LOS ANGELES, CA- There’s a certain magic in revisiting the music that once held a formative influence on your life, a way of connecting to your past self while embracing the artist’s evolution. For me, PJ Harvey has been one of those artists—her music is a bridge between my high school years and the person I’ve become. I still remember that day vividly. It was my senior year of high school, and I was out for a jog, tired of my usual playlist. I raided my younger sister’s collection, searching for something fresh. There, tucked among her tapes, was a black-and-white image of a quixotic-looking woman. It was PJ Harvey’s Rid of Me.
I knew PJ Harvey was making waves on MTV, but my tastes, at the time, were steeped in Pearl Jam, Lenny Kravitz, and Metallica. Nevertheless, I gave it a chance, popping that cassette into my trusty Sony Walkman. As I started my run, I was caught off guard—about a quarter mile in, I realized my sister had great taste. I played that cassette front to back at least two and a half times on that run, rewinding “50ft Queenie” at least three times. For a spell, PJ Harvey became my muse, her music a mix of raw energy and poetic power that spoke directly to the spirit of a teenager finding his place in the world.
Since then, I’ve followed PJ Harvey’s journey, growing alongside her sonic explorations—from the raw power of Rid of Me to the nuanced atmospheres of Is This Desire?, the political urgency of Let England Shake, and the probing reflections of The Hope Six Demolition Project. Last year, she released I Inside the Old Year Dying, a work she described as a deeply introspective project, focusing on themes of time, loss, and renewal. In interviews, she’s spoken about how the album emerged from a place of searching, exploring ancient mythologies and the passage of time. As someone navigating my own personal evolution, I found a deep resonance in her words. Her meditations on these themes felt like an invitation to slow down and reflect on the cycles of life—on what we choose to hold onto and what we allow to fade away.
When it was announced that PJ Harvey would be performing at the Greek Theatre, I didn’t hesitate. I knew I had to be there. It was a chance to finally see an artist who had shaped my musical taste all those years ago. And as a photographer, I was eager to capture the essence of her artistry. Although the photography situation turned out to be a little more challenging than expected—we were instructed to shoot from a greater distance than anticipated—nothing could dampen my excitement. After all, I was about to witness a live performance by an artist who had been my teenage muse, on a grand stage under the Los Angeles night sky.
The concert was divided into two sections. The first part was a full performance of I Inside the Old Year Dying; the album delivered in its entirety as if she was sharing a storybook with her audience, inviting us to experience her journey track by track. With no opening act to precede her, the evening had a certain purity—it was all about PJ Harvey, her voice, her presence, and the powerful intimacy she brought to the performance. For an artist of her stature, an opening act seems almost superfluous; the show needed no warm-up. Knowing that those who arrived fashionably late would miss part of her majestic performance, a reward for the fans who made it on time was a pleasure.
There’s a particular power that PJ Harvey wields on stage, one that is hard to convey through recordings alone. Her movements, subtle yet charged with purpose, seemed to merge with the music itself. Her hands would sweep through the air as if to draw power from the space around her, the way a conductor might command an orchestra. Her ferocious and tender voice filled the Greek Theatre, amplifying the themes of mortality and introspection central to I Inside the Old Year Dying. Watching her perform live, it was clear that she was fully immersed in the world of her songs, channeling emotions that ran as deep as the words themselves.
PJ Harvey’s multitasking on stage was a marvel to behold. Whether strumming an acoustic guitar or delicately plucking an autoharp, she wove layers of sound that transported the audience into the dreamlike, almost otherworldly space of her latest album. As she led us through the winding paths of her new material, it felt like we were being guided through a story that only she could tell—a piece of art unfolding in real-time.
The second half of the concert shifted gears, showcasing a broader selection of her repertoire. The transition began with a performance of “The Colour of the Earth,” during which she reappeared in a new outfit adorned with hand-drawn illustrations from each band member. It was as if she was presenting a visual manifestation of the collaboration and unity that drives this tour—a nod to the intimate relationship between artist and band, audience and performer.
The second set was like a journey through memory lane. Songs like “To Bring You My Love,” “Man-Size,” and “The Garden” hit with a nostalgic force, pulling me back to those high school days when her music had first captured my imagination. But it was “50ft Queenie” that truly ignited something within me. Watching PJ Harvey drop to her hands and knees to deliver the song’s searing bridge was electrifying—a reminder of the unbridled power she’s always possessed. For a few minutes, I felt like I was that teenage kid again, head over heels for the raw intensity of her art.
As the concert drew to a close, she offered an encore of “C’mon Billy” and “White Chalk,” leaving us with a sense of bittersweet reflection. “C’mon Billy” felt like a plea to hold onto those things that matter most, while “White Chalk” grounded us in the stark realities that life often presents. The juxtaposition of these two songs seemed to remind us that while we might cherish the past, we must also remain present and aware of the fleeting nature of time. In that moment, I was struck by her timeless music—much like the chalk that marks the earth, leaving a trace of something ephemeral yet significant.
PJ Harvey’s performance at the Greek Theatre was more than just a concert; it was a full-circle moment, a chance to reconnect with an artist whose music has been a constant companion through different stages of my life. Her ability to blend the rawness of her earlier work with the introspective maturity of her recent material made for an unforgettable evening, one that I’ll carry with me for years to come.
As I left the venue, the air cool against my face, I found myself thinking about the journey that music can take us on. PJ Harvey’s artistry has evolved, but her essence remains the same—her fearless exploration of the human experience, her willingness to bare her soul through song. And for that, she will always be the kind of artist who can stir the deepest parts of our being, who can remind us of who we once were and who we are still becoming.
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