wise-ass twist on Seventies-style soft rock. Ballads like "Ironic" established her as the new Carole King, dreaming up sweet seasons for yet another generation of continuous lite favorites. And Jewel was right behind her, singing acoustic ballads of love, loss and PJs on
Pieces of You. Together, Alanis and Jewel can take credit for opening up the radio to a quiet storm of excellent soft-rock hits like Jann Arden's "Insensitive," Merril Bainbridge's "Mouth," Meredith Brooks' "Bitch" and Lisa Loeb's "I Do." What a great Rhino compilation they'll make someday –
It's Like Ten Thousand Spoons When All You Need Is a Knife: Mellow Nineties Gold.Morissette calls her follow-up Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie, and in case you can't tell from the title, she's not big on false modesty. She makes claims on hard rock, soft rock, spacey drum loops and harmonica solos, all while flaunting her titanic pop ambition and updating us on her latest spiritual journeys. Trying to read Alanis' mind is like trying to follow the plot of an Elvis movie – you have to let both artists just clobber you with their unmitigated showbiz gall, and Alanis is one megastar who knows how to translate her gall into dynamic rock & roll. It's her party, and she'll thank India if she wants to. "Thank U" could've been a pretentious disaster, but instead it's a pretentious stroke of brilliance – she finds something shockingly smart to say about her spiritual crises, riding an indelible Eighties AOR synth hook and wailing like Robert Plant stealing "Kashmir" back from Jimmy Page and Puffy. When she sings "Thank you, India/Thank you, Providence," it's a quintessentially Alanistic moment – you can't be sure whether she's bowing down to divine providence or to the city in Rhode Island where they drink Narragansett beer, and it sounds fabulous either way.
Morissette co-produced Junkie herself with regular collaborator Glen Ballard, and she obviously has fun twiddling the knobs in the psychedelic rant "Front Row." The dense music complements the peaceful vibe of the lyrics. She sings a couple of sympathetic odes to her parents, and in "Unsent" she reads forgiving letters to all the boys she's loved before. Since the ex-boyfriends appear by first name, you can play "You're So Vain" with the song. But the boldest, sweetest statement here is the muted ballad "That I Would Be Good," a self-esteem pep talk that closes with a flute-solo coda. Alanis plays her own flute solo, and she works her ass off to get it right, breathing too hard between the notes, but she wins you over with her sheer daring; it isn't every day that a
