Let's face it, we're all terrified of Tacky (real name: Gervaise Tweedlebottom). Stories have filtered through the grapevine that make my flesh creep, and it's kind of hard to put them out of my mind when I'm listening to his dense, dark and claustrophobic records. For instance, there's what happened to photographer Jeremy Gay. Tacky brought a dress along to the shoot and wriggled into it. Jeremy was delighted with this anti-macho gesture and began snapping away, saying 'Fantastic, Tacky, you look really pretty in that dress.' But Tacky stopped dead and hissed, in a voice that froze the blood, 'What d'you mean, 'pretty'? Pretty, I'll show you what's pretty...' And, seizing Jeremy's Nikon, he literally rammed it down his throat. (The film, recovered at the post mortem, revealed flash photos of Jeremy's tonsils from several different angles.)
After knifing several members of innovative, spliffed-up DJ team Passive Attacked for having the nerve to invite him to be in their band, Tacky left to pursue a solo career.
Mummysboy, his brilliant first album, was dedicated to his mother. But when a journalist asked him why, Tacky got angry. Very angry. 'Why shouldn't I dedicate my fucking record to my motherfucking mother, motherfucker?' he demanded, then, holding the writer's head down while he filled a basin with cold water, continued 'What are you suggesting, that I'm some kind of mummy's boy? Eh? Eh? I'll show you who's a mummy's boy... Want your mummy now, do you, mummy's boy?'
Signing to adventurous Island Records, Tacky quickly began making songs threatening company boss Chris Blacklove with slow dismemberment. In his mind, it seems, Blacklove had signed Tacky as a token black man. Tacky, in revenge, began to make his music more female and more white, recording several creditable albums under the pseudonym 'P.J. Harvey'.