‘Rub ’Til It Bleeds’: PJ Harvey’s rawest moment on record
Discussing British music of the 1990s is an absolute nightmare. People act like it was Blur and Oasis and literally nothing else. But scratch the surface even slightly and you’ll see it was a much, much more interesting time. It was the time of Massive Attack, Goldie, Neneh Cherry, Portishead and even in rock music, you had the Manic Street Preachers, Therapy?, and, above all of them, PJ Harvey, making some of the rawest, most captivating music of the era.
Born Polly Jean Harvey in Dorset, the fact that she came up in the British rock scene in the 1990s was insane. This was someone ported directly over from the riot grrrl scene across the pond. Surely her early gigs should have been on the same bills as Bratmobile and L7, not The Family Cat. Yet still, there are few things more universal than sheer, blinding feminine rage and horniness, both of which inform her early work more than anything else.
The opening one-two punches of both Dry and Rid of Me are absolute all-timers; powerhouse examples of how to make the absolute most out of very little. These songs were made from little more than a single power trio of guitar, bass, drums and vocals, with the occasional cameo from a cello or a harmonium.
More than that, though, even the songwriting is stripped back. Entire, captivating rock thrashes built out of barely more than a few cowboy chords strung together. These are albums that understand the power of dynamism. Truly punk in how it takes relatively simple musicianship and wrings it for more power than you could have ever expected on the surface.
So, what is the rawest PJ Harvey moment?
For my money, the best example of this comes from ‘Rub ’Til It Bleeds’ from Rid of Me. Now, let’s get one thing out of the way—the “it” she’s talking about is exactly what you think she’s talking about. The “bleeds” she’s is also exactly what you’re thinking about and more.
After all, so much of Harvey’s early work is about finding the line between sex and violence. Her’s was a feminine voice on how thin the line between those two concepts is when it comes to women in the world of rock ‘n’ roll. There’s a grim sensuality to the way she begins the song, cooing “Baby, I’m your sweet thing” while the boiling guitar chords provide an ominous omen for what’s to come.
Or, perhaps more specifically, what’s coming. Because she keeps up this act while she promises to “smooth it nicely / rub it better ‘til it bleeds” while ominous drum hits begin to punctuate the song. Anyone who knows the slightest thing about horror movies knows something’s afoot, and then, everything goes mental.
The chorus smashes in. The drums pummel everything in sight, just about the loudest thing ever put to record as Harvey, imperious and terrifying, gloats not just about whatever she’s done to her poor partner, but throws their naivety in their face. “And you believed me / Caught out again / I’m calling you weak / Getting even”.
It’s one of the rawest, most exciting things she ever put to record, and it sounds absolutely nothing like anything else put out before or since. I’m sure there was someone out there making music just as primal and outrageous, but the lack of chances given to artists by record labels of the early 1990s means we’re going to have to find them ourselves.
