| Harvey, Parish take fall on 'Dance Hall' P.J. Harvey and John Parish: Produce new sound but fail to stay in
sync on Two years ago an underrated, but talented, female musician burst into the general consciousness of the modern rock scene. P.J. Harvey's release "To Bring You My Love" - combined with her outrageous physical appearance in videos and live performances - made her one of the most talked about artists of the season. Harvey released her latest album, "Dance Hall at Louse Point," under a rather different guise. The album cover proclaims the disc's dual parentage: John Parish and Polly Jean Harvey. Liner notes reveal that, as with her last release, Parish is largely responsible for the music and Harvey for the lyrics. Therein lies the album's biggest disappointment. It feels split down the middle; that Parish's music and Harvey's lyrics are independent of one another. In fact, after listening to the album, one could honestly believe that they recorded with little to no interaction. It is also worth noting here that Harvey is using a slightly different moniker for this release. Instead of being "P.J.," she is "Polly Jean." The new name is not only more feminine, but also has a more juvenile, less mature connotation. The album carries those new associations with it. The disc feels like a return to basics. The heavy, thick guitars of songs like "Meet Ze Monsta" are lost on "Dance Hall." They are replaced instead with the tinny, thin sounds of tunes like "Lost Fun Zone." For the most part, Harvey's voice abandons the deep, powerful, throaty quality which gave previous tracks like "Send His Love to Me" their power. The switch to this shallow style just sounds weird. "City of No Sun" features a hideous, screeching wailing out of lyrics. Far from creative in its experimentation, this trick is nothing short of painful. That is not to say "Dance Hall" is without any redeeming value. There are several interesting tracks, but the album is far more appealing intellectually than viscerally. The opening tune, "Girl," marks an interesting effacement. It consists almost entirely of a masculine, twangy guitar which suppresses Harvey's feminine moans. And as there are no lyrics. "Girl" stands as a musical feminist commentary. "Taut" is, without a doubt, one of the most off-the-wall tunes listeners will have ever heard. It begins with Harvey pleading, "Jesus save me." She continues to tell the story of Billy and the red car he bought: "It was the first thing he ever owned, apart from me." Her story grows ever more demented, and its narration comes in the form of a voice that can best be described as Polly Jean Harvey possessed. Or perhaps crazy. Or even a voice from the dead. The voice is, at any event, disturbing. But oh so entrancing. The other great track on the album is "Is That All There Is?" It opens with an organ, which is at once matrimonial and funerary in its effect. The song has the feel of an imploded Big Band jazz era tune. With a simple voice, Harvey tells, for example, of her childhood home burning to the ground, and then wonders, "Is that all there is to a fire?" "Dance Hall at Louse Point" is perhaps only the next logical step in Harvey's musical career. Although Harvey leaped to the forefront with "To Bring You My Love," many criticized the album as just bizarre. It may well have been, but Harvey's incredible vocal prowess, rich lyrics and Parish's deep, powerful melodies saved the album. Unfortunately, that does not hold true for "Dance Hall." In what seems to be an attempt to break new musical ground, Harvey and Parish simply go too far. In the end, they produce an album which deserves to be bought - but only off the used racks. Grade: C- |
