Dance Hall at Louse Point is an excellent and often unfairly overlooked collaboration between the Dorset rock queen and her long-time collaborator John Parish. It may not be everyone's cup of tea, but this is late-night mood music of the highest order.
The lo-fi, stripped-down production and Parish's stark musical backing perfectly compliments some of Harvey's rawest vocals to date. Throughout the record she swings dramatically between different vocal registers, from angelic choirgirl falsetto to creepy whisper to shredded gut howls, as if she's role-playing different characters for each song. She sings every song on this album with a demonic, throat-clenching intensity that's almost frightening. City of No Sun and Taut are not for the faint-hearted!
Songs like Rope Bridge Crossing and Civil War Correspondent are poetic, dreamlike and chillingly beautiful. That Was My Veil is a break-up song of bitter sexual jealousy and bruised vulnerability. Heela mixes a spaghetti western vibe with bluesy Led Zeppelin swagger, and on this track Polly's shrieking, androgynous falsetto actually sounds like Robert Plant as she pleads with a voodoo healer to exorcise her body of an obsessive love; musically, Heela builds relentlessly towards a climax of subsonic bass shudders and layered slide guitar assault. Un Cercle Autour Du Soleil is a lingering dirge that crawls along at a turtle pace until the three-minute mark, when it stuns you with a reverb-drenched guitar break that is luminously beautiful, suddenly filling the record with blinding white light.
Dance Hall at Louse Point is not the most immediately listener-friendly work in PJ Harvey's back catalogue. To be frank, it took me at least four or five listens before I really fell in love with it, but it was well worth the effort. With this album, Harvey and Parish take us on an astounding journey into the musical heart of darkness. Take a chance on it.