P.J. Harvey

As the 1990s dawned, the boys got grunge and the girls turned, pre-riot grrl, to Polly Jean Harvey. Harvey's debut passed around the underground like contraband, coasting on the uneasy cocktail of her primal squawk and croon, those down-tuned guitars that sounded like they were covered in tar, Rob Ellis' fraught and ferocious drumming... not to mention her graphic yet oblique narratives that exposed raw, unspoken truths. It wasn't always pretty, but it struck more than a few nerves and marked the arrival of a major talent.

With its choke-hold guitar energy and the controlled vocal eruptions of Polly Harvey, this
British trio created a college-radio splash on this side of the Atlantic There's an undeniable
electricity to Dry, the band's debut: These musical primitives make exciting use of
dynamics and twisted arrangements. As a frontwoman, Harvey commands attention: She
cunningly mixes sensuality and feminist awareness in conversational hooks. An... More >

Since she doesn't fancy comparisons to Sinead or Kate Bush--"I'm like anyone as long as they're female. If they've got dark hair it's even better"--perhaps she'd prefer Cream or the Doors. Island Records sure would, but in a sexist world she's unlikely to achieve such heights of rockist catalogue stuffing--I just meant a band that sounds great until you listen to the words when you're not stoned and decide they're self-indulgent blather. This fate she's spared by the cloudy but essential feminist distinction between egoist bullroar and honest irrational outpouring--and of course by her postrockist guitar, where she starts to reinvent her instrument the way grrrl-punks reinvent their form. (Grade - A-)