My dad loves P.J. Harvey as much as he loves Fleetwood Mac and The Eagles. He admits it is odd, given the fact that most parents find her music to be just a lot of noise, but something about her speaks to him. He heard my boyfriend Larry playing her album To Bring You My Love when he came to pick me up for work, and asked if he could borrow it. Larry tried to convince him to take her first album instead but Dale would have none of it. This was a cardinal sin. Larry believes in listening to music chronologically, from the first album to the last, always. I have questioned him on this extensively. What if the first album sucks, and your favorite is the most recent? Or you hear a song on the radio, and go to buy the CD, only to find the song your looking for is on the second, or third, or fourth? What then? According to Larry, you’re screwed. You have to start from the beginning, every time. In fact, the whole notion of "favorite" is blasphemous. There’s a larger picture to see. He doesn’t listen to the radio, for this reason. Larry goes nuts when he comes across a Greatest Hits collection. Concerts are out of the question, since they`re a Greatest Hits collection with amped up applause and bad feedback. Hence, his absence at tonight’s show.
"You need to dump that dumbass," Dale tells me. "He’s probably getting fries with that shake, if you know what I’m talking about." Not even P.J. Harvey can make my father hip, I’m sad to say.