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1995-08-25
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July 28, 1995 No. 176
Roch On Music
By Roch Parisien
ALANIS MORISSETTE
Jagged Little Pill ***1\2
(Maverick/Warner)
So Ottawa's little Alanis Morissette has done grown up,
moved to the Big Smoke, and picked a new persona off the
rack at Madonna's record company boutique/plaything
Maverick. Fellow Canadians will remember her, from not
very many moons ago, as the chart-topping, dance pop teen
queen with two ephemeral documents to her credit -
_Alanis_ (1991) and _Now Is The Time_ (1992) - billed
under her first name only. Some of those same countryfolk
may find it understandably "convenient" that when the
likes of Paula Abdul and Janet Jackson held sway, Alanis
offered a homegrown shadow of same; now that smart,
pointed, alterna-rock women rule the roost, Morissette
retakes the runway drapped in something perfectly in
keeping with the season.
Still, those late-teen-early-twenty-something years are
prone to rapid shifts and changes, aren't they. Besides,
there hasn't been a really memorable/effective case of pop
music chameleonship since Bowie's ever-fluctuating '70s
salad days, even though Morissette seems to working in
reverse order - if _Now Is The Time_ was her _Young
Americans_, then _Jagged Little Pill_ is most certainly
her _Aladdin Sane_.
In any case, it's not as simple a thing to pigeon-pluck
this _Jagged Pill_ thing. The songwriting is salty and
salacious while still appealing to the intellect, the
delivery bordering on spectacular. Lyrics revealing raw,
searing emotions are rendered by a voice left equally
exposed and naked in the mix. The clarity and sharpness
with which Morissette whips her words in her audience's
face is stunning, and a real technical tribute to producer
Glen Ballard (who also wrote the music with Morissette and
plays most of the instruments - this album appears to be
as much his as the billed star). The voice evokes a
street urchin Ms. Hyde to Sarah McLachlan's gauzy Dr.
Jekyll; the little yelp at the end of her phrasing
sometimes suggesting a Dolores O'Riordan (of the
Cranberries).
The music in an equally ingenious blend of radio-friendly
mainstream pop/rock (in most cases, no more "alternative"
than, say, Melissa Etheridge) but with enough street-smart
credibility to keep the alterna-crowd latched on. The
only hint of her past here is a subtle hip-hop skip
discreetly driving some of the rhythm tracks. In other
words, this disc stands to be huge, and Americans coming
to it fresh without any of the previous baggage will find
it easy to believe. As a matter of fact, on the strength
of first single/video "You Oughta Know" (the earthy
language, cursing a jilting lover, providing an
unparalleled publicity bonus that money simply cannot
buy), _Jagged Little Pill_ is rapidly slashing its way up
the U.S. charts - a disc most assuredly in the right place
at the right time as few others in recent memory have
been.
Other numbers, like the fat-chorused "Ironic" and "You
Learn", cannot but follow in the wake; or perhaps the
prickly burrs of lead track "All I Really Want": "Do I
wear you out/You must wonder why I'm relentless and all
strung out/I'm consumed by the chill of solitary/I'm like
Estella/I like to reel it in and spit it out." Morissette
thirsts to "hunt the hunter", "kill the killer", and "meet
the Maker"...and I'd be only prepared to give the Big Guy
50/50 odds on coming out ahead on the confrontation.
On the other hand, I could have done without the dirty
laundry voyerism of "Perfect". Some topics really are
better suited to the psychiatrist's couch than to
songwriting, and if Morissette was really this scarred by
excessive stage-parenting, she should consider working out
the issue with her analyst. Here, it comes across as
mean-spirited and whiney, although I imagine other gifted teens
with star-struck parents will relate.
THE MUFFS
Blonder And Blonder ***
(Reprise/Warner)
_Blonder And Blonder_ is the disc for any who believe Joan
Jett hit an epiphanous music landmark with "I Love
Rock'n'Roll", and has deviated increasingly off the true
path ever since.
The Muffs 1993 self-titled debut was so self-consciously
primitive that it was hard to take over its entire 16-track length.
This Brit-beat meets L.A. garage rock
follow-up loosens its tie considerably, establishing a
worthy beachhead of summer fun, top-down, highway cruising
music.
"Red Eyed Troll" is the kind of raw, R&B raver one
associates with Hamburg, Germany's ratty clubs of the
early 60s. "End It All" and "I'm Confused" serve up
scrumptious early-Beatles jangle, capturing that crisp,
British tone right down to vocalist/guitarist Kim Shattuck's
bowl-cut bangs. Toe-tapping riffs are undercut by an
amateurishness that proves disarming compared to the
more forced debut.
Shattuck has evolved from grunting to actual singing,
although "Agony" and "Oh Nina" deliver
her best Yoko Ono primal scream therapy. "Ethyl My Love",
the disc's most pummelling statement, would have taken a
place of honour in the catalogue of Shattuck's former band
The Pandoras (what ever happened to Paula Pierce, anyway?)
- a thunderous, rubber-room slice of neanderthal
strutting.
***** - a "desert island" disc; may change your life.
**** - excellent; a long-term keeper.
*** - a good disc, worth repeated listening.
** - fair, but there are better things to spend money on.
* - a waste of valuable natural resources.
Copyright 1995 Rocon Communications - All Rights Reserved