PJ Harvey last night played her only European festival gig of the summer. Ian Gittins went to see her.
PJ Harvey gigs are invariably a compelling tussle between the visceral and the cerebral, and last night's solo show - her only European festival appearance of the year - is no exception. Clad in a demure garment she described as "my 1940s war dress", Harvey fires through a slew of incendiary old material dating right back to the pre-Britpop Dress and Mansize. Telling us she has written a whole new album for piano, she confesses to debilitating nerves before playing it in public for the first time; however, thew spectral pleasures of new songs such as The Mountain and Bitter Little Bird hint at a hugely productive new musical direction. Harvey remains the serrated meeting point of Chrissie Hynde and Sylvia Plath and her standing ovation is utterly deserved.
