Last spring, when Prince died, I wrote about all the near misses I’d had trying to see him perform live. I never managed it, and in writing that piece, I couldn’t help but start a mental inventory of other great artists I had yet to see—a sort of “please don’t kick the bucket” list. On that list, PJ Harvey is definitely near the top. So when Pitchfork announced this year’s festival lineup, she became my must-see.
Most of the densely packed audience around me toward stage right didn’t seem particularly engaged at that point either. But as the set wound on, material from England (in particular a stirring rendition of “The Glorious Land”) upped the ante a bit. By the time her band got around to cranking out a few old favorites, including a teasing, elegant version of “Down by the Water” and a pummeling Stooges-esque reading of “50 Ft Queenie” (which got by far the biggest crowd response of the evening), all seemed forgiven. The set ended even more strongly, with a elegiac version of “To Bring You My Love” buttressed by bristling baritone saxophone from former Gallon Drunk guy Terry Edwards, then a fitting close via Hope Six‘s strongest song, “River Anacostia.” But in the cruel custom of the festival grounds, before her band had even finished the song’s glistening coda, most folks’ attention had already turned to the Green Stage in anticipation of A Tribe Called Quest.
