For the past few weeks I’ve been discussing music that often gets loosely grouped under the umbrella genre of art rock, or, in West’s case, pop art. This is music that tends to focus more on textures and sounds than emotion or lyrics (with West’s album serving as an exception), music that, in many cases, seems to be desperately trying to ignore the fact that it’s been made by human beings. In some cases, the music in question was deliberately designed to be as inhuman as possible, with the human voice used only as an instrument, if that. It’s an attempt to render music somehow ‘purer’, with the focus not on the singer but on the music itself.
It’s all nonsense of course, at least in my snobbish opinion. Not the part about it being ‘art rock’, mind; as my intro post to this blog can remind you, I am rather firm in my opinion that music should be considered an art form on the same level as any other respected medium, regardless of the occasional nonsense that gets released and adored. That being said, the idea that isolating music from the human element will somehow elevate the track’s station into true art is ridiculous. The whole concept makes the fundamental error of believing that art can ever be fully divorced from its creator.
Like all mediums, music has any number of unique characteristics, but one of the most important is how closely it resembles communication. The Beatles, arguably the ur-example of a pop music band, used pronouns extensively in their early career, an idea that no doubt reinforced their fan’s belief that the band was somehow speaking directly to them. Communication is one of the most powerful forces in our daily lives, and any field that can mimic, or somehow incorporate it in its style is going to gain a lot of traction from that alone.
If pop music is all about harboring that idea of gentle, friendly conversation, than art music and its close relatives (free jazz, for example) is just the opposite, the musical equivalent of a wonderfully worded monologue. This is music from a distance, an impression that can be developed from a lack of a narrative through-line, meaningful sentences, emoting, or any combination of the above (or any number of other factors that have failed to occur to me). It’s all post-modernism really, an effort to subvert the audience’s expectations in order to get them to really pay attention to what’s going on, to deprive of something to hold onto. Sometimes it’s to try and get them to analyze the lyrics and dig beneath the surface in order to drive the message home, but oftentimes it’s simply done in an effort to get the listener to attend to the texture of the music or the rhythm of the words more than what’s actually being said. Of course, sometimes it’s just laziness (an easy way to tell if it’s laziness? If none of it makes a lick of sense. Can still be good music though).
Even though I’ve been discussing music like this for the past few weeks, and will probably do so again in the somewhat near future, it isn’t the kind of music I tend to like. Blame it on my early musical diet of the Sex Pistols, Howlin’ Wolf, and Lucinda Williams, but I tend to like some emotional honesty in my music. The more sterile music of bands like Japan has its place (a rather beloved one, honestly) but in a pinch I’d rather listen to Johnny Cash than Matthew Herbert.
Now that you’ve gotten through all those videos (you are watching them, right?) you’ve probably started wondering what all this talk of directness and conversation has to do with Let England Shake, an album generally admired more for its brilliant construction and writing than for its emotional honesty. Pitchfork’s Scott Plagenhoef even discussed how Harvey’s voice seems isolated and set back from the music, which closely matches what I’ve been discussing above in the context of other albums.
In a trend that will likely continue through the coming weeks, I’m choosing to disagree with Pitchfork. Like David Bowie, Harvey is an extremely restless musician, shifting her musical style with each album to the point where the music of Let England Shake bears no real resemblance to her debut work. I can’t think of another modern musician who’s transformed herself so completely and with so few apparent regrets. That being said, I believe the one thing kept constant through Harvey’s impressive body of work is how much her personality shines through.
With the exception of Is This Desire?, an album made up primarily of arias under the names of fictional women, and a few other ventures, Harvey’s music almost always references herself. It’s the idea of conversation I brought up above; rather than put on a mask or lofty airs, Harvey almost always seems to be speaking as herself, about things that concern or interest her. While Let England Shake may often seem to be more of a speech (dig that hat!) than the slightly angry conversation of an album like Dry, this is still music that appears to be addressing an audience, rather than serving as some poetic aside.
The perception of England being somehow distant is likely due to it being a political album, something that’s become a bit of a rarity in the mainstream ever since Rage Against The Machine folded in upon itself. This is not bright, lovely music from any perspective; the lyrics discuss war and genocide, quoting “Summertime Blues”, a teenage rebellion song, to make an ironic point at how powerless the UN can be in the face of real conflict. “Istanbul (Not Constantople)” (a different version, granted, but I hate The Four Lads so you’re just going to have to cope), a regimental march trumpet tune, and “Blood And Fire” are similarly quoted (as all reviews of this album love pointing out) and, to me at least, all of these little references are done to draw the listener in. They’re hooks, essentially; ironic, dramatically utilized hooks to be sure, but hooks nonetheless.
The music itself is something that’s often difficult to link to other artists; it’s a sound that’s very distinctly English, and is likely at least somewhat indebted to Harvey’s long-time producer, Flood. The nearest comparisons I’m able to make are the heavily processed sounds of Pulp or Tanita Tikaram, both British pop artists. The main difference is that Harvey emotes much more than either Jarvis Cocker or Tikaram generally did, leading to another easy reference to Bowie. The layering is the thing really. It’s the production equivalent of the baroque pop seen in Arcade Fire (no link; I think we all know what they sound like by now) or Scott Walker; it’s nothing simple, that’s for sure.
Regardless of the complexity, this is still far more accessible than what most people would identify as art rock (or even pop art, whatever that is, exactly), and that’s largely because of how personal the album feels. Harvey isn’t talking from a distance; at worst you could say she’s giving a speech to some stranger she met at a bar. Though that may be a bit of a change in demeanor for her musical personality, it shouldn’t be taken as a distancing or as an effort to make an impersonal album (that would be White Chalk). As much as I tend to hate the phrase, Let England Shake represents a maturing in Harvey’s songwriting. The same passion and personal earnestness is there, but the subject matter has, by and large, gone up in scale from the individual to the national. Though the songs are still being sung by people, the lyrics have moved from the raw emotionality of the blues (as heard on “Down By The Water”, previously linked to) or the love songs of pop into the community-level regret and shame of folk music. Best of all, it’s some of the best, most nuanced music Harvey has ever written. No matter what metric you apply to it, Let England Shake is well worth anyone’s time.
Cheers.
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