content: Listeng to this album, you realize what a charade it all is. For someone so good at reaping havoc at her best (Dry; To Bring You My Love; Stories from the City, Stories frm the Sea), and at least being intriguing at her most murky (Is This Desire?), PJ Harvey (the band, but specifically Polly)sure does exhaust its vocabulary on this record. Despite a handful of really nice tracks (The Letter; Pocket Knife; Shame), the album really comes off as something streched and contrived at times, which is not a criticism I would have ever expected to be able to give her. Stories from the City... was slick and lyrically easy in some places, but the whole of the record was remarkably strong. This one actually feel like LESS than the sum of its parts to me though. I just don't buy into it like I usually do her music. And could someone please explain Cat on the Wall? Why, PJ?