The Words That Maketh Murder

As anticipated, I fell under the spell of P.J. Harvey's newest offering on the very first listen. Released on Valentine's Day, Let England Shake is her eight studio album, recorded in a nineteenth-century Dorset church.

Despite expecting a similarly pared down, ethereal sound to that of White Chalk (one of my all-time favourite albums), this seems more like a hybrid of her previous discography: from the grungy stylings of Dry, to the driving rhythms of To Bring You My Love and the boistrous anthems of Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea.

Heavily influenced by both literary and visual art - from Eliot and Blake to Dali and Goya - the album comprises a portrait of England as a country built on battle and bloodshed, and chronicles an unfinished century of warfare. All in all, this makes for listening that is as infectious and powerful as it is eclectic. Deservedly - if unusually for an album that explores such weighty themes - it has met with both critical and commercial success thus far.

Battleship Hill is my favourite of the twelve tracks, a surprising reminder of the traditional folksy ballads of Ireland and England, with an emphasis on the sinister undertones of age-old relationships with the land:
  

The land returns to how its always been, 

The scent of thyme carried on the wind.

Jagged mountains, jutting out, 

Cracked like teeth in a rotten mouth.

The Words That Maketh Murder is the first single from the album, a darkly comic nod to delusions of diplomacy, Afghan and World Wars. Directed by Seamus Murphy, the video features a mash-up of acoustic (auto-harp) and electronic versions of the track.

As one commentator here so aptly puts it: 'Madame Harvey gets more vicious, yet more beautiful with the passing of time.'