PJ Harvey: Uh Huh Her (2004)

#15

Polly Jean, Earth Mother

Regardless whether she was exorcising the voracious man-beasts of her past, pining for her Phoenix to come riding fast outta fire-flames or stepping hand-in-hand through the picturesque nightscape of New York with her life partner, the work of PJ Harvey has always been rooted in pastoral translucence and connected to the land with a distinctive quaintness.

The reason for this is simple. PJ has bucolic blood in her veins. She devours pesticide potatoes and rodenticide radishes for breakfast. Her hometown of Yeovil in Dorset nurtures what David Trimble once called the cock-up theory of genetics, whereby the rules of selective breeding need not apply and the gene pool is a free-for-all. In this town, cousins who are also their sisters-in-law cohabit with their mothers who are also their brothers and half-uncles twice removed. Ross Harper is my lawyer. Have you met him?

Uh Huh Her moves from the glossier rock music she made to nab the Mercury Music Prize in 2000, Stories From The City, Stories From The Sea, back to the moodier magic of her previous albums. As someone who was unimpressed with the execution of her commercial venture, this record knocked me over when I first heard it, and as it stands on its own as an eclectic masterwork in an oeuvre clogged with them.

Although some might take umbrage with the several moments of filler on the album, I believe these unfinished song ideas hold the album together as a conceptual unity, and Uh Huh Her feels much more like a patchwork or photograph album of emotions, as the inside booklet suggests, and encapsulates all the brilliance of her rawest song writing.

The Life & Death of Mr. Badmouth suggests the kind of male expurgation featured on her venomous 1993 blues eruption Rid of Me, but turns into a far more ruminative piece, which the bulk of these pieces become. With the ultra-slick blues riff crawling in through the wistful silence, the tune feels as though it might explode at some point, until Harvey instructs her protagonist in a rather maternal tone to: “Wash it out, wash it out.”

The music on this album is closest to the spiritual sheen of To Bring You My Love and the introspective sadness of Is This Desire? but still manages to retain a complete originality of its own. Shame follows the tense opener, and is one of the most affecting songs Harvey has ever composed, with a gorgeous vocal performance and muted guitar and harmonica backing. With the most minimal of instrumentation she often shines, and rarely on record does she manage to coax this kind of genuine emotion.

Who The F**k? is a delightful blast of noise, and confirms that Harvey is no longer fuelled by chagrin in her rock songs; instead she glows with theatrical ebullience and noise-making freedom. The video is also included here, with PJ leaping around a flat in her underpants.

Pocket Knife is the finest example of the folk influence in her music, and is an elegant piece driven by acoustic guitar but with some integral drumming which helps the bouncier tone of the track to triumph. Rob Ellis from the early days is on drums once more, and with alt-rock curio Head on most other things.

Harvey produced this album herself, and for a first-time effort it is remarkably polished. The Letter is a glorious tune, bringing to life the old-fashioned process of writing by hand into a seductive and curvy blues romp with some stellar backing vocals which sound like graveyard pop harmonies as performed by the undead.

The Slow Drug is a synthetic string-only tune, recalling a certain Man-Size Sextet from yonks back, but has a far sultrier melody going for it and the moody performance makes it a compelling moment of brooding wonder. No Child of Mine is the first of the wilfully short tunes here, just an acoustic guitar, some backing vocals and one repeated verse. Nice while it lasts. In no way do these short bursts diminish the overall brilliance of the album.

Cat On The Wall is proof that of the eleven proper tracks here, there is not one stinker among them. A riotous and rather far-out number, an interesting production approach is taken here to ensure that the springy sense of rapture is no lost behind the thunderous welter of guitars. You Come Through was the second single here, and was an odd choice, since it is a bizarre little distraction one of them beater-bonking instruments with some steamrollered string arrangements. That said, it is an example of how this album is fearless in its ideas and their execution.

It’s You is downbeat but luxurious at the same time, with its slinky piano lead and its seductive guitar groan over the impassioned coo of Harvey, again in hyper-emotional mode throughout. The End is a tribute to her pal Vincent Gallo and is one minute of scant guitar noodling over squished harmonica. Nice and moody, though, and sets the scene before the grand finale.

The Desperate Kingdom of Love is the most powerful piece of music PJ Harvey has ever composed. Stripped of her theatrical blues-rock clout or those crafty intimate tricks that stop the listener getting too close, this is just her, an acoustic guitar and a sensational batch of lyrics.

Here, the soft caress of her guitar and some neat little chord changes leads the listener into a moving and melancholic tune about the deep loss of love, which is the most emotionally honest Harvey has ever been; sounding even resigned. This kind of progression looks good for her next album, due very soon. The seagulls at the end of the song somehow make the piece much more chilling, especially after her hushed line: “At the end of this burning world.”

The Darker Days of Me & Him feels like a bonus track but is a proper end to the album, perhaps to stop it from being too short. As a closer, it is far more effective than her previous piece We Float and again shimmers with the kind of closeness and honesty we never though we were going to get from Polly Jean. A fine end to an exemplary album.

Uh Huh Her, whatever is implied by the title, is one of the three finest PJ Harvey albums and an outstanding piece of work on anyone else’s terms. It is a patchwork of mature, emotive and intimate music that is joyous, peevish, ruminative and just a little tearful. A remarkable achievement from one of the finest artists on the planet and a must for the fan and unconverted alike.

Rating: 8/10