Polly Jean Harvey is such an electrifying live performer that it's not much of a stretch to imagine that-- in a different time and circumstance-- she could have been a bona fide radio star. With her powerhouse vocals, emotionally direct songs and tradition-steeped Old Testament intensity, one can almost picture her clad in black, sharing the airwaves with Hank Williams on the Louisiana Hayride or trading death ballads with the Carter Family on late-Depression border radio. It's a fun scenario to imagine, at least, and perhaps this was what legendary DJ John Peel occasionally had in mind when he enlisted PJ Harvey to perform as a frequent guest on his live BBC Radio One sessions. There's something hypnotic in Harvey's authoritative delivery that loses very little in the broadcasting process, and this ineffable quality is in ready abundance on The Peel Sessions 1991-2004, a choice selection of performances that documents Harvey and Peel's long-standing association, easy rapport, and friendship.
The collection is part of a series intended to commemorate Peel on the second anniversary of his untimely death, and consists of songs hand-chosen by Harvey from her nine official live sessions. It's a testament to the respect Peel showed Harvey-- and all the acts that appeared on his program-- that her appearances were never expected to be just a rote live run-through of her latest hits. Peel instead provided a live forum for artists to perform whatever stray material they so chose, and Harvey's eclectic song selection here is a reflection of this generous freedom. The set includes such rare tracks as "This Wicked Tongue" and Harvey's cover of Willie Dixon's "Wang Dang Doodle" that have not previously appeared on any of her official albums. And while their inclusion here helps fill in some intriguing blank spots on Harvey's musical map, it also reveals the familiar flicker of Peel's old enthusiasm for piratical adventure.
One of Peel's most distinguishing characteristics, of course, was his indefatigable (and, some might say, indiscriminate) willingness to locate and champion all manner of obscure and/or unsigned artists. In PJ Harvey's case, however, Peel's early support appears to be less a discovery of talent so much as its simple recognition. The first four tracks on this collection are from Harvey's initial session in 1991, recorded nearly a full year before the release of her original trio's debut album. Her relative inexperience notwithstanding, Harvey's skills seem already at peak bloom, and these early songs burst over the wires with an unassailable vitality and swagger. The heavy, forked bass lines of "Oh My Lover" and "Victory" draw immediate comparison to the Fall-- another of Peel's favorites-- while Harvey showcases her voice's full range and spectrum as she scales gracefully from intimate bedside whispers to the pure elemental wail of "Water".
Throughout Harvey's classic mid-90s Rid of Me - To Bring You My Love period she excelled at writing just the sort of durable avant-blues songs that could withstand virtually any form of severe treatment they were given. Many of these songs have always sounded particularly potent in a stripped-down live setting, so it's rather surprising to note how little attention those albums receive on this collection. Aside from a ferocious rendition of Rid of Me's biblical screed "Snake", Harvey has instead chosen to represent the era with more obscure tracks like her lurid "Naked Cousin" from the Crow: City of Angels soundtrack or the gorgeous "That Was My Veil" from Dance Hall at Louse Point, her underrated collaboration with composer/producer John Parish.
Likewise, this collection first enters the new century with the savage electricity of "This Wicked Tongue", which previously had appeared only as a Japanese bonus track on 2000's Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea. It's much to Harvey's credit-- and Peel's by extension-- that none of these performances ever feels like a throwaway, and each veritably ripples with spontaneous, one-take-only passion. This is never more true than on the closing version of "You Come Through", recorded at a Peel tribute six weeks after his death. In this context the song's lyrics ("You come through for me/ You be well for me") take on an obvious but undeniable poignancy, sounding at once a heartfelt farewell and a grateful thank-you as Harvey's voice cracks with emotion. As with all newly released Peel Sessions, the appearance of this collection is underscored by the bittersweet realization that this is a document of a fixed history, with no new future installments yet to come. But as such it serves that history in noble fashion, providing fans of both PJ Harvey and John Peel with a vibrant living record whose nervy, protean spirit pushes it miles beyond mere alt-rock radio nostalgia.
