PJ Harvey - Shake it Up, England, Twist and Shoot

A girl and her zither

Hell yes, war is hell. Polly Jean Harvey knows it, and has produced a bitter bone that Great Britain’s military bulldog might just choke out, mushy dentures and all. PJ Harvey’s new album, “Let England Shake,” is a mournful, haunting song cycle about the futility of war that’s downright startling in its emotional resonance and hypnotic in its high-end tune-age. Like a Londoner reading the Daily Telegraph’s weather page, the songs battle against dreary, spirit-crushing conditions in hopes of achieving a meaningful life, or a couple pints down at the pub, whichever comes first. 

Referencing any number of English military campaigns but maintaining a very World War I in-the-trenches feel, the album’s war poetry always circles back to a central theme: the wasteful sacrifice of young lives and its effect on a nation with an upper lip stiffer than schoolboys ogling Page Three girls. If titles like “The Words that Maketh Murder,” “The Last Living Rose” and “The Bitter Branches” don’t paint a mental picture, lyrics like “arms and legs were in the trees” and “death was everywhere” bring the blood, despair, mud and grime home, most likely in a body bag.

But by no means is “Let England Shake” a soundtrack for some thrash-metal video game kill factory. It’s an acoustic-based collection of memorable, subtle and oddly-inspiring-in-a-melancholy-way mood pieces that stick in your gut like yesterday’s eel pie. Harvey is in amazing voice throughout, whether she’s making like a cabaret pop chanteuse on the title track/first single, combing briny sea shanty and speaking-in-tongues babbling (“England”) or residing in a folk ballad echo chamber (“On Battleship Hill”). Harvey is backed by strummed acoustic guitars and muted horns, accenting by the occasional vibraphone, reserved electric guitar distortion or, in the case of “The Glorious Land,” a bugle charge. Tally-ho and let’s take one in the forehead for the Queen!

If there was any justice in the world and true artistry was rewarded (no, “Glee” doesn’t count), Ms. Harvey would be the biggest British export since low-cost pharmaceuticals. But at least we can say this: Polly Jean, you’ve done it again.