Rocker PJ Harvey will roll you right out of your PJ's
Written by: Andrew Essex
Source: Interview, June 1995

This is Polly Jean Harvey's big year. With the arrival of her fourth album, To Bring You My Love (Island), the twenty-five-year-old sprite from the quarry town of Yeovil, England, has become a global obsession. Everywhere you look, there she is - dark, brooding, dwarfed by her electric guitar. But world domination comes at a heavy price, namely a lot of personal questions. And personal questions are the last thing Harvey wants to answer. Her well-known aversion to interviews has already earned her a reputation as "difficult." In the absence of any real discussion, most reviewers have turned to her oblique lyrics, sifting feverishly (without a lyric sheet) for the fragments of a dysfunctional childhood or the hidden bruises of an abusive relationship. All this investigative work has produced plenty of smoke but very little light. Harvey may be universally praised, but no one seems to understand her. I dreaded our conversation.

But the minute I heard her gentle, carefully measured voice over the phone, I knew someone had made a terrible mistake. How could her reedy Dorset twang belong to the same person who roared, "I'll make you lick my injuries"? The truth is, Harvey (or "Peej," as the British press have dubbed her) sees herself as a pep star - no more, no less. She is not, to use her own words, "some kind of ogre." She is not the savior of rock 'n' roll. She's a young woman trying desperately to maintain her composure under the sort of scrutiny generally reserved for presidential candidates, I found her self-effacing, gracious, and funny. And when she promised with a laugh not to make things difficult for me, we moved right on to one of her favorite subjects, her garden.

ANDREW ESSEX: So, Polly, how are your vegetables doing?

POLLY JEAN HARVEY: It's a bit sad, actually, because I haven't had a chance to put any seeds in the ground this year. I've been busy working toward the tour. I just finished up all my cauliflower from last year.

AE: Sounds depressing.

PJH: Well, at least the flowers are O.K.

AE: I used to live in Dorset, in a small town called Cranborne. It was incredibly beautiful, but sort of scary for an American coming from a big city. There were two pubs, a grocery, and a post office. Whenever we walked into a pub, the whole place got dead quiet, like that scene In An American Werewolf in London. Is Yeovil anything like that?

PJH: My town was even smaller. Only six hundred people. We didn't have a grocery store. There were no shops. There was just a pub, a telephone box, and a post office. That was it.

AE: Does that mean you're a hick to people from London?

PJH: I don't think so, or at least I never experienced it that way. I think a lot of people have an idealistic view - if you grow up in the country, there can't possibly be anything wrong with you. You had the perfect upbringing. But it's just as hard, in different ways. People have a tendency to see country life through rose-colored glasses.

AE: Isn't that part of England heavy Druid country? I remember that the landscape was covered with "magic bumps," these odd, scattered mounds that are supposed to be sacred burial grounds. Is that true?

PJH: Yeah. There are a lot of burial grounds and a lot of Iron Age forts. And big old hills where they used to stand castles and whole living complexes - always at the very top of the hill so the Druids could defend themselves. Magic bumps are these big humps in the landscape that are actual tombs. There are a lot of them.

AE: Cool. Tell me a little about your art and photography. Your mom was a potter, right? Is that still a big part of your life?

PJH: My mom is a sculptress. She works mainly with the local stone, which my dad quarries. She also does letter cutting. She makes gravestones and house names. Things like that. She is not a potter.

AE: What about your own stuff?

PJH: I studied art just short of the level where you can earn a degree. I even had a studio, but then things took off, musically. I did photography, painting, and drawing, but I prefer sculpture. I like it because it's very physical. It's very much to do with the hands and moving the space around you.

AE: Are you still Interested In art? Do you have any time for it?

PJH: No. It really is the lack of time. I mean, I still do little fun things for myself. I'm doing quite a lot of painting on stones - little funny fish and animals. I make tiny wooden people with bits of hair. Puppets and things like that.

AE: Do you follow the contemporary art scene much?

PJH: I do take enormous interest in what's going on. I try to see whatever I can, whenever I can. I really like Brace Nauman. I find him very funny, and that always appeals to me - that kind of balancing of heavy subjects. One of my favorite pieces of his is just two lines of writing. The top line says RUN FROM FEAR, and the bottom line says FUN FROM REAR. [laughs] That's my kind of humor. I do like Andres Serrano, but I don't like his latest work so much.

AE: His pictures of dead bodies?

PJH: Yeah. And the crucifixes in urine. Sometimes I can see the funny side of that. And I hope that's what he wanted. But huge photographs of dead bodies are slightly different. I couldn't find much humor there.

AE: What about -

PJH: Wait! I forgot about Captain Beefheart [a.k.a. Don Van Vliet]. I really love him.

AE: Have you seen his show that's on now in New York?

PJH: No, I haven't. I just have the catalog. It's wonderful.

AE: O.K., back to your music.

PJH: Uh-oh. [laughs]

AE: Do you ever rehearse your new material in front of an audience before you record?

PJH: No. It's all done before I get to the studio, really. When I write - I always write on my own - I demo those songs on a four-track. At that stage the songs are complete. Before I record for real, I know pretty much exactly how I want them to feel.

AE: I understand your unwillingness to talk about your music, and in particular your lyrics, but I think there's an unfortunate side effect. Every rock critic has molded you into the musical equivalent of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Everyone has a pet theory about "the Inscrutable P J Harvey." Why let a bunch of rock critics dictate your persona?

PJH: Well, I don't do a lot of press. And by not doing that, I see how people form their own conclusions and fill in the holes. That's something I have to live with, and I do. But even when I do give interviews, I always come across as such a completely different person. It seems like there's no controlling it anyway.

AE: Do you read your own press?

PJH: I really don't pay too much attention; I don't go out of my way to read any interviews. Actually, I pretty much try and avoid them, unless they're put right under my nose and somebody says, "Hey, look at this." Then I'll read them.

AE: Let me read you a list of adjectives you've inspired: divine, mystical, redemptive, creepy, demonic, perverse, enraged, disorientating, enigmatic, toxic, violent, sexual. You've also been called a "castrating bitch." And, last but not least, "every superstud's nightmare." It's such bullshit.

PJH: It sounds like somebody else, really. It's funny. I've been thinking about this a lot. The only other person I know who's had this happen to him is Steve Albini. [Albini produced Harvey's second record, Rid of Me, and is best known for his work on Nirvana's In Utero and for his own noise band, the late Big Black.] Before I knew Steve, I was petrified of ringing him up and asking him to produce my record. Absolutely petrified. I thought, My God! I'm ringing up this mad, ax-wielding, homicidal maniac who hates women. He's probably going to tell me to fuck off and be really rode to me. But he's the nicest, most courageous person and the closest friend I have. It's the same with me. People have this idea of me being some kind of monster, and that's the complete opposite of who I am. But I can't let it upset me, because in some way it helps me maintain my privacy.

AE: I think a lot of people find it odd that you'd bare your breasts on the back cover of your debut record and on the cover of an English magazine, but that you won't talk about your lyrics.

PJH: First off, I think nudity is taken differently in America, though they did make a fuss in England, too. It all surprised me, because I come from a very liberal upbringing, where nudity is a natural part of life. I find it's only in France, Holland, and Germany that people just accept it. But everything I've ever done like that has been done in a very naive way, without any premeditation. It's all just on instinct.

AE: Didn't you do a seminude self-portrait for The New Yorker, which they never ran?

PJH: They asked for a self-portrait, and I gave them something I was happy with. And I didn't have clothes on. I thought there was nothing wrong with it. I mean, this is art we're talking about. They asked for a piece of artwork, and I gave it to them. I'm not interested in giving people something that I'm unhappy with.

AE: Is the process of making videos at all satisfying? How much are you involved?

PJH: Very much. It's really taken over from my work in fine art. So it's extremely important to me. As is the tour lighting, the design of the set, and the costumes.

AE: Why do you perform in a red evening gown?

PJH: Red is obviously such a stimulating color, and it has so many connotations. But it's also very positive. We're using this strong, billowing green silk for the background, so we wanted a color that would contrast.

AE: How come nobody ever says, "That P J Harvey, she's really funny"?

PJH: Well, we're talking about the rock 'n' roll business, and that's all based on myth. People want to build musicians into mythical beings. But why? That's completely beyond my understanding. And I'm responsible for it, as well. When I was young, I had idols that I thought were wonderful. I wanted to be just like them. It just happens and it's strange. This kind of icon making doesn't happen in the visual-art world. It doesn't happen to novelists. It doesn't happen to playwrights or poets.

AE: Well, that's not entirely true.

PJH: O.K. But certainly to a much lesser extent. It's unique to this kind of life, and it's bound to happen. All those horrible "superlatives" you mentioned before to describe me are all part of a process of setting me aside and making me "different."

AE: I heard that at a recent press conference in London, a French journalist asked you, "What is the difference between truth and beauty?"

PJH: Yeah. Great question, right? Love it. Give me more like that.

AE: Scary.

PJH: That's nothing. You should have heard the one I got this morning: "Describe, in three words, your soul." [laughs]

AE: What did you say?

PJH: I said, "Pink, fluffy bunny rabbit." I mean, how are you supposed to answer a question like that? It's ridiculous.

AE: Do you ever feel embarrassed during those moments?

PJH: I think I've got a pretty good sense of humor. And you need one, you really do, in this business. That keeps me afloat and stops me from taking myself and this whole circus ride too seriously.

AE: Speaking of circus rides, it seems to me that you've been unwillingly co-opted as a mouthpiece for female empowerment. It's probably because there are so many bands with female singers who sound like little girls, while you sing like, well, a woman. But I know you don't subscribe to labels like "feminist." Are you prepared to be a role model?

PJH: Role model? Well, I'm quite a self-deprecating person. I push myself very hard, and I always think I should do better. That's just the way I am. To think of myself as a role model is extremely flattering, but I could never accept that, because I'm just learning like everybody else. I'm finding my way, and I make mistakes. Making me into a role model is placing too much importance on what I see as a work in progress.

AE: People seem to he amazed by the juxtaposition of religious and sexual imagery in your material. But what's the big deal? Hasn't Prince been doing it for years?

PJH: It's been going on for years and years and years. It's in early blues, it's in gospel music. It's there. Not necessarily in the words but in the sound of the music. It speaks to you in a very sexual way. It's nothing new, absolutely not. I'm covering extremely old ground.

AE: You've said several times that you won't be doing any more interviews. And yet, here you are.

PJH: This is a dangerous thing to do. People pick up on one little thing that you say and never let go. In the same sentence, I probably said, "I'm going to have to wait and see if I feel like writing any new songs," and that's suddenly taken as "She'll never write again!" In an ideal world I wouldn't do interviews. I don't loathe interviews, I'm just one of those people who makes music because I find it difficult to talk. But I'm an ambitious person. I want people to hear what I do, and this is one of the ways to get their attention.

AE: O.K. Last question. In the same week that To Bring You My Love debuted at number forty, Bruce Springsteen's Greatest Hits came in at number one. Any hard feelings?

PJH: What? Toward Brace? Oh yes. [laughs] We all want to be number one - I hate him.