PJ Harvey - 'White Chalk'

“As soon as I’m alone/the devil wanders into my soul” is the first line of the first song on P.J. Harvey’s new album White Chalk, and it pretty much sums up the 33-minute record in its entirety. Piano-driven and instrumentally sparse, fuzzed out and lyrically morose, White Chalk is a surprisingly strong return for Harvey.

Harvey’s overall strength as a songwriter has always been her erratically explorative nature. She’s a wicked guitarist and a gripping lyricist, and her vocals range from rocking to haunting to soulful, but her one general constant has been an unwillingness to rehash her past work. Uh Huh Her, Harvey’s lone attempt to rekindle the guitar squall of older records Dry and Rid of Me in 2004 came across like a midlife crisis. It felt as if Harvey had done all she could do with her guitar, but retained the compulsion to write. So, she tried a new instrument.

All of the songs on White Chalk are piano compositions. Harvey’s playing is basic, but in the most blessed of ways. Her songs are simple, free of excess, like a Beatles or Beach Boys tune, only much, much more depressed. From “The Devil” to “The Mountain,” White Chalk is the perfect autumnal comedown record. Harvey’s soprano vocals show extreme restraint, a perfect complement to her shimmering chords.

Sadness has always been Harvey’s muse, with the exception of the romantic Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea (there she goes switching it up again), and it runs deeply and coolly throughout White Chalk. The record churns with desire, a self-destructive bent and a fair amount of religious imagery, courtesy of the Virgin Mary. It’s an impressionistic take on feminism, at times vaguely dealing with abortion, suicide, love, infidelity and a heck of a lot more if you’ve got the time to jot down a list of interpretations. The lyrics outline a story, providing vividly bleak imagery in as little as a single line.

For the most part, White Chalk is a quiet success in the vein of Emily Haines, Nick Drake and The Mountain Goats’ Get Lonely. Harvey’s restraint cracks here and there on tracks like “Silence" and "The Piano,” but it completely explodes on closing number “The Mountain,” when she finally lets loose a ghastly wail that rings like a death cry. But whether she’s quiet or loud, Harvey is still exploring new avenues as a songwriter, creating a catalogue of songs that are connected by degrees but stand by their loathsome selves as well.