A common piece of praise heaped upon older albums is that they were “ahead of their time” — in other words, they sound like the music being made today. While there is value in that, I think there is also an appeal to albums that sound exactly like the era they were made in and function as a time capsule of what indie music was at the time.
One such album I’ve been obsessed with lately is The Glass Intact by Sarge, a Chicago indie rock band that released a pair of albums in the late-90s and are pretty much forgotten about now. The album was released in 1998 and it has a lot of traits that were popular then: the heavy, melodic pop-punk guitar riffs and frontwoman Elizabeth Elmore’s emotional lyrics and singing put them in the same musical space as some of my favorite 90s bands like Tiger Trap, Team Dresch, and Sleater-Kinney. It’s the kind of straight-forward, meat-and-potatoes indie rock that feels like it has fallen out of favor in the last few years as indie music has become more self-consciously artsy.
When the only older music that gets focused on is what is perceived as relevant to today’s music, bands like Sarge get unfairly tossed to the side. Music doesn’t suddenly go bad like milk: if it was good at the time, it is often still good now. And it’s not like The Glass Intact is an album full of songs about chatting on AIM, beanie babies, and furbies. Elmore’s lyrics touch on subjects that haven’t really changed: relationships, friendship, and being young and sort of aimless.
The most distinctive part of Elmore’s lyrics is that there’s a lot of them. Sarge’s songs are usually fast-paced, and she has a chatty lyrical style that doesn’t shy away from bigger words that may not fit a simple rhyming scheme. They’re very introspective, sometimes resembling a frantic internal dialogue, which paints the picture of Elmore as someone who is very smart and articulate, but possibly has problems overthinking things. The Glass Intact also shows her gift for writing a complete story: the songs actually have a beginning, middle, an end, and Elmore’s open-book anecdotes are consistently engaging.
Elmore’s voice is a fairly unique instrument. It’s high, but powerful and controlled — while some similar-sounding singers can sound thin and get lost in the instrumentation, she sings with authority so her lyrics always rise above the loud guitars. Often, she gets close to speak-singing, which gives Sarge’s songs a conversational quality — part of what makes her such an endearing personality is that it often feels like she’s talking to you through her songs, and it’s the key to why Sarge’s music still feels vital to me, even 15 years after they broke up.
It is tempting to immediately label a forgotten album like The Glass Intact “a lost classic” or something (and admittedly, I did that on Twitter the other day). But discovering it and really falling in love with it has made me wish there was room for older music in the ongoing dialogue that isn’t necessarily “classic,” but is still worth listening to — that instead of resorting to jaded nostalgia or canonizing the same three bands, we could appreciate music that was simply good.The Glass Intact isn’t necessarily hugely influential or innovative, but that doesn’t mean it should just be forgotten about.
Let England Shake was probably my most anticipated album ever when it was released in February 2011. But when I heard it was an album about war, I was scared, because my experience with anti-war media has often been negative. Too frequently, it has this obvious “stop the fighting maaaaaannnnnn” tone, and the only emotion it creates is embarrassment on behalf of the artist, who had the audacity to think their whimpery songs could actually make a real difference in how people view international relations.
In retrospect, I should have had more faith in PJ Harvey, who is my favorite artist in large part because she never takes the obvious, easy route. On her solo albums, she has constantly done the unexpected, adopting new personas and sounds so that each album she makes is a very pure, stand-alone vision. Her last album before Let England Shake was White Chalk, a haunting, piano-driven album that shared literally no resemblance to any of her previous music and confounded many of her fans. I figured if any artist could handle the subject of war, it would be her, but it was hard to imagine someone doing justice to the topic within the confines of a 40-minute album.
On first listen, Let England Shake could be mistaken for one of those embarrassing anti-war albums. The lyrics that jump out are the violent or polemic ones, like on “The Glorious Land” when she says “what is the glorious fruit of our land?/the fruit is deformed children” while out-of-place war trumpets play in the background, or when soldiers fall “like lumps of meat” in “The Words That Maketh Murder.” Certainly, in some respects, Let England Shake fits the mold of conventional war art, with the horrifying “war is hell” imagery and generally defiant stance. But the more I’ve listened to this album over the last few years and thought about it, the more I’ve realized that it is so much deeper than it may first appear — anyone who writes it off as a shrill political album is not giving PJ Harvey enough credit and is misconstruing her intentions.
Let England Shake is primarily concerned with history and place. It is about how the past is always with us, even if we weren’t there to see it ourselves, and how a nation’s previous decisions can continue to haunt those who are still living there today. These themes are there in the lyrics, but are also cleverly present in the music itself, in particular through the use of sampling — “The Words That Maketh Murder” borrows the lyrics “I’m gonna take my problem to the United Nations” from Eddie Cochrane’s “Summertime Blues,” while “Written on the Forehead” samples “Blood and Fire” by Niney the Observer. These samples create an effect where ghosts from the history of music are present in her songs, mirroring the album’s stories of past wars and fallen soldiers that are still, in a sense, with us today.
Harvey plays an interesting role on Let England Shake, as a woman describing the theater of war, which has historically been created and populated by men. Singing in her upper register, similar to White Chalk, she mostly acts as a narrator, describing the atrocities she sees in vivid detail — in my mind, I imagine her floating around the battlefield like a ghost. The lyrics often seem inspired by World War I poets like Siegfried Sassoon, or other classic poems from Britain’s past (the story of “All and Everyone” is reminiscent of “The Charge of the Light Brigade”), and they have the same power as the stories from people who lived these wars. But while Let England Shake is heavily steeped in the past, it never forgets to relate it to the present, and it asks real questions about how people have to live with their nation’s histories.
These themes come through most clearly on “England,” where Harvey drops her role of narrator and sings directly from the current-day first-person perspective.
I live and die through England
Through England
It leaves a sadness
Remedies never were within my reach
I cannot go on as I am
Withered vine reaching from the country
That I love
England
You leave a taste
A bitter one
I have searched for your springs
But people, they stagnate with time
Like water, like air
To you, England, I cling
Undaunted, never failing love for you
England
This is obviously the song where the album’s sense of place is most apparent, and it captures this very specific, ambivalent feeling that is also common among Americans. I often feel a connection to my country and sometimes even a level of pride in it, but it is so frequently matched by disgust for the things done in America’s name, either presently or in the past. So much of Let England Shake is about this uncertain attachment, and it’s part of why I think it goes beyond just being an anti-war album: while it is criticizing moments in England’s past, it is coming from a place of deep love and connection, which is what “England” really articulates. It’s the song that really ties together the album’s themes and helps push it beyond being a stodgy history lesson.
A theme I’ve found to be present in nearly all of PJ Harvey’s work is the tension between ugliness and beauty. Her early music, in particular 1993’s Rid of Me, was self-consciously ugly and intended to shock, with abrasive production, noisy guitars, and the austere cover art showing her naked in a bathtub with her hair coiled like Medusa. 2000’s Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea was intentionally the opposite, an attempt to make a beautiful album with lush guitar reverb and actual love songs — music videos from the album like “Good Fortune” showed Harvey looking more glamorous, confidently strutting around New York City. Let England Shake is the synthesis of these two extremes: it has a graceful, beautiful folk sound, but the lyrics and themes are ugly, violent, and ambiguous, much in the way her early music was. This is why Let England Shake often feels to me like a culmination of all her previous work, and proof that while she sounds different, her music still hits incredibly hard.
The same year Let England Shake came out, I ended up taking an English course in War literature. My final paper for the class was about Slaughterhouse-Five and used one of my favorite quotes from the novel: when Kurt Vonnegut says he is writing an anti-war novel, a filmmaker replies “Why don’t you write an anti-glacier book instead?” The strength of that book and Let England Shake is that they don’t fall into the trap of merely being anti-war and thus anti-glaciers. Instead, they study the impact it has on the people who lived it and those who came after. I try not to say albums are “literary” since they’re their own thing, but Let England Shake has a level of nuance and depth that is exceedingly rare in music, and it holds up even when compared to authentic war literature. I consider it to be the most impressive musical accomplishment of the last several years, and one that I think is legitimately important to listen to.
The Noise Made By People 