About a week ago, I was having a few drinks with a friend of mine. The conversation went from choice of cigarettes to brilliant actors to America's foreign policies. Ok, so we didn't talk politics, but I thought it would make me sound less fluffy.
Instead, I fought my pyromaniac tendencies and said that wasn't a fair categorisation, as that basically lumps together just about every artist with something to say, who just happens to a) be Caucasian and b) have a vagina. He thought about it for a bit and nodded in agreement. I loosened my grip on the lighter.
Under Rug Swept is Alanis Morissette's third studio album (post teeny-bopper crap, of course), and her growth as an artist is plain to see. She's dropped Glen Ballard, who worked on Jagged Little Pill as well as Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie, and has taken over all producing and writing responsibilities. It's a brave but hardly un-wise move that pays off for the majority of the album.
Confessional, insightful, intelligent and articulate, Morissette is an extraordinary songwriter. Combined with her expressive, lilting voice, she creates magic when everything's right.
The first single, Hands Clean, is a perfect example of this. Sung from the imagined perspective of an older lover from her past, the song captures the emotions and intricacies of the relationship and is great to sing along to.
On Narcissus, Ms. Morissette also has plenty of fun jabbing someone we've all dated before, singing lines like "Dear momma's boy/I know you had your butt licked by your mother" and "I know you're not really into conflict resolution/Or seeing both sides of every equation". Flea from the Peppers plays bass on that one.
I'm guessing it's the same guy she sang about in Hands Clean and You Oughta Know, but hey, what do I know? Other standout tracks include Precious Illusions, That Particular Time, and the lovely Utopia.
Unfortunately, the album is not without it's blemishes. While her wordy style works on some tracks, it gets way too convoluted on others. It's most obvious on You Owe Me Nothing In Return, where lines like "You can share your so-called shame-filled accounts of times in your life and I won't judge it" try to find their place in music that sounds completely unrelated.
Other tracks where the music needs sprucing up are the rather unresolved A Man and the opening track 21 Things I want In a Lover, which bears too much of a resemblance to Jesus Jones' Right Here Right Now.
So the album's not perfect. So what? Neither is Mariah's boob job. And it probably won't sell a third of what Britney's sold, but it is comforting to know someone still cares about music as a form of expression. And you can't make a dance remix out of that.
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