ALANIS MORISSETTE - So-Called Chaos

If Alanis Morissette's penultimate album, "Under Rug Swept", had left intact the doubts about the Canadian singer-songwriter's current worth, being neither convincing nor an outright disaster, the new "So-Called Chaos" unfortunately manages to dispel them entirely. Of the singer who in '95 had revolutionized the world of pop (and the figure of the singer-songwriter), releasing an album, "Jagged Little Pill", that had captured the mood of her generation and created a new language suited to it, practically nothing remains. Morissette's goal, ten years on from her blazing debut, judging by the guiding lines of her latest work, seemed to be refreshing her persona while staying true to it (essentially finding a more mature sound). "So-Called Chaos" disproves this evolutionary thesis and shows a return to the search for catchy melody, albeit filtered through subsequent influences, failing however across the board.

The sound, once expressive and personal, has regressed to the wall-of-nothing of Oasis (the absence of Glen Ballard weighs more than a ton) and the songs never find the immediacy and (above all) the spontaneity they aim for (the very qualities that had made "Jagged Little Pill" the best singles factory of the Nineties, a title shared with Madonna's "Ray Of Light"). In practice, "Everything", the first single, is the only track that truly deserves the name, and it shines only thanks to the insipidness of the other songs, coming across as clearly inferior even to something like "Hands Clean".

The lack of ideas is obvious, as shown by the opener, "Eight Easy Steps", practically an outtake from "Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie" updated to today's sound (useless noisiness seasoned with a mystical aura); the same goes for "Knees On My Bees" and for the title track. "Doth I Protest Too Much", one of the better moments, is a barely decent ballad, while "Excuses" ranks among her worst songs ever.

There's absolutely nothing worth paying attention to, and only in the three closing tracks (where "This Grudge" finally shines, modeled on the piano-driven episodes of "Under Rug Swept") does the air get a little better. Even the lyrics, a crucial aspect for the (former) feminist icon, show that little is left to say, now that the anger toward men (the singer is now happily on the verge of marriage), the mood swings and the raw emotion of her early days have faded, almost always replaced by a serene acceptance of how things are (from "This Grudge": "I want to be big and let go of this grudge that's grown old/ All this time I've not known how to rest this by gone/ I want to be soft and resolved clean of slate and released/ I want to forgive for the both of us"). And this is precisely the real tragedy of the album: Morissette seems to have concluded her search, both musical and poetic, ending up as nothing more than a pale (and flat) version of herself.

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12/12/2006