What is the old line about Ginger Rogers?

That she did every single thing Fred Astaire did, but in heels and backwards.

That is how I feel about PJ Harvey oftentimes.

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When I first moved out to California in 1992 I fell in to the fabulous company of many fantastic dykes.  We used to go to shows, bars, and house parties all the time.  And I did not really know much about dykes.  Back in Austim my exposure to the gay world was nearly strictly male.  

(One of my fondest memories is of two male gay friends rolling around kissing each other on my friend, Allison's bed, whilst we were getting our pre-fade on before yet another notorious Drama Dept House Party.  It was the first time I had seen guys like that, so unfettered and playful.  I was not appalled, at all.  In fact, I remember, feeling a wee bit envious of them.  Prob partly because I did not even have a girlfriend at the time, but also mostly because I so rarely saw -- or had experienced -- that kind of joy or exuberance in the straight world.)

Right before I left Austim, after I had dropped out of college, I finally started hanging out with dykes more (mainly thanks to one of my co-workers at Martin Bros), even hanging out a fair bit at the dyke bar, Chances.  I saw the great Austim band, Moist Fist, at Chances quite a few times. 

But up here in the East Bay, circa 1993-4, everything was a little bit different.

And one thing I remember is that around this period every single dyke house party I went to, they played PJ Harvey's monster album, Rid of Me, loudly and repeatedly.  (They also played Annie Lennox's, Diva, a fair amount, too.)  It was fantastic hearing Rid of Me over and over again.  Rid of Me was an earth-shattering blues record then, and still is today.

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A few random personal memories, related to PJ Harvey:

• Back in the day when I worked as a "Breaker" (they are called "Supervisors" now) at the Berkeley Food Hole, whenever I opened the store I would make copies of the Front End schedule for other Breakers and "Floaters" that would show up later.  And I would always put on the schedule some show-offy song lyric that everyone could see.  (It is similar to the Michael David Spitler sings thing I do now on facebook.  Some things never change for hammy Aries' folk like me.)  On this day I put a song lyric from Liz Phair's, Exile in Guyville (prob from Fuck and Run, Divorce Song, or Flower) on the schedule.  My friend, Isaac (who might have still been on the Front End back then) saw this, leaned close and said to me, "PJ Harvey eats Liz Phair for breakfast."  He was right, though I still like Exile in Guyville.
• My Da's favorite part of the old Beavis and Butthead program was when they would make fun of PJ Harvey videos.  
• PJ Harvey swore off playing guitar for a while.  Said she was bored with it, and wanted to play different instruments, do different things  Thank goodness she has recanted, she is a phenomenal guitar player.  

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I am ten years older than The Wife and as we live and work in the same town she grew up in, Walnut Creek, many of her friends are now my closest friends.  They are, naturally, around her age, not mine.  And one thing I have noticed regarding musical taste with these Born in 78ers is how much they hate so much of the great music of the early 90s.  Which is absolutely flabbergasting to me because to my eye that period was absolutely glorious.  And so rich.  There were so many great bands and artists back then.  The Pixies? Hate 'em.  Sonic Youth? Their eyes roll.  Pavement? What a bunch of pretentious low-fi knuckleheads.  (The Wife does like Pavement.  Of course, there are exceptions.  Many of the Born in 78ers like Nirvana, too, but they prefer Pearl Jam.  Go figure.) Throwing Muses? Who? My Bloody Valentine? Fey shoegazers. Jesus Lizard? Is not that the guy who gets wasted and naked at every show? Stereolab? Weird and boring.  (The Wife likes Stereolab, as well.) PJ Harvey? Scary and bizarre.  

You know, I get it.  This stuff happens all the time, over and over again.  I am sure the Born in 78ers were so tired of having to hear some pretentious anorak wearing college dropout talk about that great Babes in Toyland/Dinosaur Jr/My Bloody Valentine show at Liberty Lunch in 1992.  That was like the Bronze Age, right? Of course, they wanted something of their own to hold on to, did not want somebody else's second helpings or misty eyed memories.  Most, in this area at least, signed on to suburban punk in high school, I am guessing.  Some did like my Wife, and reach backwards for The Smiths.  But Renee also likes the period directly after the Nirvana/Pixies years:  the Oasis/Blur wars, Britpop.  

(One thing about The Pixies, Nirvana, and PJ Harvey, though:  All three of those groups were famous for their "loud/quiet" rock dynamics.  Which, to be fair, maybe the Born in 78ers thought was a cheap, pretentious gimmick.  Plus, many of these early 90s groups were produced by Steve Albini.  Maybe they do not like Albini's "famous" drum sound? The Born in 78ers are crazy if that is the case! But, oh well.  Kids today, right?)

The Wife cannot stand PJ Harvey.  She has not really expressed it to me well why this is.  There is no cd (I miss mix tapes. *sigh*) I could make for her that would change her mind and this very lengthy post is absolutely not an endeavor to accomplish any such thing.  I am guessing it is a generational thing, like discussed above.  And I am fine with that.  

But I think there is another reason so many folks (mostly men) do not like Polly Jean Harvey. Because she scares the daylights out of them.  

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We learn from the v solid and good, This Film is Not Yet Rated documentary, dir by Kirby Dick, just what really makes the Movie Ratings folks squirm uneasily in their chairs.  It is not tittie shots or gratuitous violence that sets them on edge and makes them reach for the NC17 stamp.  The thing that they can not get comfortable with is gay sex (natch) and the woman's orgasm.  

It is a sad state of affairs that it seems the woman's orgasm has still not completely come out of the closet, yet.  But, there it is.  

And women artists like PJ Harvey, who are completely in tune with their bodies, and their sexuality, still freak our mass culture out.  

Here are some song titles from PJ Harvey's first three records, Dry (1992); Rid of Me (1993); and To Bring You My Love (1995):  Dress, Happy and Bleeding, Sheela-Na-Gig (Sheela-na-gigs are very old fertility statues that have been found all over Ireland and the British Isles), Hair, Rid of Me, Legs, Rub 'til It Bleeds, 50ft Queenie, Man-Size, Dry, Me-Jane, Snake, Ecstasy, Long Snake Moan, and Harder.

Ms Harvey's first two records are nearly obsessed with the human body, body parts, bodily fluids, sexuality, the sexual act, impotence, ecstasy, clothes, the external and internal perception of women, size, etc, ... and on and on.

She's from Dorset.

To me, these are themes that invigorate; that excite; that put me in closer harmony with my own sexuality; that remove the 1930s Paramount Studios glossy haze over women, relationships, and love.  It is earthy and humiliating (in a good way) to listen to these records.  And it is a wonder to behold such a fiercely independent, iconoclastic (Ms Harvey to this day refuses to refer to herself as a Feminist), titan (Man-Sized, if you will) of what has become a pretty tired medium, Rock music.

Finally, I love PJ Harvey because watching her strength of character empowers me to be a stronger, better person.  And should not that be one of the many gleanings of great art?



Mwah, ...


(Off to Inventory, ugh.)



Ardent