Such A Scream

[Guest TSMAdmin]

A Look, Ostensibly, at PJ Harvey's Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea

 

Looking back at 1995, I remember little. This does not surprise me any, as I was in high school at the time, and most of that period is a blur to me. Why those four years are so foggy I think will never know, but no matter. It has little to do with the subject at hand.

 

Something I do remember vividly about 1995, however, is watching 120 Minutes on MTV. The program–which is on MTV2 now–was instrumental in shaping my superior musical taste, and anyone who frequents our board's music folder can attest to the fact that I have superior musical taste. Yes.

 

Anyway, 120 Minutes was the best thing going on MTV. Whereas the alleged music channel was filling the airwaves during the day with Real World marathons–which they still do, some seven years later–and ushering out the old grunge guard of Nirvana and Pearl Jam for the latest videos from the new, crappy wave of grunge like Silverchair and Bush, 120 Minutes provided a wonderful escape every Sunday night. It was that program that exposed me to the likes Pavement, Sebadoh and Tom Waits, as well as numerous acts that Time Quickly Forgot–some good (if I mentioned Lifter or My Head to some of my college rock geek buddies now, I would be met with blank stares); most unmemorable (I'd cite some examples, but, you know, I can't remember them). Then there was PJ Harvey.

 

PJ Harvey fascinated me, though the fascination was not due to her music–which I did not care for–nor her looks–she was and still is too skinny for my taste; plus she has a freakishly huge mouth–but it was her presence. She exuded a sort of raw carnality that was unfamiliar to me at the time outside of the women in those Playboys I routinely swiped from my friend's dad (the guy had a large collection, so it wasn't like he'd miss ‘em). Superficially, what Harvey had was a different kind of sexuality than that of some fake blonde with inflatable tits, but the appeal held was not totally dissimilar. Because of this, I would always watch the video for her song "Down by the Water" whenever it aired. The song itself did nothing for me, but watching her dance seductively in a red silk dress, her staring with intent into the camera, imagining that she WILL get what she wants from whomever was the focus of her gaze, was enough to hold my attention. In spite of all that, I still did not find PJ Harvey attractive in the traditional sense, so I never saw the need to use her as masturbation fodder (and at the age of 16, I took all the donations I could get), but I perfectly understood if someone did themselves raw to her latest pictorial in Spin magazine.

 

Flash forward to five years later–which would put us in 2000, a year I have a much clearer recollection of, but that is neither here nor there–and to this girl I was seeing at the time, who shall go by the name of "Summer." Summer and I did not last very long as a couple, and quite frankly, there are not a lot of nice things I can say about her, but it was her that was responsible for converting me to PJ Harvey fandom. Summer was big into Harvey, and had been for some years, and it was through her that I was turned on to the at-the-time new PJ release, the gorgeous, masterful Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea. The songs on this disc were written while the Yeovil, England native was on a sabbatical in New York City, and the end result is not just another addition to the lineage of Great New York Albums–a group that includes Tom Waits' Rain Dogs and Lou Reed's New York–but the artist-in-question's finest moment in music.

 

Perhaps it is unfair to stigmatize a work–especially one as wonderful as this one–with a trite declaration like "Oh, it's just her New York album," but if Harvey objects, she shouldn't. It is not only that this puts her in great company–what self-respecting singer/songwriter would not want to be named along side a master like Waits and a motivated Reed?–but that her stay in the Big Apple has given her a fresher, more inspired vibe that was missing from the art damaged punk of her early years. Harvey is experiencing something not unlike rapture at times on this disc, and her happiness is hard to deny, especially on the irresistible single, "Good Fortune." Over a bouncing guitar line of beautifully shimmering jangle pop, Harvey finds herself starting over, feeling "like a bird of paradise," with her "bad fortune slipping away." It's great to be alive, sez Harvey, and her unrestrained joy on this song is infectious. It's still odd for me to think that this is the same woman that a few years before used her poison pen and acid tongue to write and perform a song about a lover who couldn't get her wet.

 

There is nothing wrong with anger and rage, of course, but they must serve a purpose. I can listen to her first two records, Dry and Rid of Me, and admire them for what they attempt, but ultimately it comes off as the proverbial sound and fury. It's like nothing has been accomplished; sure, it looks nice, but afterwards I am left wondering what the point of all that was. I have no such problem with Stories from the City, as it brims with purpose. Everything on this album clicks, from the haunting duet with Radiohead's Thom Yorke on "This Mess We're In"–this album's literal and dramatic centerpiece–to the gentle waltz of time past on "You Said Something"; from the delightfully sinister "The Whores Hustle and the Hustlers Whore" to the stomping, fuzzed out blues of "This is Love." Harvey even acquits herself nicely when she veers dangerously close to Lilith Fair territory in the closing track "We Float." Harvey also shows that she has not entirely lost her quasi-riot grrlness, as the buzzsaw attack of "Kamikaze"–a ferocious song that would not have been out of place on either of her first two albums, but sounds better than most anything on them–indicates. Nothing I have heard in the two years since its release has set the high standard of quality this album–and the vastly different Outkast's vastly different Stankonia, 2000's other shining gem–has set. I love it.

 

P.S. I almost chose to write about another PJ Harvey album, To Bring You My Love, which I bought just a few days ago, and contains the aforementioned "Down by the Water." I like it quite a bit–a lot more than Dry and Rid of Me–but I went with the one that made me a fan, instead. On that note, this concludes my first column for the site. I may change the format of my next review–I like what Danny Gregory did with his Fiona Apple piece, so I may just rip that off–but I have yet to decide. Also, let me give a shout out to William (sorry man, Bryon's cool, too), Damian, Danny and Mike all of whom helped me get this gig at the site. Thanks, guys. Until next time....

 

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Matt D