i don’t know if i can even properly express my agitation when it comes to this album. i mean, goddamn it. at a point in history where the crap is constantly hitting the fan and raining down on us all in a fine mist, effectively covering our entire lives in a layer of stinking b.s. and inane drivel, you’d expect that you could count on a certain hierarchy of indie genres/artists to come through with seriously kick-ass music. but it seems that lately things are getting bleaker and bleaker, since it’s getting harder and harder for me to repress the urge to vomit with rage since i’m getting this wild flush of really mediocre albums from artists i’m commonly ape-shit over. i mean positively ape-shit over. if there is ever an apocalyptic end-times war where it all comes down to the cool people forming militias and taking up arms i would want two specific women to be on my team of kill-happy warrior women. one of them is bjork and the other is p.j. harvey.

but white chalk has got to be one of the biggest yawns of 2008. i am sooooo freakin’ pissed off. pissed at the album…and pissed at myself. cause you see, i should know better by now. it’s like i threw all my own rules for music-buying out o’ the window when i heard this collection of songs was released and (sigh) i could just kick myself for the oversight.

i was so eager, so excited about this little waif coming out with something new it’s like i was blindsided by own poisonous enthusiasm. my biggest mistake: i didn’t take the time to properly preview the album before i invested. now i can fess up to that being ‘my bad’ for not taking advantage of the technology at my fingertips. but you gotta understand something here and it’s a sacred thing called “trust”. certain things i just trust in somehow: global warming + right wing christian republicans will bring about the reckoning and p.j. harvey albums usually kick much ass (murder ballads doesn’t count because nick cave was involved and we all know he’s not actually human and his evil influence could convince a woman of many things).

so now that i’ve begun to paint this fine picture you’ll understand more so why i find the urge to kick myself for not considering that which i’ve already learned….it’s an old truth i picked up around say age 11 and it’s this old truth that strikes me hard across the face as i consider i can get no refund for the songs i don’t like, nor can i exchange them for “virtual store credit”. and that truth is this: trust –and more dangerously faith–(when it comes to musicians, religions & fast food) will always lead to disappointment. always. count on it. jot down this rule somewhere where you’ll constantly see it before you purchase music online or at a store: take the time to preview the album before you buy it.

so yeah…i bought the whole damn album. and dear gawwwd. its just soooo much of a flatline. a soft tinkling flatline which flares forth with a pulse only every now and then. most of this album made me want to die, lol. seriously. not like a “petite morte” kind of goth kid orgasmic “its so good i wanna die” like way…but more like, one day i’m gonna compile the list of “top 10 albums that make you want to take a running swan dive off a cliff” and this is going to be like number one or two on the list. not to say there weren’t a few gems (this is p.j. harvey we’re talking about). songs like “the devil”, “grow grow grow” and “the mountain” jump out, but still only jump out so much. the basic tone of the album is a very somber and haunting slow-jam affair. seriously, like really personal, “i’m cracking up again and dealing with it” kinda piano music with great lyrics.

now this kinda album wouldn’t be such an issue if we hadn’t already indulged in this type of album oh say a kazillion times already thanks to all those chicks out there who were suckling from the teats of indie-genre matriarchs kate bush, lauri anderson, stevie nicks, siouxsie sioux and tori amos for the past 15-30 years. we’ve been here before. i understand chicks gotta go through this stuff. there’s just something about having a period and a piano that just equal out to musical self-indulgence sometimes. i’ve even been there. for about six years i lugged about this thousand ton upright black piano circa 1923. i gave that piano a name and hammered out some of the most personal self indulgent musical therapy ever. i recorded to cassette tapes and really tapped into parts of my personality that i’d never seen before. and then ya know what? i took those cassettes and put them in a box one day and decided they were just for me…I DIDN’T SHUTTLE THEM ABOUT TO RECORDING LABELS WITH THE INTENTION OF SUBJECTING OTHERS TO MY INTIMATE AND PERSONAL MEANDERINGS FOR CRYING OUT FUCKING LOUD.

yeah. so i understand the piano indulgence from a personal standpoint…but that doesn’t mean i condone it anymore. especially, once again, because there are so many chicks out there doing it. its been done into the fucking ground and back. yeah, it’s haunting; yeah, it lets us see a different facet of polly jean’s almost demon-possessed talent…but come on….into the ground and back and you know it! i’ve so had it with this particular army of seriously depressing piano thumping tarts (bat for lashes, dresden dolls etc), that i’m going to take some brass knuckles to the face of the next bitch who sits at a piano and decides to put her diary from ages 8-16 to music. pissed, i say….to the extent that i truly feel in my dark little heart that you should only touch the damn piano if you have the intentions of actually doing something with it that might actually be construed as original is some form or fashion…or if you just intend to record yourself for yourself and you’re gonna tuck those little cassettes into a dark box in the back of your closet so you can stumble upon them in eight to ten years, listen to them and say “damn, those were some depressing ass years. glad i got past that then…” and shut them away for the next ten year cycle. those are the new rules now. jot them down on sticky notes for future reference please. conform… or i will find you in the night.

issues: a little too damn somber when you were probably hoping for some pj harvey circa rid of me, to bring you my love, dry.

best songs to purchase since i hope you’ll be smart enough to forgo buying the whole album: “the devil”, “grow grow grow”, “when under ether”, “the mountain”

worst song: “the piano”

on the “makes you want to die” scale: i give this album a seven out of ten slashes to the wrist.

its got a few songs that are really beautiful, but the majority of the album is like slow death and you just expect more rockin’ out from p.j. harvey. at least one or two songs really rockin’ it out might have saved it(shaking my fist in the air). but there’s not even one really ass-kickin’ fast paced song. i mean, at least tori amos had some fast paced stuff flying off of boys for pele. …and hence..boys of pele is one of tori amos’s strongest albums to date…even with the slow stuff on there, it’s a great example of an album with practically perfect “mood” balance..featuring not just piano, but variations on the piano with harpsichords and zanie stuff. practically perfect to the point where i don’t even think tori has been able to really top boys for pele since her last few albums have been a fucking yawn fest too. but that’s another matter for another day.