Album Review: PJ Harvey — The Hope Six Demolition Project
The Hope Six Demolition Project was a piece of conceptual art long before it was a piece of music. Polly Jean Harvey took the unusual move of opening up the recording of her ninth album to the public, via a London-based art installation called Recording in Progress, with the heavily controlled interactions allowing observers to watch Harvey and her collaborators record sessions for the final record in 45 minute slots, via a one-way glass pane.
Such openness and voluntary insight is unusual for Harvey, who for a long time has been rather inscrutable in her methods, and at times her very meaning. With her previous album, the acclaimed Let England Shake, Harvey produced an album quite unlike anything she had done before, and at the same time quite unlike the music any of her conceivable peers were creating at the turn of the 2010s. The record was dense, deeply political, and very English, winning accolades and a Mercury Prize along the way.
The Hope Six Demolition Project continues in the same vein as Let England Shake, Harvey still deals with the political over the personal (the raw confessionals of her first three records are long gone), and by using the same production team of Flood and John Parish, the sound and sensibility of the album echoes the eclectic and experimental yet timeless feel of their previous collaboration.
However, those looking for a direct sequel should quickly realise that Harvey has never lent herself to easy shorthand summary. Harvey uses the record to tie in a wide-ranging concept around American urban life and decay, accompanied by a book of related and complimentary poetry. Occasionally this can make the album itself a little obtuse — there are layers here to peel back, but it’s not entirely clear if this is something the listener can achieve with the music alone.
Ultimately fully uncovering the underlying meaning behind Harvey’s various machinations may prove somewhat futile, but really it doesn’t matter — Harvey and her cohorts create another experimental, exhilarating record. Old English sing-songs sit next to dissonant wails of saxophone and - crucially - Harvey allows herself on ocassion to rock as hard as she has in years. This doesn’t mean a return to the emotionally charged Rid of Me or Dry— it’s hard to see her ever returning to the power trio rock formula at this stage — but it does mean that we are treated to the thrill of Harvey propelling a number of these songs along with electric guitar and urgent vocals.
The best of these rocking moments, such as the slightly sinister The Ministry of Defence and the joyous The Wheel are the highlights of the record, but they are also simply part of the overall fabric Harvey creates here — a challenging record about challenging topics, but one which shows that even 25 years on PJ Harvey is still one of the most fascinating and rewarding musicians writing songs and making music.
