Skip to main content

Not rid of her


There are so many musicians and bands that I've listened to obsessively for years, or even decades in some cases. The list is long, but the usual suspects at the top of that list include Lou Reed and/or the Velvet Underground, Patti Smith, Marvin Gaye, the Pretenders, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Neko Case, Cat Power, the Who, the Faces, Dusty Springfield, Iggy Pop, the New York Dolls, Tom Petty, Cheap Trick, and on and on. These are just a few of the musicians whose music I return to again and again. Sometimes years go by between deep dives into their catalogs, but I always return to them. And while the way I listen to their music has changed—from physical albums back in the day, to iTunes in the early aughts, to simply streaming their stuff whenever I want now (because it's all out there, for public consumption—thank you, interwebs), I can still go down the rabbit hole and get lost in amazing aural soundscapes that still thrill me the same way they did years ago. But I've noticed for years now that the one artist I keep coming back to, religiously, more than any other, is Polly Jean Harvey. I have her entire discography and they are some of the only CDs I still cart back and forth to my car to blast on the way to and from work. And I find myself streaming her songs all the time, too. There have even been times over the last handful of years where I've listened to nothing else except her music, for weeks on end. After doing this enough over the years, I realized how much I rely on her music to get me through things. Her music hits all the right notes for me, both emotionally and intellectually.

PJ Harvey, the band, released their first album in 1991. I know it's cliche, but their first two albums, Dry and Rid of Me, really did explode on the scene at the time. They brought the "power" in "power trio"—their sound was so loud, so raw, so stark, that it was simultaneously frightening and euphoric. They updated the dirty blues and gutter punk sounds of previous decades into something for '90s kids like me. They sounded classic yet also completely contemporary, all at the same time. They were a band, but Polly Jean was the driving force, clearly. Her lyrics, guitar playing, and voice combined to form a tsunami of sound that was unlike anything else out there at the time. This wasn't about technical musicianship, it was about pure, brute force conveyed through amps turned to 11 and a vocalist who sounded like both an angel and a banshee.

From there, Harvey chose to record as a solo performer but kept working with great musicians and her sound continually evolved with every record. She's rarely ever done the same thing twice, with each record being its own distinct statement, yet the entirety of her catalog still works beautifully together—while her styles and sounds might morph from album to album, she is the through-line between all of it, the link that ties it all together. Whenever she creates a new sound, the core of the music is still that idiosyncratic personality that Harvey brings to every song she writes. Her music is always changing, yet always clearly the work of the artist Polly Jean Harvey. People talk about Bowie and Neil Young being chameleons; they're probably the two biggest mainstream examples of this. But for my money, Polly Jean out-chameleons either of them. She definitely shares something in common with Bowie and Young, in that she doesn't seem to care one bit what anyone thinks of where she goes next musically. She's truly, fiercely, independent in her music-making. I think that's the best kind of musician to follow, really. I want to go on a journey with musicians like that, to let them lead me into new areas while they still retain the elements that made me obsess over them in the first place.

We saw PJ Harvey open for U2 in 2000, when she was touring around her most commercially successful album, Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea. This was well past the dying days of my U2 fandom—as a child of the '80s they were one of the first big rock bands I ever knew or liked. Every kid liked them in 1987. By 2000 though, I was listening to them less than ever, but the chance to see them was too much to pass up. Obviously, the big draw for me was the chance to—finally!—see Polly Jean perform. I'd been into her for a while. Her then-new record was easily my favorite album of that year and I played it constantly and recommended it to anyone who would listen (sorry to some of my friends who listened patiently). Once we saw her that night, my Polly Jean fandom went from strong to full-blown. She was electric that night in concert, even though we saw her in a half-filled arena (you know, people always skip the opener), far from the stage. I alternated between watching the larger, projected version of her on the jumbo screen and the tinier, actual version that was across the arena from me. Both were equally magnetic. She tore through her set, playing almost every song I wanted to hear that night. She used to tour a lot in the years leading up to and for a few years after we saw her, but it was still rare to be able to see her here in the states. So that show is easily a live music highlight of mine. Oh, and U2 were pretty good that night, too. Just not in the same league as Polly Jean, in my humble opinion.

In the car recently, we heard Led Zeppelin's "When the Levee Breaks," followed by Harvey's "Down by the Water" I'd never thought of it before, but it seemed so obvious after hearing the two songs together: Harvey's music fits perfectly with Zeppelin's heaviest stuff. She's always seemed too edgy and prototypical punk to have much in common with Zeppelin's bloated brand of classic rock (which, let's be clear, I love), but it was obvious how these songs shared something primal, something fierce, something heavy. Harvey's music hits with the same kind of pure force and raw power that Zeppelin and bands like the Stooges did in their best moments. Even her quiet songs are devastating because of her utterly indomitable force of will. You can't be a passive listener to PJ Harvey's music. So in that car ride, after "Down by the Water" finished, I was really hoping the next song played would be the Stooges' "Down on the Street," Now that would have been a killer trifecta. That didn't happen, but I can spin them in succession on YouTube someday to get the full effect. Hearing Polly Jean's music served up right after a slab of '70s hard-rock-updating-of-classic-blues was a revelation. It gave me an entirely new appreciation for her music, even after being a fan for more than twenty years at this point. That's the thing about Polly Jean. She's always presenting a new side to herself, one that only enhances and deepens this fan's affection for her music. I'm along for the journey, for the long haul.

A video shortlist of a couple of my favorite PJ Harvey songs (far from complete):


"Dry"


"Rid of Me"

Three for the price of one here with "O Stella - Dress - Hair"


And some kind YouTube user with great taste in music has uploaded PJ's entire set, live at the 1995 Glastonbury Festival. It's killer, trust me. If the opening version of "Meet Ze Monsta" doesn't blow your mind, I'm worried for you.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Blowing in the Wind: Marilyn Monroe and That Iconic White Dress

This month marks sixty-five years since one of the most iconic moments in twentieth-century popular culture: Marilyn Monroe’s angelic white dress being blown sky high by wind rushing up from a subway grate beneath her feet in the film  The Seven Year Itch . Billy Wilder shot multiple takes, while Sam Shaw snapped photo after photo for what had to be the biggest publicity stunt ever staged at the time. Marilyn wore two pairs of underwear for the shot, yet, as noted in Lois Banner's critical biography Marilyn: The Passion and the Paradox  (2012), "a dark blotch of pubic hair" remained visible to the 100 male photographers and over 1,500 male spectators, all of whom crowded eagerly around the set to gawk and drool.  Due to strict 1950s movie censorship laws, photos had to be doctored to white out the offending blotch, but those in attendance saw it, over and over, shot after shot. Marilyn's husband at the time, the extremely old fashioned Joe DiMaggio, stormed off th

All I Want For Christmas: Phoebe Cates's Monologue in Gremlins

Joe Dante's 1980s classic Gremlins will always be a subversive Christmas favorite. From Spike exploding in the microwave to Mrs. Daigle's "stairlift to hell", the movie is packed with deliciously transgressive moments that turn the holly jolly season right on its ear. None are more memorable, though, than Phoebe Cates delivering her legendary "worst thing that ever happened to me on Christmas" monologue. It's a jaw-dropping, tour-de-force moment, a truly horrific story that's also one of the most darkly comic moments in Christmas movie history. Cates really shines during this scene. There's no denying just how seminal that scene of hers in Fast Times at Ridgemont High was for a generation of young people, but her speech in Gremlins is equally important and a wonderful showcase for her serious and comedic acting skills.  Here's the speech, in its entirety. No Christmas season is complete without at least one viewing

It Came From the '90s: Kelly Bundy and the Alternative Family Ideal

This series looks back at the 1990s and its influence on the generation of people who came of age during the decade. Very few television series in the 1990s were as polarizing as Married...with Children . People either loved it or they loathed it. TV critics and good upstanding Catholic families like mine fell into the latter category. Soon after it debuted during my first year of junior high in 1987 (not quite the '90s, but on the brink), my parents made it clear that we would not be watching. I believe the words they used were "vulgar," "unfunny," and, one of their perennial favorites, "risque." Of course, this meant it immediately took on a prurient appeal for me. Parents can never win, honestly. Kelly Bundy—the talented Christina Applegate, who never gets enough credit for elevating the blonde airhead trope into an art form—only further piqued my interest. She was like the girls in school with the absurdly voluminous hair and ridiculously sh

"That girl looks just like Pat Benatar"

Linda, that girl looks just like Pat Benatar. I know. Wait, there are three girls here at Ridgemont who have cultivated the Pat Benatar look. I was just a kid when Fast Times at Ridgemont High opened in 1982. Still though, even at the tender young age of seven, I knew who Pat Benatar was, because a.) her music was all over the radio and even then I recognized the utter awesomeness of her vocal talent in songs like "Hit Me With Your Best Shot", and b.) some of the older girls around town were obviously cribbing their looks—clothes, hair, makeup, strut—from Benatar's own style. Benatar was ubiquitous. So, when I see or hear vintage-era Benatar now, I think of Fast Times , but mostly I remember that ubiquity—of both the performer and her legion of young imitators. I know it's not true, but when I recollect those years I swear every older girl looked like either Benatar, Juice Newton, or Joan Jett. It's easy to forget, years later, that

Misspent Youth: Joanne Whalley

Looking back at the pop culture mainstays of this Gen-Xer's gloriously misspent youth. One of the most famous and oft-quoted Seinfeld scenes involves Bobka and Jerry's discovery of the existence of Cinnamon Bobka. After Elaine scoffs at the notion of such a thing, even calling it a "lesser Bobka," Jerry unleashes one of the great defenses of a freshly ground spice ever delivered: People love cinnamon. It should be on tables at restaurants along with salt and pepper. Anytime anyone says, "Oh This is so good. What's in it?" The answer invariably comes back, Cinnamon. Cinnamon. Again and again.  Joanne Whalley is like Cinnamon. Yes, I just compulsively double-checked my DVD copy and it's the unrated version, thank you very much. Let me explain. You see, during the formative years of my misspent youth, if I stumbled on a movie featuring the doe-eyed, petite, beautiful English actress, invariably I'd feel like Jerry does about Cin

Misspent Youth: Randi Brooks

Looking back at the pop culture mainstays of this Gen-Xer's gloriously misspent youth. ***** A note on the series and this site: This might be the final post in the "Misspent Youth" series - at least here. Maybe it'll eventually move with me. Oh, right, I buried the lede: I've moved, and would love for you to come visit me at my new site, The Starfire Lounge ! Moving forward, this site will likely cease to be updated, but will remain around for posterity and your continued reading pleasure. I have a few more things to post here over the coming days or weeks as a sort of "everything must go" send-off to the old girl. I also plan to write a final farewell post to my main online home for the last five years. Stay tuned and, as always, thanks for reading. ***** It's no surprise that the talented but now mostly forgotten Randi Brooks would make an appearance in the Misspent Youth series. She may not be a household name, but her resume

Margot Kidder and the Childhood Crush That Will Never Die

"I dream about sex, flying, and being chased by Nazis." — Margot Kidder,  Rolling Stone , "The Education of Margot Kidder", 1981 ***** File that quote under, "Reasons why I love Margot Kidder." Last month, Margot hopped a one-way flight with old pal Chris Reeve off into the stars and beyond, where they could reenact their iconic moment from  Superman  (1978), for all eternity. I wrote a little about Margot, here and here , trying to explain why this particular actress meant so much to me as a kid growing up in the 1980s. I thought that would be enough. It wasn't.* Those posts were my fumbling attempts to sort out just how large an impact Margot had on my young life, and, to my present-day surprise, how much she still means to me now. Before news of her death, I hadn't thought of her in ages. I assumed the early childhood crush I harbored for my Lois Lane had dwindled and faded. Ha! I was a fool. My crush on Margot was very

It Came From the '90s: My Secret Crush on The Nanny

This series looks back at the 1990s and its influence on the generation of people who came of age during the decade. For six seasons in the 1990s, The Nanny made many of us laugh. At times, it could be downright hilarious . At others, well, not so much . This isn't a review of a '90s sitcom staple, though. No. This is simply an excuse to come clean about something I've kept buried deep inside for over two decades now: I had a secret crush on The Nanny herself, Fran Drescher. The unadulterated nineties-ness of this is practically blinding. And I love it. While The Nanny was sometimes quite funny, thanks largely to Drescher's spunky charisma and wholehearted commitment, the show was never considered hip. People my parents age seemed to love it, but my friends preferred, well, Friends . That smile! Those legs! That dress! It's all overloading my circuits. I watched Friends with my friends, but I also thoroughly enjoyed The Nanny , to

"Opium Wars" by Zoe Lund

She wants there to be more of her. More space taken by her body, More decibels conquered by her voice, More time by her wakefulness, More equations by her addition. She wants more, I want less. Her blade is rusty, musty, sweaty and vain. I like it clean and sharp and dark-bright. She traffics in surplus, I bare my essentials. Her world is elastic but brittle. Mine is bony but moonlit. Hers flows, she ebbs. Mine ebbs, I flow. She dies in life, I live in death. —Zoe Lund, “Opium Wars”

Misspent Youth: Morgan Fairchild

Looking back at the movies, music, television, and other pop culture mainstays of this Gen-Xer's gloriously misspent youth. Once I decided that Morgan Fairchild would be the subject of the next installment in this series, I did what I usually do and researched online for a bit, just to refresh my memory on details that might've previously been lost to time. Morgan Fairchild was legitimately one of the most potent sex symbols of the 1970s and '80s. Not that I needed much refresher when it came to Fairchild. Born Patsy Ann McClenny in Dallas, Texas, February 3, 1950, the American actress was everywhere during those oh-so-crucial formative years of my pop culture obsession. She loomed large in the growing ranks of proto-haughty glamour queens, a trope that was hot on prime time TV in the 1980s. The characters she was most well-known for were drop-dead gorgeous and didn't suffer fools lightly. Really, few ever did it better than Fairchild. The shirt do