt out songs with her, and many other women told me their stories. PJ Harvey awaited me ahead.

I met her at the Rose Garden Arena, my first real rock concert. After a day on Burnside, a hitch on the MAX from 2nd Street and over the river, I was vibrating in anticipation of seeing U2. My friend and I handed our tickets to the dark-haired ticket dude, and wandered into the coliseum where we could hear the opening band already playing. After gawking at the U2 paraphernalia (some "after" pics can be seen on my FB) we wandered up to the nosebleed section where our seats were located. I could practically reach up and touch the ceiling.

A song has finished, and another is beginning. I look to the stage.

There she is, in her glittering miniskirt, her shiny stiletto boots, an iridescent v-neck top, and a guitar that might be bigger than her. Her voice sinks me into my seat. She owns my attention while people all around me chatter as though the ground has not moved from under us, as though she is not throwing sonic arrows deep into our hearts. I remember thinking, "What is wrong with these people? How can we do anything but listen?" And for the first time someone is speaking to me on a primal level that totally connects, that brings forth the visceral feelings of violence, passion, desperation, tenderness into one cohesive force that fills me to brim over.

This is the song I heard. (This live version is from later in 2001, and she's wearing the same boots/skirt from when I saw her.)

I remember her voice, the songs she sang even though I'd never heard them before. I was beguiled by her high notes, her growls, her ferocious intensity. And yet, she had the power to be vulnerable, too, and emotionally honest.

 

PJ doesn't play the audience on sex appeal-- her appeal is a by-product of her confidence, of her musical conviction. She is PJ Harvey on no one else's terms. She does not waste time addressing her songs to the male gaze, as most female pop-stars do. Her songs and videos on this album really capture her gaze.

I bought the promo video for "This is Love" on ebay and watched it more times than I can count. This is a woman who is totally comfortable with herself and performing and singing on her own terms. I can't get enough. (I regret to inform you that the following video is cut off at the end, which reduces its awesomeness, but it's the best I could find on the web.)

One of the many appeals of PJ Harvey is that she is a woman who dares you to look her in the eyes. She doesn't blink.

I love her for this.

I love that her music cuts to the bone, that it can be menacing in it's naked honesty, that it can express joy and the exhilarating feeling of what it means to be alive or in love.

Her music helps me connect to what it means to be me in all shades of expression and experience, without judgment.

PJ Harvey changed my life.

*     *      *

 

Finally, here is a song-- from the year I fell in love with Ryan-- that means a lot to me.

Another picture of my favorite woman, from the fateful night of April 15, 2001.

My Four Big Albums

Many songs and albums have grabbed me, changed me, made me want to live life better or differently. These songs have marked my life, retained emotional imprints of who I was when I heard them the first time, the hundreth time; they bring parts of me back to myself, push me beyond constructed limitations.

Four albums stand out from the beloved crowd that share space in my heart.

In chronological order of discovery:
The Joshua Tree- U2
Grace- Jeff Buckley
Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea- PJ Harvey
In Ghost Colours- Cut // Copy

I will be writing about each individually in the coming week.