PJ Harvey @ SECC, Glasgow, 2 Nov
A Wednesday evening at the SECC. Is there a less appealing prospect in live music? Perhaps a Monday morning concert at a recently closed branch of BHS. The cavernous exhibition arena in Glasgow is rightly despised by many regular gig-goers as a cold, soulless venue, alien to captivating performance. But Hall 3, which stages tonight's show, at least offers decent acoustics and plenty of space for the assembled masses.
If there's any artist who can look past these spartan surroundings it's Polly Jean Harvey. There are few songwriters who have consistently reinvented themselves with growing confidence – and no dilution of quality – as she has. At the start of her career, penning raw punk anthems like Sheela-Na-Gig, PJ benefited from an authenticity lacking from many of her 90s peers. In the subsequent decades, as her albums began to feature more sophisticated arrangements, she never lost the knack for acute social observation or historical curio. Of course, all the conceptual lyrics in the world count for nothing if you can't pen a decent tune – but there's no shortage of them here.
Tonight, as Harvey follows on stage a nine-piece backing band, the days when she played in a simple trio seem a lifetime ago. In fairness, such a sizeable entourage is required to do justice to her latest album, The Hope Six Demolition Project. Opening song Chain of Keys sees Harvey on saxophone, building on a rumbling foundation of three drummers. When she steps up to the microphone to sing, the clarity and strength of her voice is almost as dazzling as her black-feathered outfit.
The first 45 minutes of this show are everything you could hope from a live performance – engrossing, irresistible and at times breathtaking. Harvey leads the band through a selection from Hope Six, and her previous album, Let England Shake, with studied purpose. On The Words That Maketh Murder, as she thunders through a refrain based on that old Eddie Cochrane line – 'What if I take my problem to the United Nations?' – the crowd seem mesmerised at the chorus of chanting from her all-male band.
This is as much a theatrical performance as a gig. The musicians change positions with flawless timing, and not a word is uttered by anyone between songs. But as the Glasgow crowd's roar of approval grows louder, Harvey allows herself a quiet smile, and later in the set, finally offers sincere thanks for the reception she's been afforded.
She deserves the plaudits. This is a carefully choreographed production that could be appreciated by even those entirely unfamiliar with Harvey or her back catalogue. While other groups who attempt large-scale theatrical performances – Arcade Fire, for example – often sound bombastic and empty, Harvey's show retains an austere mystique. The 90-minute set passes almost too quickly, but it leaves a lasting impact. There are several members of the audience in tears. With the spell broken, perhaps they've just realised they're left standing in an emptying SECC.