PJ Harvey's “The Hope Six Demolition Project” Review

Released during the height of grunge, PJ Harvey’s 1993 album “Rid of Me” proved once and for all that copying the post-post-hardcore sound of The Pixies was no longer strictly a man’s sport.

But nobody sold it quite like Nirvana.

Alright, that’s not exactly fair. Sure, “Rid of Me” is breakup-balm through and through, but what differentiated Harvey from most of the decade’s lovesick, flannel-clad indie-kids was she didn’t waste time feeling sorry for herself.

Instead of dwelling in moroseness, or trying her hand at sly sneak-dissing, Harvey is absolutely venomous on this record. Fueled by a drilling guitar sound, and drums that could collapse mountains, she came off as an artist set to kill, a public image she would run from her entire career.

As she told the Chicago Tribune, “People have a very specific idea of what I am-some kind of ax-wielding, man-eating Vampira- and I'm not that at all.”

Unfortunately for Harvey, the title track’s mantra of “Don’t you wish you never met her?” had listeners nodding both to the rhythm, and in agreement.

But forget the snark, “Rid of Me” is nothing short of amazing, and a seminal piece of feminist pop music (Alanis Morissette ain’t got shit).

She didn’t stick with her “Surfer Rosa”-centric sound for long, and her career-spanning effort of continuous genre jumping is truly something to witness. 2000's “Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea” is a pop-rock love letter to urban living, while her last album, “Let England Shake” in 2011, is a starkly beautiful dirge filled with horrific World War I imagery. The only thing these two records have in common is they both gained Harvey TheMercury Prize (which are like Grammys, but they matter), making her the only artist in history to win two.

The point is, expectations should go out the window with each new PJ Harvey release. She is the archetype of the critical darling, oddball art-rocker, and her refusal to be comfortably pegged down is something all musicians should envy.

***

Throughout her career, Harvey has been described in many ways; explorative, eccentric, fucking magical (man-eating Vampira). But not really controversial.

That changed earlier this month, when she caused a media shit storm with the release of “The Community of Hope,” the opening track off her new album “The Hope Six Demolition Project.”

It was an indie rock banger, hidden under a thin coat of fuzz, and held together with steady cowbell. However, the controversy wasn’t Christopher Walken demanding his favorite instrument receive greater representation (because the universe isn’t that awesome), it was Washington, D.C. politicians accusing Harvey of defaming their city.

The song makes clear reference to the DC neighborhood of Ward 7, and doesn’t exactly paint it in the most positive light.

Here's the highway to death and destruction

South Capitol is its name

And the school just looks like shit-hole

Does that look like a nice place?

No one likes to have their town be called a shit-hole, and Harvey could have used a lesson or two in tact before she decided to piss off a population of 6,105, according to City-Data.

But beneath her callous descriptions, the song is actually a rant against the gentrifying consequences of neighborhood reconstruction projects that, although improving property value, force out lower income families. This is where a central theme of the record, the systematic apathy towards the needs of society’s poorest individuals, first materializes. Of course, this is just one of several social problems Harvey  this record.

Written during her travels to both DC and Kosovo, Afghanistan in 2014 "The Hope Six Demolition Project" is without a doubt the most politically charged work of Harvey's career. 

Though she seems to be a very passionate and intelligent person, at least if her interviews are any indication, Harvey's decision to commentate on world issues has varying results as her level of insight on this record fluctuates wildly from compelling observation, to shallow preachiness.

The album’s penultimate track “The Wheel” details a deadly amusement park ride that causes children to disappear in its spin. The song dissipates with repetitions of “watch them fade out,” leaving this deep feeling of emptiness, and evoking thoughts of children lost to war.

On the other end, we have “A Line in the Sand,” a track that is ultimately too blunt to inspire. Though its bouncy rhythm is pleasing, the song’s overtness will try the listener’s patience, with the opening lines:

How to stop the murdering?

By now we should have learned —

If we don’t then we’re a sham

Bad overwhelms the good.

While the topics Harvey explores in this album are undoubtedly significant, her revelations are at times less than enlightening. Every legitimate insight is undermined by instances of banality, as Harvey is at her best when she illustrates rather than sermonizes.

Still, even if bits of naiveté are present here and there, the production on this album is consistently lush and exciting.

Handled by the same producers who helmed her last record (Flood and John Parish) it features a dense soundscape of what must be every instrument under the sun. Seriously, these guys are miracle makers. This album’s bloated personnel list (What the hell is a hurdy-gurdy?) would have dissolved into chaos in lesser hands.

Instead the compositions are assured, and maybe even accessible in some cases.

The four blasts of noise that repeat throughout the course of “The Ministry of Defence” bombards the listener like muted tank shells, creating the ominous sense of anticipation of a slasher flick. And “The Orange Monkey” has a primal drumline and enchanting background vocal that (at least instrumentally) add up to one of the record’s lighter moments.

However, the music is not always so welcoming, and Harvey lets in just enough stray oddities to keep the arty spectrum of her fan base satisfied (she's a Captain Beefheart fan after all).

The seemingly nonsensical sax solo that closes out “The Ministry of Social Affairs” is an album high point.

It’s just so raw and forceful. While the “Did you know homelessness is a thing?” message on the first half of the track may fall flat, this solo’s attack on the senses will get across frustration better than words ever could.

The most significant instrument on the album proves to be Harvey herself, as her vocal work is stunning. On her last album, “Let England Shake,” she stuck almost exclusively to her fragile upper register, while here her range is more comprehensive. The fuller tone of her voice on the bluesy “Chain of Keys” contrasts well with her siren call on “River Anacostia.” Harvey's singing on every track is emotionally resonant, with special acknowledgement for her performance on the closer “Dollar, Dollar.”

“The Hope Six Demolition Project” is an uneven, but diverse collection of songs from pop music’s leading lady in esoteric beauty. It’s not the best she’s ever done, but with this album PJ Harvey once again reminds us why she's needed. In a cultural landscape that favors the entertaining over the challenging, it’s good to know that there is still a bastion for listeners who don’t restrict their music to the background.

Reading into her lyrics may reveal cracks, but at least they’re worth analyzing in the first place.

4/5

At a glance:

PJ Harvey is an English grunge-rocker turned art-rocker who's been making music since the early 90's.

Artist Website: http://pjharvey.net/

PJ Harvey's “The Hope Six Demolition Project” is a gorgeous, though infrequently trite, collection of music.

Tracklist:

1.	"The Community of Hope"
2.	"The Ministry of Defence"
3.	"A Line in the Sand"
4.	"Chain of Keys"
5.	"River Anacostia"
6.	"Near the Memorials to Vietnam and Lincoln"
7.	"The Orange Monkey"
8.	"Medicinals"
9.	"The Ministry of Social Affairs"
10.	"The Wheel"
11.	"Dollar, Dollar"