Vinyl Vednesday 7/13/2011

[Vinyl Vednesday is a weekly feature about three favorite vinyl finds. It’s not meant to be a dick-measuring contest, but it usually turns out that way. I’m moving in with my fiancée this week, which I commemorated last week by celebrating three of my parents’ records one last time. This week, I get all warm and/or fuzzy over three records that are near and dear to my special lady friend and I. As always, e-mail pelonej1@gmail.com with your own big finds!]

Records: PJ Harvey’s “Glorious Land” single (2011) on black, The Cure’s Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me (1987) on black, and The Promise Ring’s Very Emergency (1998) on black.

Place of Purchase: “Glorious Land” was an exclusive preorder from Recordstore.co.uk. That’s in England! Kiss Me came from Legends at the Plymouth Meeting Mall (R.I.P.). Very Emergency was an eBay find.

Thoughts: Michelle and I love the new PJ Harvey album Let England Shake. It’s just such a haunting, politically volatile record. Accordingly, I’ve been importing two copies of its singles (one for me, one for her) every time they pop up. “Glorious Land” is a particularly heavy tune – the lines “What is the glorious fruit of our? / Its fruit is deformed children” certainly sticks in my head. The B-side, “The Nightingale,” is quite good as well. It’s almost definitely about Florence Nightingale, so it fits England’s war imagery. But the lyrics are a little more atmospheric. As much as I enjoy the song, I get why it was left off in favor of more visceral material like “On Battleship Hill” or “The Words That Maketh Murder.”

Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me is a schizophrenic Cure record, which makes it a great entryway into the band’s discography. Jumping from pop to psych-rock to goth on a whim, it manages to be both a unique piece in their canon yet a solid overview of what the group did post-1985. Also it has “Just Like Heaven,” a.k.a the best loved Cure of all time. It brought Michelle to tears when we saw The Cure perform it live back in 2008. And really, why wouldn’t it? It’s a beautiful song. Frontman Robert Smith specifically wrote to seduce his future wife. And it worked! If you hate that song, you’re a jerk. Me, I’m going to hold on to the memory of Michelle being so moved by music that she wept.

Michelle is secretly a huge Davey von Bohlen fan. I’ve been working on turning her into a Maritime devotee. Every summer, though, is when I bust out the collected works of The Promise Ring, especially Very Emergency. It’s an ideal Jersey shore record, if for no other reason than for the song “Jersey Shore.” But Very Emergency is also appropriate overall. The tunes are catchy and breezy and fun, and they work regardless of summer setting. On the road, on the beach, at night; it’s just such a perfect record.

Man, I really hope none of these records gets damaged in the move…

PJ Harvey - 'Let England Shake'

PJ Harvey has been on a hot streak since she returned in 2007 with White Chalk. Let England Shake, her third album in four years, is arguably the best of her new work, taking experimental approaches to conventional styles. Clearly, she is the Christopher Nolan of rock ‘n’ roll. Overall, the record is anti-war lyrically, ethereal in a folk/shoegaze fashion musically and haunting all around. Over shimmering autoharp and hazy production, England buries deep and stays there.

England draws a lot of imagery from World War I, but in a way that could be applied to any war scenario. In war, nations glorify their soil, but as “The Glorious Land” points out, such prizes are soon ruined: “What is the glorious fruit of our land? / Its fruit is deformed children.” “On Battleship Hill” talks about how land can, in turn, ruin wars. The song is almost a battle from WWI involving Australian and New Zealand armies that got bloody and bungled thanks to rough terrain. As an American, I’d compare it to Vietnam.

Still, WWI works because it is remembered as such a demoralizing war, “The War to End All Wars.” It ruined the winning nations economically; set Germany on the path to Hitler, genocide and World War II; and took so many years and lives to resolve that it temporarily killed any desire for fighting. That said, the album’s standout track, “The Words That Maketh Murder,” hits hard with lines that should apply to anyone. The lyric that’s been quoted most frequently from England in articles, and with good reason, comes from this song: “I’ve seen soldiers fall like lumps of meat.” That line is so visceral, so unavoidably direct and frightening. That the song is driven by a propulsive folk/bluegrass backbeat is almost unnerving.

“Murder” ends glibly with the quote “What if I take my problems to the United Nations” from Eddie Cochran’s “Summertime Blues.” It’s one of several instances where Harvey quotes, references and samples other works. Each one is more out of artistic need than plagiarism, although I’m not entirely sure what significance the Police’s “The Bed’s Too Big Without You” should hold.

Those looking for a return to Harvey’s heavy guitar days will again be disappointed. But then, it’s been a long time since Rid of Me, and her work here is just as intense as “Rid of Me” or “Rub ‘til It Bleeds.” On White Chalk, Harvey opted to write for piano so as to see if it would alter her songwriting process. She applied the same trick to England, composing songs on autoharp and saxophone simply because she had never done that before. It’s such a small shift, yet it resulted in a huge, rewarding departure. Hell, she even wrote a reggae tune (“Written on the Forehead”), and it’s amazing. In a year that’s already seen plenty of stellar releases, Let England Shake is tops.

regarding new PJ Harvey.

2011 is going to rule.

REGARDING PJ HARVEY KNOWING WHO I AM.

My PJ Harvey and John Parish concert review for punknews.org has been linked by Harvey's handlers. FREAKIN' YES. This is probably the only time I'll be mentioned in the same breath as the Chicago Tribune.

PJ Harvey and John Parish at the Trocadero

“I wonder what PJ Harvey’s internal monologue is like,” my girlfriend said as we drove home from the Trocadero Sunday, June 7. Given the frenetic, free-spirited dancing, toothy grins, and incredibly disturbed discussions we’d just witnessed courtesy of the British alt-rock icon, it was a fair question. After several years away from the City of Brotherly Shove, Harvey made her glorious return to Philadelphia with John Parish, her partner behind this year’s excellent A Woman A Man Walked By. Accordingly, the duo stuck mostly to their two co-billed albums – 1996’s Dance Hall at Louse Point being the other release.

Not that the night started out too hot. Acoustic opening act Pop Parker took to the stage an hour after doors opened and sucked for 29 minutes. Ostensibly a tongue-in-cheek acoustic troubadour, his profanity-laden tales of ribaldry, underscored by soothing acoustic guitar, stopped being funny after his sound check. Gustave Flaubert, he is not. Stand-out lyrics included “She smokes cigars / and knows things about cars” and “He has a mustache / whoa-oh-whoa-oh-whoa.”

Once the headliner began, though, the crowd erupted in joyous applause. Parish and his three-man backing band emerged in stylish suits and fedora hats. His partner in six-strings, Giovanni Ferrario (best name ever?), even rocked the same sunburst-colored Fender guitar. Barefoot and bearing a black dress, Harvey looked like she had just stepped out of the “Black Hearted Love” video before launching into that very song. It was loud and discordant and spirited, and those first and last adjectives also describe the second song of the set, “Sixteen, Fifteen, Fourteen.”

It quickly became clear that the group could not fail. Though Harvey is arguably more well-known for her non-Parish material - “Rid of Me,” “This is Love,” and so on – the pretty dang positive crowd lapped up every song played. Personal highlights included raucous renditions of “Urn With Dead Flowers in a Pool” and “Taut” from Dance Hall. The latter, a provocative anti-Christian dirge, was revelatory. While Harvey sounds possessed and/or crazed on the song’s recorded version, she opted for a more earnest, natural-sounding approach live, with the slightest knowing undercurrent of show(wo)manship. It made the contrast between lyrics like “And he used to make me pray / wearing a mask like a death’s head / when he put me there in the back seat” and the chorus “Jesus save me / Jesus save me” both more entertaining but also darker and more believable. Same goes for A Woman A Man’s “A Woman A Man Walked By/The Crow Knows Where All The Little Children Go” and set-ender “Pig Will Not.” Harvey was a blur of limbs as she danced around and vamped for the mic and audience.

The group successfully worked in more quiet tunes as well. “Passionless, Pointless,” about a failing relationship, was just as heart-rending live as on record. “Leaving California” was pretty good too, although encore-ender “April” was jarring and enervating after so much rocking. “The Soldier,” however, was perfect. Quiet songs are always a gamble at rock shows – people are incapable of shutting up, ever, you see, which becomes most apparent during this sort of songs. But the band had the audience entranced, making the chorus of “Send me home restless / Send me home damaged / And wanting” all the more haunting. You couldn’t hear anything from the fans, not even breathing, it was so silent.

But when “The Soldier” ended, there was plenty of applause to go around. Speaking of the audience, those gathered were polite yet excited, scoring beaming yet reserved smiles from Harvey and Parish (They are British after all). There was no too-cool posturing here; everyone clearly wanted a piece of the PJ. One particular silver-haired fan wearing a light blue golf shirt stood out among the crowd; I like to think that his loud voice, clear through all the cheers after the regular set, is what galvanized the band into an encore. This guy got some applause of his own, so great were his pipes. I don’t know what that man does for a living, but he deserves a raise.

I try to avoid shit-talking concertgoers – it’s too personal and specific to really sum up the show overall – but it’s worth pointing out a balding, portly fellow in a yellow golf shirt and sandals who seemed to bother just about everyone at the front of the Troc’s stage. Seemingly alone for the night, he cut through to the front with little regard for those around him. And while being the big guy who blocks people’s view is merely annoying, this asshole earned his d-bag award when he left, then came back five or 10 minutes later to fight the short woman who took his “spot,” as if he had claim over the standing room space in front of the stage. Her boyfriend showed up later to keep this guy in line. In the unlikely event that he’s reading this review, hey baldy, fuck you. To that woman: You’re an American hero and deserve a raise as well.

One jerk out of hundreds of good natured folk makes for good odds, though. These pleasant people made Harvey and Parish’s anthems about trannies, Jesus freaks, PTSD, failed relationships, and such that much better, as communal settings at their best always do. I can only hope the Harvey and Parish come back soon.

PJ Harvey and John Parish - 'A Woman A Man Walked By'

Retreads have never been Polly Jean Harvey’s thing. None of her albums sound alike; each offers its own beguiling charm and haunting beauty. Her discography’s lone rehash, 2004’s Uh-Huh Her, attempted to recycle the bluesy guitar dirges and wounded feminine snarl of early works Dry and Rid of Me, and it kind of sucked. We all pretended otherwise at the time, but it’s easily the weakest release in her healthy catalog. 2007’s White Chalk marked a new direction for Harvey – still lovelorn and haunting, but piano-based. It was beautiful. 2009 brings another new highlight for Harvey, and her quickest turnaround yet this decade: A stylistic repeat that’s actually awesome.

A Woman A Man Walked By finds Harvey again teaming up with John Parish, who co-wrote 1996’s Dance Hall at Louse Point and produced and played on White Chalk. Unsurprisingly, the record feels like a mash-up of the two. It explores two extremes – crazy/loud and eccentric/mellow – further than Dance Hall ever did. Its quietest moments, like “Leaving California” or “Cracks in the Canvas,” recall White Chalk’s torment and ambience. As for the rockers, like lead-off “Black Hearted Love” or “Pig Will Not,” well, they’re loud and surreal and psychedelic. Harvey hasn’t cut loose electric howls like these in 15 years. It’s a welcome return.

The album gets the whole “accessibility” thing over with up front with “Black Hearted Love.” It’s a solid blend of everything to come – the choruses rock and shriek while the verses float by. Harvey’s voice is given more room to flex than on White Chalk, where it was always high-pitched and restrained. Here, she’s shouting. And Parish shreds the whole dang time. “Sixteen, Fifteen, Fourteen” is an acoustic barn-burner – think To Bring You My Love’s “Send His Love to Me.” From track three onward, though, the record starts to test the listener. The songs become less catchy or pop-oriented, but they’re certainly memorable.

Harvey pushes her register on “Leaving California” and “April,” and her unconventional delivery warps the songs a bit. Parish keeps the music slow and understated. It’s too discordant to be soft, too soft to be truly discordant. The record’s second half pushes the album further by upping the musicianship and impressionistic lyrics. The tranny-toting title track has more weird delivery from Harvey coupled with funny lyrics – the way she grunts lines like “I want your fucking ass” is artful yet completely silly. It’s a refreshing dash of surrealism after White Chalk’s downer-thon.

White Chalk stills hovers over A Woman A Man Walked by, however. “The Soldier” examines a dream in which the narrator yearns to share his/her suffering – “Send me home damaged / Send me home disposed / Send me home damaged and wanting” goes the climax. “Passionless, Pointless” covers a failing relationship, and the sparse imagery that emerges hits hard. The intro is all about trying to cut through tensions and talking, but the line that ultimately sticks the most is “I slept facing the wall,” later changed to “you.” Breaking up the two is “Pig Will Not,” a chaotic crasher in which Harvey moans and groans and lurches about possessed and Parish places searing guitar/thundering drums side-by-side with plaintive piano lines.

A Woman A Man Walked By’s ebb and flow keeps the listener recovering from each previous track. It constantly circumvents PJ fans’ expectations by both embracing and rejecting templates established by White Chalk and Dance Hall at Louse Point. It’s self-lacerating yet giddy, fiery yet contemplative, fluctuating from moment to moment. Parish’s compositions are solid throughout, although the sparse first half can get tedious at times. Still, though, he’s clearly a great force for Harvey to play against. Harvey struggled to find new creative directions for most of this decade, but her last two Parish team-ups have been fantastic. She’s the sort of artist who needs to constantly shift – like a Bowie. And like a Bowie, she just might bring her best out when those around her do the same.

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.