PJ Harvey - White Chalk (Island)
4/5
By: Thomas Hannan
Sometimes, often even, the drive to change isn't about trying to do something that other people aren't doing, but more about not trying to do something that you've done before. It's this that has driven PJ Harvey to 'White Chalk', a curiously beguiling record almost devoid of guitars, percussion, or moments of even mild merriment.
She's barely played the piano before, so she claims, but here she plays it almost exclusively. In the same way that Scout Niblett (an heir to Harvey's throne, perhaps?) has made fascinating records by learning to play her instruments, here PJ Harvey uses her primitive skill on the keys to her advantage, laying down tender, simple backings which allow her incredible voice to travel to places it has never been before, and take us with it. Lyrically too, given that the music is so effective at being not at all complex, she's got free reign to deal with whatever unnerving topics she wants, no matter how complicated, be they the antichrist on the scene setting opener 'The Devil' or the harrowing account of giving birth contained in lead single 'When Under Ether'. There's a reason you didn't hear it on the radio much - and it ain't because it's no good.
She seems to be loving singing, as well as becoming adept at keys-based instruments. On 'Grow Grow Grom' the vocal melody is so peculiar you feel spun around, pulled in all kinds of equally tantalising directions by the end of it. And that's a bloody harpsichord she's playing. There's even a song (a truly haunting one) called 'The Piano' - it's almost as if 'White Chalk' is a concept record about the instrument I wish I'd never given up learning. Curse the lure of the electric guitar when you're 12 years old. Or 22 for that matter.
PJ Harvey's the kind of person who inspires you to play guitar, but the first noticeable instance of guitar playing doesn't arrive until the title track. Yet even here, it's as if her attitude when sat at the piano - keep it simple - has been transferred back to her original instrument of choice. She's simply, gently strumming an uncomplicated chord progression, focusing on making her voice sound its purest, her lyrics their most opaque ("scratch my palms, there's blood on my hands..."). To get all complicated on our collective ass with her legendary axe skills would at this midway point seem to betray the sentiment of 'White Chalk' somewhat. So she doesn't.
The simplicity of these tunes is also their strength. The bleakness of something like 'Dear Darkness' suggests that there's something you're not getting, so you throw yourself in to seeking whatever it is that might be. You find only Polly, and her words. And you've probably not paid close enough attention to either before. Doing just that becomes itself an incredibly rewarding process, whilst the uncomplicated yet wholly pretty, gentle hammering of ivories does enough to satisfy the melody craving part of your overactive brain.
Even when there's nothing particularly interesting going on, or more rather, even when the fact that there's nothing particularly interesting going on, which hasn't bothered you before in the course of 'White Chalk' and instead seems somewhat the point of the whole record, is for once actually playing on your mind, the tunes are still darn strong. 'Broken Harp', 'Silence' and 'Talk To You' form a trio that, whilst they play least adventurously within the boundaries set by Polly's skills at the piano, you still won't be longing for the end of. They're the kind of thing PJH can knock out at will, yes, but also the kind of thing Bat For Lashes hopes she writes when she's grown up a little.
Yes, 'White Chalk' does somewhat drift away towards its end. But it's been such a slight record - so studiously quiet and comfortingly gentle at times that it's barely there - that it seems OK that it gets carried away on a light breeze without you really noticing. It makes for quite a fitting ending to this stage of a fascinating woman's career. You'll return to it again, ponder its worth endlessly, whilst simultaneously wondering what on earth Polly Jean Harvey will do next.
Stream 'White Chalk' in the Rockfeedback MP3 vault HERE.
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