PJ Harvey — I Inside the Old Year Dying | Album Analysis
The Point of Repetition.
To clarify any misunderstandings: I Inside the Old Year Dying is a magnificent album in a year that, from my perspective, has been very disappointing so far, with repetitive releases (with a few exceptions).
The poetic force with which this album presents itself is a rarity in today’s music industry, where one word is predominantly emphasized — accessibility. And I am glad that PJ Harvey breaks away from this pattern, which harmonizes not coincidentally with that of algorithms, whose affirmation is determined by the sameness of things (see Chun 2018, 146), in a way that possesses an emancipatory potential.
This sameness makes it easier for us to present products (art has long since become a product) that are more likely to please us. That’s what it’s all about, making the “experience” as simple as possible. Don’t overwhelm the audience; after all, the industries’ income depends on this very audience. The death of the author (according to Roland Barthes) has long been reversed to its opposite. The author has long been reborn. Everything is done for the obligatory “connectedness” to the artist subject, whose affirmative power we actually wanted to overcome.
But in the era of LLMs, which confuse genuine human thought — which doesn’t arise from words but manifests in them — aren’t we realizing that it’s not the author who is dead, but the thought itself? Do LLMs, which imitate our texts, not tell us much more about our imitable texts than about the texts themselves?
With this album, PJ Harvey may prove that a thought is still possible, but she also cannot avoid adorning her texts with numerous references. What may seem graceful as intertextuality is ultimately a symptom (Sinthom) of our time: we have long grown weary of our own thoughts. Even I am just a foreign tongue. Are these my thoughts, currently being read and received by a reader, or is there rather a dangerous mixture of past estranged knowledge speaking here?
For this reason, and because these kinds of references are found throughout the album, we will ignore them in the following and instead focus on a few selected passages. Through this, we will recognize that this album is much more a description of a painful repetition, which in itself is part of the sameness of horror (I’ll get to what that exactly is).
According to Jean Baudrillard, the crucial aspect of human thinking is not the inevitable agreement with truth and reality, but rather its numerous differences from them (see Baudrillard 2013, 5). This means that our thinking becomes interesting for Baudrillard precisely when it reaches a point where it unintentionally misses the truth. So at a point where we want to reach the truth, but we can’t because something is holding us back. With Adorno, who would certainly deny this, we could say that our thinking is always, to some extent, the non-identical aspect of the world, precisely at the point where it fails.
This fact, however, is fascinating because Slavoj Žižek notes something similar about the lacanian Real, which he describes as the point at which thought inevitably dissolves into contradictions (see Žižek 2020, 11). It is the non-place that can be described in terms of its existence and operation, but simultaneously escapes that very order. Baudrillard himself writes a few pages later that this irreconcilable relation of thought must subordinate itself to the Real (see Baudrillard 2013, 8), while also conditioning it. It should be noted that Baudrillard would not necessarily share this view, as his concept of the Real does not coincide with Lacan’s. However, this argumentation follows his own thinking, in which it engages in a “play with reality” (Baudrillard 2013, 8). In this case, Baudrillard’s thinking, manifested in the form of a book in front of me, becomes that reality that is played with.
As childhood died the old year
Made the Soldier reappear(PJ Harvey, Prayer at the Gate).
Immediately on the first song of the album emerges the motif of repetition, which I have appointed as the theme of the album in the following. This repetition, however, has something else attached to it, something that eludes our desire for reconciliation.
The Point of Repetition
The following section seeks to find an answer to the question of difference and the basis that allows us to determine it. In order to recognize repetition, we must first know what came before — that is, we must be familiar with what is being repeated. However, in the case of this album, the specific instance seems to be irrelevant, as almost every song contains some form of repetition. Whether it’s the estrangement of an existing combination of words, direct reference to repetition, as in the example above, or — the most interesting case by far — repetition within the album itself. It seems that PJ Harvey is more interested in attempting to capture a general phenomenon rather than the repetition of any specific concrete element.
At this point, we could also speak, according to Donna Haraway, of a situatedness, so that reproduction (i.e., repetition) can become an original without knowledge of the fact that it is a reproduction. It is a reversal of the relationship between the observing subject and the music, so that the observed object itself generates the music it is currently listening to, thus complementing the subject and its situatedness with a new experience.
This hypothesis establishes an unexpected connection to film studies. Stemming from literary studies and the linguistic turn in film studies in the 1990s, Christian Metz developed the theory of enunciation in film, which, however, is not limited to film alone, as it also understands the camera itself as an actively intervening agent that has a similar effect in photography (see Metz 1997, 15). Indeed, the relationship with music is inherent, as an album always constitutes a lyrical photograph that is directly related to the present moment. That very present moment, according to Baudrillard, is always already a difference to itself (see Baudrillard 2013, 5).
In film, however, the camera itself often remains hidden, meaning it is both actively involved in the creation process — by capturing and staging what it sees — and simultaneously makes the process of creation invisible by never appearing itself (see Metz 1997, 22). In contrast, in music, the artist — in this case, PJ Harvey as the singer — actively appears. Even though we cannot witness the creative process, it is no longer a secret. But why do I then speak of lyrical photography? Because the subject behind the text, even though we can name it, always eludes us, and that is also a good thing. Just as the camera does not exhibit visible materiality within its frame, the subject behind the text does not leave any recognizable traces within the text itself. What remains is only the text, perhaps, if something familiar occurs in it, an association to this already known, so that a tilting image arises.
This relationship between image, camera, and viewer, according to Metz, creates a phenomenon that has already been mentioned above — the tilting image. PJ Harvey’s references to Shakespeare and other authors are “subjective images” (Metz 1997, 23), if one wants to follow my argumentation of lyrical photography. Through PJ Harvey’s deliberate estrangements in these lines of text, the impression is created that we are reading the original lines with her understanding, which, however, remains foreign to us while listening. PJ Harvey thus becomes an enunciator who presents herself openly. However, the recognition of this phenomenon requires another enunciator — the listener. The auditory tilting image now arises from the different places of observation that can mix without synthesizing into something new.
In the further course of his argumentation, Metz categorizes the enunciative processes in film into different categories, among which the mirror holds an essential connection to PJ Harvey’s album. However, to understand it, it is necessary to follow my perspective on lyrical photography once again. In contrast to Metz’s interpretation, the mirror should be understood here as more than just a mental construct, but as a physical object. The camera capturing the image of another camera fulfills the metaphorical function of the mirror by distorting and reflecting what it sees. Metz describes the power of this mirror as reflecting our gaze back at us instead of allowing it to penetrate beyond, making our situatedness the driving force of enunciation (see Metz 1997, 65).
And that is precisely what happens with PJ Harvey when she paraphrases and estranges a familiar line from Shakespeare, which acts as a mirror when the listener becomes aware of or realizes what they are hearing. Enunciation and its effects thus enter into an interplay with our “situated knowledge” (Donna Haraway), but at the same time, it also dissolves that knowledge, as the reflection itself introduces an estrangement that remains inexplicable in its origin. Words, in their concatenation, become historical actors themselves. As a result, the original line remains intact, but at the same time, when heard, it is confronted with its own estrangement effect. Thus, if we start from an established premise, it also determines the conclusion.
PJ Harvey’s intertextual references become a unique genealogy that, however, collapses under its own generated pressure, as even these references themselves contain references, creating an infinite chain of dependency. Yet, it is precisely this infinite self-referentiality — ignoring the circularity on which it depends — that undermines temporality. According to Gilles Deleuze, Nietzsche’s eternal return does not imply the end of history, as is the case with Fukuyama, for example. Instead, for Deleuze, Nietzsche’s eternal return involves the repetition of the difference of reproduction itself (see Zorn 2022, 329). For lyrical photographs, this means that by their difference from the original, they become originals themselves, as the recurrence is what is reproduced in both the archetype and its reproduction. Consequently, temporality is inevitably eradicated, as “there is no longer a beginning” (Zorn 2022, 329).
Its own Repetition
But in fact the album shines in another place — in its own repetition, which is only one if the album is also received as such. Thus, in numerous places there are references to earlier passages of lyrics that we have already heard:
So some must watch, while some must sleep
So runs the wordle’s way(PJ Harvey, The Nether-edge)
Sleep and wake
And bellyache
Each path unhealed
And stumpied(PJ Harvey, A Noiseless Noise)
And many more:
“Love Me Tender” are his words
As I’ve loved you, so you must(PJ Harvey, Lwonesome Tonight)
What says dunnock, drush, or dove?
“Love Me Tender”, tender love[…]
Help me dunnock, drush, and dove
“Love Me Tender”, tender love(PJ Harvey, A Child’s Question, August)
Love me tender
Love me sweet
All memories will fade(PJ Harvey, August)
This repetition is so interesting because it is presuppositional. Only if we listen attentively throughout the entire album, we can recognize it. It is a daring endeavor in a time when everything individual is reconciled in as generic playlists as possible. An album of this kind no longer seems justified today; in fact, it seems like a waste of time in two ways. Artists can spare themselves the effort and time because their art is already consumed as a mere product. Listeners can rely on their predictable playlists to provide a calculated deviation. Win-win, only art loses.
Everything follows statistics. The self-regulating market has long become the new absolute. According to Chun, it embodies the tendency of social scientific homophily, the inclination to surround ourselves with people who think similarly to us (see Chun, 139). This phenomenon is most evident in algorithms that surround us daily, categorizing and translating us into numbers and connections, to confront us primarily with what we already consider accessible.
Sameness is no longer just the verdict of the culture industry (see Adorno and Horkheimer 2010, 140), but the verdict of any institution dependent on the market, including culture itself (and also the university). One no longer needs an industry to become one; pure dependence on numbers, whether museum visits or the representation of marginalized groups, suffices. Statistics are the neoliberal instrument of calculability, which was once a characteristic of the culture industry.
The intentional reconciliation of the individual with numbers is secured through every interaction, making the outcome even more precise than the previous interaction. Success serves as justification, and the number legitimizes itself by pretending to be unassailable. It is cold and makes no mistakes. Its calculations follow the laws of nature, just as its function follows rationality. Anything that doesn’t fit in is not allowed to exist.
However, according to Chun, homophily appears to be the cause of all exclusion, rather than the system behind it — the neoliberal society (see Chun 2018, 146). It suits the neoliberal society well to blame injustice on the natural, as an unchangeable constant in an equation with a clear result and, at the same time, part of a larger calculation. This brings us back to Adorno and Horkheimer, who state in one of their philosophical fragments that our social system is not threatened by nature but by the fact that we remember it (see Adorno and Horkheimer 2010, 271).
Therefore, we must set aside the presuppositions of the market in order to recognize that sameness is based on abhorrence and disguises conflicts as harmony. To escape this reality, a new way of thinking must overturn the supposed harmony. Instead of seeking refuge in accessibility, we must recognize the splinter in our eye (see Adorno 2021, 55) for what it is: a possibility for improvement; an awareness that things do not have to be as they are.
Only in this way can we recognize that harmony and reconciliation are always tantamount to a declaration of war against that which they oppose. Consider Habermas’s fight against postmodernity, which he leads in order to reconcile himself with reason (and in the process, betrays his teacher, Adorno). According to Georg Simmel, the individual always needs a contrast to society, which is itself constructed from individuals. But what if the exception must remain an exception to no longer confirm the rule, but to question it? What if the solution lies in understanding the exception as such, its separation, as the commonality of separation? A new plurality would be possible. A plurality of separation that abolishes perspective. A way of thinking that undermines its own foundation to prove that the foundation is not a natural law.
The moment described above is therefore crucial. It is a magical moment in which we can participate. A moment in which repetition is not only addressed but becomes an actor in the song itself. The first moment in which we perceived the line overlays the present, which in turn overlays that first moment. There is no longer a place from which to think because the nuances of deviations are homogenized into similarity within us. Similarity (the culture industry’s) is defeated by similarity (the artistic). The walls of jargon are already starting to crumble. Let us allow them to collapse so that we can finally hear music for what it is: art.
All the big capital had to do to numb us was to take away our subversion by swallowing our criticism and turning it into a marketable product.
Let’s reclaim it.
For all those who still strive for thought.
Literature:
Adorno, Theodor W.; Horkheimer, Max: *Dialektik der Aufklärung. Philosophische Fragmente (E-Book)*, Frankfurt am Main: Fischer E-Books 2010.
Adorno, Theodor W.: Minima Moralia Reflexionen aus dem beschädigten Leben, hg. Rolf Tiedemann, 4: Gesammelte Schriften, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag 2021.
Baudrillard, Jean: Das radikale Denken, Berlin: Matthes & Seitz Berlin 2013.
Chun, Wendy Hui Kyong: „Queering Homophily. Muster der Netzwerkanalyse“, in: Zeitschrift für Medienwissenschaft, Heft 18: Medienökonomien, Jg. 10, Nr. 1, Bielefeld: transcript Verlag 2018, S. 131–148.
Metz, Christian: Die unpersönliche Enunziation oder der Ort des Films, Münster: Nodus Publikationen 1997.
Žižek, Slavoj: Hegel im verdrahteten Gehirn (E-Book), Frankfurt am Main: FISCHER 2020.
Zorn, Daniel-Pascal: Die Krise des Absoluten. Was die Postmoderne hätte sein können, Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta 2022.
