When I become a totalitarian dictator, the first people in line for a painful, public execution will be those girlie bands. You know the type: Juliana Hatfield, Tonya Donnelley, Liz Phair, FrentŽ and others of that ilk; the kind that tunelessly warble in ultra perky voices that inspire homicidal thoughts. Rip out their vocal chords, methinks.

Miss Polly Jean Harvey would be spared such a cruel fate. She possesses the voice of a woman who has seen too much, heard too much, experienced too much and, above all, has lived too much. She growls the nicotine-induced growl of someone who has been pushed beyond her limits and is still standing, stronger and more bitter than ever. Pure, unfiltered femme vitriol - I love it. The would needs more.

Harvey is infamous for penning semi-obscure lyrics and insisting on not explaining her muses. No extra input is necessary; the songs speak for themselves. All you have to do is listen.

My first decree.

Reviewer:  Sarah LeClaire, courtesy of Flash Magazine.