A Woman A Man

PJ Harvey & John ParishA Woman A Man Walked ByA few weeks ago I walked into the record store and did what every longtime PJ Harvey fan did: I bought her new album, A Woman A Man Walked By, her second collaborative record with multi-instrumentalist John Parish. Most PJ fans own every PJ album and love every PJ album - myself included. Even the four-track demo collection and the Peel Sessions disc. That she’s not considered a living legend in the U.S. as she is in the U.K. is a shame. A curious shame. The gal just doesn’t put out mediocre albums; she craps gold, usually yelping while doing so. A Woman is no exception - she yelps and this crap is gold (most of it, anyhow).

The duo’s first record together, Dance Hall at Louse Point, may be Harvey’s weakest studio record, but that’s no reason for worry - not considering all the stellar work Harvey and Parish have done together since (Parish is part of Harvey’s band and was her sideman on 2007’s excellent White Chalk). Kicking off with a mid-tempo rocker called “Black Hearted Love,” we’re instantly treated with Harvey’s best song since her now-signature-album, Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea, was released way back in 2000. Harvey is full of swagger on “Black Hearted Love,” yelping away over Parish’s meaty, powerful guitars in a way she hasn’t done in years. It’s an instantly accessible rocker good enough to warrant the purchase of the record. Okay, fine, I’ll commit: “Black Hearted Love” is one of 2009’s classic cuts - a must-hear.

Next up is “Sixteen, Fifteen, Fourteen,” a somewhat repetitive (but still very good) song that sounds as if it’s meant to be the next in a long line of weirdo Harvey singles. As good as these two opening cuts are, they’re really just build-up to “Leaving California,” one of the strongest examples of a minimalist singer/songwriter tune I’ve heard since Bonnie “Prince” Billy released Master and Everyone (a record that, incidentally, was dedicated to Harvey). Sparse, simple and strong, the haunting song thrives on Harvey’s next-to-none vocal prowess, reminding of the best moments of White Chalk, only better. I could throw all the words in the world at you and it wouldn’t matter, you just have to hear “Leaving California” to understand it’s eerie power.

The record’s title track is all kinds of crazy. Harvey is flinging f-bombs everywhere while Parish rips through an arrangement that reminds of 2006’s Grinderman record (incidentally, again, Harvey just happens to be dating the dude behind said Grinderman record). Then the song takes a hard right, hitting a second movement that feels like an instrumental passage you might hear in a future David Lynch film. It’s no wonder Harvey named her record after this song, as it’s easily the edgiest and craziest work she’s offered up since her first three records - all of which could, and still can, split cleaner than a fresh order of Cutco blades.

About half of the tracks on A Woman don’t quite live up to the majesty of the abovementioned gems. “The Chair,” for example, will have you reaching for the skip button, talking trash about Parish’s arrangements (he does all the music on the whole album) and thinking Harvey (who does all the vocals and writing) might finally be on the decline. Others, like “April,” work okay, and will surely grow on listeners with time. But, alas, this isn’t the most even album you’re going to find in the deep, dark Harvey catalog. The holes hurt, but only because the hits smack harder each time you hear them.

I could go on. I could talk about each song - even the bad ones, because it is still interesting work. But, hey, at this point you’re either a Harvey fan or you’re not. If you are, you’ll dig this record. Absolutely. You’ll dig more than half of it and the songs you like, you’ll love. If you’re not yet a Harvey fan, then, well, you should work on that. But don’t start with this album - it’s not that kind of a record. This is a pay-off project for fans, a bonus. Not everything works, but every cut feels like a miniature art project between Parish and Harvey - each different from the last. There’s a song where Harvey barks. She barks. No kidding.  7/10

Written by G. William Locke