pj harvey's to bring you my love
pj harvey makes me feel all warm and mushy inside. there, i said it. i mean who could blame me? this girl's what wet dreams are made of. so what if she's way out of my league? so what if she's rich and famous and i'm neither? so what if she's got fifteen-plus years on me? so fuckin what? i think we could make things work. whatever it takes...
(1) to bring you my love
werewolf-thick guitar fuzz, death march pace, organ so evangelical it makes you want to die just to be born again. not to mention her voice. smooth as snakeskin, sweet as cobra venom, and just as deadly. it sets the tone for the rest of the album.
a godforsaken love song
surrender to temptation in the desert
that's the eponymous opening song in a nutshell. you can practically feel that dry desert heat and see the heatshimmer on the horizon.
(2) meet ze monsta
IT'S ALIVE! clanging assembly-line rhythm, guitars on sizzling overdrive, and woodsmoke-thick vocals have been stitched together by some mad scientist into this...this beautiful monstrosity. it sounds downright industrial. a biblical tempest, the great deluge, and the gruesome aftermath all rolled into a single song. musical monstrosity at its finest.
(3) working for the man
scene: driving beneath a full moon. bass line slinks down back alleys, the electric guitar twangs in the shadows, plush cat-like vocals purr. this one's not so much quiet as it is hushed. passion detained, like putting a silencer on a pistol or restraints on a raving lunatic, cries muffled by pillows.
(4) c'mon billy
plaintive acoustic guitar, her voice pure seduction, violins pine desperately in the background.
(5) teclo
whereas most of the album's a collection of flickering live wires, this one's the thinker. the softer introspective side. sounds cautious and careful, like someone walking on broken-glass. and that hook! that haunting little melody of tandem piano and guitar, one porcelain-smooth, the other grainy as hell.
the sound of still waters
the calm before the storm
then...
(6) long snake moan:
(7) down by the water
low-down bass guitar/synthesizer sludge thicker than mississippi mud
horror movie strings that prod and saw
the demented scratching of a serrated blade on guitar strings
this one's got it all.
sounds like the thing that crawled out of the swamp. and who could forget that whispered nursery-rhyme-turned-sinister-mantra:
pj harvey makes me feel all warm and mushy inside. there, i said it. i mean who could blame me? this girl's what wet dreams are made of. so what if she's way out of my league? so what if she's rich and famous and i'm neither? so what if she's got fifteen-plus years on me? so fuckin what? i think we could make things work. whatever it takes...
dearest pj,
as god is my witness, you'll be mine one day.
love,
will
...but in the meantime i guess i'll listen to her album 'to bring you my love' again (and again and again.) listen and bide my time. yeah, this is the album that made me fall head-over-heels-kicking-and-screaming in love with her. here's why:(1) to bring you my love
werewolf-thick guitar fuzz, death march pace, organ so evangelical it makes you want to die just to be born again. not to mention her voice. smooth as snakeskin, sweet as cobra venom, and just as deadly. it sets the tone for the rest of the album.
a godforsaken love song
surrender to temptation in the desert
that's the eponymous opening song in a nutshell. you can practically feel that dry desert heat and see the heatshimmer on the horizon.
(2) meet ze monsta
IT'S ALIVE! clanging assembly-line rhythm, guitars on sizzling overdrive, and woodsmoke-thick vocals have been stitched together by some mad scientist into this...this beautiful monstrosity. it sounds downright industrial. a biblical tempest, the great deluge, and the gruesome aftermath all rolled into a single song. musical monstrosity at its finest.
(3) working for the man
scene: driving beneath a full moon. bass line slinks down back alleys, the electric guitar twangs in the shadows, plush cat-like vocals purr. this one's not so much quiet as it is hushed. passion detained, like putting a silencer on a pistol or restraints on a raving lunatic, cries muffled by pillows.
(4) c'mon billy
plaintive acoustic guitar, her voice pure seduction, violins pine desperately in the background.
(5) teclo
whereas most of the album's a collection of flickering live wires, this one's the thinker. the softer introspective side. sounds cautious and careful, like someone walking on broken-glass. and that hook! that haunting little melody of tandem piano and guitar, one porcelain-smooth, the other grainy as hell.
the sound of still waters
the calm before the storm
then...
(6) long snake moan:
The Storm.
(7) down by the water
low-down bass guitar/synthesizer sludge thicker than mississippi mud
horror movie strings that prod and saw
the demented scratching of a serrated blade on guitar strings
this one's got it all.
sounds like the thing that crawled out of the swamp. and who could forget that whispered nursery-rhyme-turned-sinister-mantra:
'little fish, big fish, swimming in the water,
come back here and gimme my daughter.'
come back here and gimme my daughter.'
maniacal. diabolical. post-partem psychotical. infanticidal. this one gives me goosebumps.
(8) i think i'm a mother
if dem down-home southern blues done cast off de overalls and straw hats n put on cocktail dresses n stilettos instead, i reckon dis here is de song dey'd sing.
primal guitar, tribal drums, ice-cold vocals. primordial soup du jour.
(9) send his love to me
one of the gut-wrenching ballads on the album. somewhere between a spanish love song and a bible-belt church hymn. it reeks of sweet desperation.
(10) the dancer
sounds like carnal lust.
this album swaggers. swaggers and inspires. it makes me wanna
(a) revel
(b) rampage
(c) fuck
(d) write shitty rock n roll poems to polly jean, like this one:
most reviewers like to give out grades with stars. not me, though. seems too much like kindergarten. ah, what the hell...
(8) i think i'm a mother
if dem down-home southern blues done cast off de overalls and straw hats n put on cocktail dresses n stilettos instead, i reckon dis here is de song dey'd sing.
primal guitar, tribal drums, ice-cold vocals. primordial soup du jour.
(9) send his love to me
one of the gut-wrenching ballads on the album. somewhere between a spanish love song and a bible-belt church hymn. it reeks of sweet desperation.
(10) the dancer
sounds like carnal lust.
this album swaggers. swaggers and inspires. it makes me wanna
(a) revel
(b) rampage
(c) fuck
(d) write shitty rock n roll poems to polly jean, like this one:
roses are red, violets are blue
just not as deep as your marlboro-red lips
or as dark as the blues of your ultraviolet soul
most reviewers like to give out grades with stars. not me, though. seems too much like kindergarten. ah, what the hell...
if i have to give this album stars, i'll give it The Pleiades.
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