A quill from a buzzard
in blood writes the word.
And I want to know,
am I the sky or the bird?
Hell's boiling over.
Heaven is full.
We're chained to the world,
and we've all gotta pull.
|You're viewing slowsculpture's journal|
Create a Dreamwidth Account Learn More
I posted some lyrics last week from that PJ Harvey & John Parish disc, A Woman a Man Walked By. To anyone taking notes: the opening track, Black-Hearted Love, is *exactly* the kind of song I like. The recording has that kind of warm-but-noisy feel that makes me think of Thurston Moore's best stuff, and the writing is a bullseye - It's personal, it's inventive, it changes its momentum effortlessly, and it knows exactly which secrets to keep. It's stayed stuck in my head, this week, no matter how many times I listen to it.
I'm not sure who I can recommend the rest of the album to, though. Don't get me wrong, it's brilliant, this just isn't an album that much wants to be admired. I keep comparing it to Patti Smith's Horses; there's amazing poetry set to great music, but the vocal performances put up a wall that you won't get over unless you're trying. (The title track is screamed more than sung, and Pig Will Not features Harvey literally barking.) There's art in the inaccessibility itself, really, and it's damned good art. Just not the kind you'd mistake for entertainment.
Meanwhile, though, I still haven't taken it out of the stereo. If you catch me rocking out to some growly babbling with good noise-rock guitar behind it, just smile and nod, okay?