A thorough look at “Rid of Me” by PJ Harvey: the 90’s most underrated album.
Polly Jean is an artist’s artist, and a well-cited songwriter and musician. The art-rock aesthetic and unorthodox lyricism of her work often creates comparisons to a Patti Smith and Kate Bush hybrid. Mind that these are technical comparisons, solely, as PJ Harvey has tastefully mastered distinguishing herself with unique musical concepts in each album she’s birthed thus far.
Face of the 90’s rock zeitgeist, Courtney Love (kickass frontwoman of “Hole” and wife to the late Kurt Cobain), once said: “The one rock star that makes me know I’m shit is Polly Harvey. I’m nothing next to the purity that she experiences.” Love’s statement had arrived in light of Harvey’s second studio album. Fairest of warnings to those who haven’t listened to it by now: it’s a terrifying piece of work.
Yet, pure as they come.
Rid of Me is a rabid animal of creativity. Polly’s narration of devastation (an understatement) is frothing, urgent, and gruesome — as if she’s slowly removing a dagger from a vital organ that her lover’s pierced; shattering bone as she squirms, showering us in blood, and assembling herself by sheer will.
This was her first record produced by Steve Albini, who is notorious for a very particular sonic landscape — that which is very characteristic of the 90’s, but that was hardly captured as well by anyone else but him — a demo-like quality; scratchy/blemished guitar and drum tracks, leaky or scattered intros and outros, wild vocals, and an all-around essence of a perfect imperfection that allows the listener to feel present in a recording session that’s already passed.
To this day, ROM is one of the most jarring displays of emotional exhibitionism that 90’s rock has ever churned out — and definitely Harvey’s most vulnerable, to-the-bone project to date.
We arrive at the title track, which creeps in with a thumping guitar lead and tinny drums. She demands kindly, tie yourself to me/no one else, no/you’re not rid of me. She later breathes her lyrics lowly and melodically next to a disturbed, parallel, and higher-pitched vocal track that seems to mimic an internal whining. She taunts, I’m gonna twist your head off, see? and the percussion kicks as Polly sings from the bottom of her gut.
The first track sets a tone of brilliance — the closeness of the instruments, the undulation of Harvey’s vocal performance from softness to manic ruin, and the violent imagery conjured all work to make the listener feel less than comfortable in her grasp.
“Missed” feels more tame. A safer nostalgia is offered with a circular and hypnotic guitar hook. The ending of this track has excellent resolve when PJ abandons her crooning for a full on-the-knees display of sorrow.
This is a truly distraught protagonist — stalling and hiccuping on the road by a too-swift change of an internal gear. Shocked from the core.
“Legs” is perhaps the most Albini-esque track in the lineup. Vocally, our frontwoman is spilling a dizzying confusion. The percussion sounds like pots and pans, clanking and clashing, iron, and sharp. Towards the end, PJ Harvey sounds like she very well may be dying in the studio.
Being a contextually attuned artist, she examines power in gender, power in sexuality, and power in (feminine) submission. This is the hallmark of grunge rock, after all. The wave of 80’s bands like Aerosmith and Guns N’ Roses all curtsy to a borderline, sometimes blatant, chauvinism — exorcising and dreaming up a hyper-masculine domination. Polly-Jean makes mockery of these archetypes in the most well-known song from the album, “50 Ft. Queenie”, where she describes the fictitious Queenie as a woman who embodies a picture of power designed by masculinity. The song is playful and absurd, with obvious allusions to genital size: Hey, I’m the king of the world! / You oughta hear my song! / Come on measure me! / I’m thirty inches long!
One of my favorite tracks is “Rub ‘Till it Bleeds”. Harvey is equally at her most unhinged and seductive, dangling her clear falsettos over our heads. The song has a consistent sexual climax from verse to chorus, with shattering drums and an unforgiving vocal performance all-around. She’s “getting even” using her sexuality. Flirting for a verse or two, Teasing AND YOU BELIEVED ME, and offering to continue the dysfunctional cycle: I was joking/sweet babe, let me stroke it /I’ll rub it, until it…/
This is a truly gritty, charged, and primal highlight off the record.
“Dry” sounds like a song that could’ve charted next to a Radiohead hit in ’93. And “Me-Jane” is a feminist Harvey + Albini nod to instrumental hair metal.
The album’s conclusion, “Ecstasy” is the artist releasing herself. A bottleneck slide guitar soars euphorically, while PJ Harvey sounds full and grand as ever.
Summary: Rid of Me is such a dynamic and lively experience, indicative of one of the best musical collaborations that era had seen. This album is truly a shining beacon in the discography of PJ Harvey’s career — that which is usually so intentional, intellectual, and abstract… ROM is anything but. It is deeply wounded, intrinsic, and totally in the present. A window into the best aspects of 90’s grunge culture and artful punk-feminism.
Need a breakup album? Need to lament patriarchy? Press play, brace yourself, do wear safety goggles.
Best Tracks IMO: Rid of Me, Missed, 50 Ft. Queenie, Highway ‘61 Revisited, Man-Size, Yuri-G, Me-Jane, Ecstasy
