A very genuine musical icon, few have the pedigree to match PJ Harvey; West Country singer, punk, diva, emoter, dizzyingly impassioned songcrafter. She has behind her a distinguished (and we do not use that word lightly) 16 year career split into distinct eras, defined and given longevity not by a prodigious mastery of a particular instrument or style, but rather through raw simmering desire, a high quality threshold and undimmed displays of etiquette, not to mention a true and ever present sense of artistic freedom and creative catharsis. But sitting as we do now, looking back with the benefit of hindsight on her last album, 2005’s guttural ‘Uh Huh Her’, she seemed to have given herself nowhere to go. It was the sound of her grazing, revisiting established form, and as gratifying as its peaks may have been (and indeed continue to be) it refused to look the future directly in the eye in such a way that could only really hint at further grazing. These fears were stoked and confounded further by unclear messages regarding her (now partially-reversed) retirement from the live arena.
With ‘White Chalk’ though she reaffirms herself not only as the artist we thought she was, with regards to her standards, but more importantly one that she hasn’t been before, in terms of a style. It might not seem like much of a working revolution to write and record an album almost entirely at the ivory keys of a piano, but almost unbelievably this is one area Polly Jean had shied away from and used as accompaniment at best in the past. And it is one that she now uses to stylishly re-invent herself, submitting this edition of PJ as a contemplative sort, akin with the pointed emotion and stylised anguish that has always defined her, but experiencing it more via the medium of out of body experience, conducting shivers down the spine and disembodied melodies like a mournful concerto.
Much is familiar, but overall it gives an impression of taking exploratory steps on fresh snow. Her register is much higher than it ever has been, glacial and clean, especially on the final ascent of ‘The Mountain’ and the quivering ‘To Talk To You’, finding new beauty and exhibiting vocal reach hitherto shrouded by the throaty passion of old. Songs ebb and flow like silk ribbons blowing. On ‘Dear Darkness’ minor keyed piano tinkles fill a lonely space, entwining with solemn harp and hanging back with the confessional vocals in moments of uncertainty, ‘When Under Ether’ winds this in with a subtle yet hypnotic underlying rhythm, while ‘Silence’ is a repeating piano loop willing, though never forcing, the pace onward as reverb harmonies encourage the chorus up to a higher realm. It never makes a break for it, this is without a doubt her most restrained work, but as such it is perhaps her most consistent and thoughtful. And in that you will find many rewards.