When
White Chalk was released, it provided another surprise for
PJ Harvey fans. Its sparse, spectral songs were a far cry from the snarling rock and electronic experiments that came before them, and somehow White Chalk: The Demos is even wispier and more ephemeral. Often, it seems like
Harvey might not have needed as many as four tracks to sketch the album's incantations and mood pieces. These recordings are dominated by her uncanny soprano vocals and piano with the occasional backing vocal or flute-like keyboard floating by; the most notable embellishment is the echo she uses to wonderfully ghostly effect on the title track. If White Chalk: The Demos is missing some of the studio magic that
Harvey concocted with longtime collaborators
Flood,
John Parish, and
Eric Drew Feldman, the collection makes up for it in intimacy. Being close enough to
Harvey to hear her press the piano's pedals heightens the feeling that she recorded these songs in a haunted drawing room filled with flickering candlelight. More so than on the finished album, "Dear Darkness" resembles a whispered prayer; "Grow Grow Grow" becomes a séance; and "Broken Harp"'s atonal anguish takes on a field recording-like rawness. Stripping away some of
White Chalk's atmosphere underscores just how good the bones of its songs are. Without as many sounds surrounding them, the album's tales of mortality, betrayal, and isolation often feel more present, whether they're plaintive moments like "When Under Ether" and "To Talk to You" or the intense foreboding of "The Mountain." As with
Harvey's other demo collections, the primeval form of
White Chalk makes the ties between her albums more apparent. It's easier to hear how some of the spookier moments of
Uh Huh Her and Is This Desire (as well as the mythical storytelling of
Dry and
To Bring You My Love) relate to these songs, and in turn, how
White Chalk's dreamy Englishness foreshadowed how she explored her complex relationship with her homeland to great acclaim on
Let England Shake. While the distinctions between the studio and demo versions of
White Chalk are often subtle, the nuances in mood and meaning make for gripping listening. White Chalk: The Demos may cast a different spell than the finished album, but it once again makes a strong case for hearing
Harvey's songs in the raw -- and for her ability to take her art in so many various yet cohesive directions. ~ Heather Phares