On “The Life and Death of Mr. Badmouth,” PJ Harvey sounds like music’s Lady Macbeth — “Wash it out / wash it out / wash it out,” she sings. And on the whole, Uh Huh Her is as cathartic for Harvey and her longtime fans as that damned spot was tormenting for the scheming Lady. Harvey sounds as if she’s plucked her favorite elements from her exemplary discography and finally taken full control of the reins. Which is true — she wrote, produced and played all the instruments except drums on Uh Huh Her, and though every song sounds like it could have been on one of her previous albums — her rough sexiness (“The Letter”) and twisted storytelling (“Pocket Knife”) make her utterly indispensable. She is still the “Queenie” she was during Rid of Me times. She caterwauls her way through “Who the Fuck?” (already an in-concert favorite) and demands the radio be turned up on the diaphanous “Cat on the Wall.” Uh Huh Her is not all blaring guitar rock and amped-up vocals, though; odd elements like the prattle of seagulls and a lonely accordion also figure into the mix. She has always laid herself bare, and this CD’s sleeve features a stark series of self-portraits and handwritten notes. Some are self-effacing (“Too normal? Too PJH?”), and some functional (“Drums in a small space on tape”). But one says it best: “All that matters is my voice and my story.”
This article appears in Jun 24-30, 2004.