Comment Corner

Folks. Let's take a mild flashback here. The year is 1995. Christopher Reeves has taken his historic Superman dive from the back of a horse into stardom, OJ's gloves did not fit so the jury did acquit, the New York Times published its first humour column entitled "Shit I'd Like to Blow Up" by U. Nabomber and Alanis Morissette released Jagged Little Pill starting with the hit single "You Oughta Know".

The album was inspired. Here was this debatably hot chick who was messed up in the head and apparently would suck dick in a theater years before it happened to the "That's So Raven" chick. Well, she hasn't actually been caught chugging hog in a theater, but I think her going "Oh snap" as a load comes out her nose would certainly be entertaining. But Alanis Morissette confessed to the world she'd eat a hammer while watching Jumanji. It was new, aggressive, liberating and the slight grunge tone to the album certainly help it fit in a grunge dominated world. It should have been Courtney Love who did all this first, but she was still trying to get brain chunks out of the begonias. Hit after hit after Ironic after hit came out with no end to the meteoric rise in Alanis' success in sight.

So Alanis decided to follow up Jagged Little Pill, which sold 1.9 trillion copies, with Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie. And she kicked it off with Thank U. And she was naked. Fucking A. I think Alanis Morissette is hot and I dug looking at her blurred out meat-curtains. The song was good too. Then she followed it up with So Pure. Okay, maybe Alanis wasn't so grouchy anymore and that song was good too. But the bitch put on clothes for the video. A million different clothes, none of them revealing her blurred shame-hole. Each song on the album though, seemed to be this plumming of her emotional depths. Well, I already heard that on Jagged Little Pill. I don't need to hear about the agony of being served second in a donut shop because you've got powerful intellectual questions for the clerk. That's not a song. That's Grade 9 poetry. Cobain, before he quit Nirvana and life, wrote Tourette's. Apparently there's real words to the song, but all I could ever make out was "Here so rassafraz, my heart, wuh mo appatoor, my har". That made more sense than some of Alanis' Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie Lyrics.

So, what did Alanis do to follow up the slightly schlocky SFIJ? She released Under Rug Swept with...guess what? More insight set to tune. Except now Alanis had also developed sung words a new way. If she couldn't alter syntax in her song, she didn't sing it. But, we got Hands Clean and Precious Illusions. The rest of the album was a turgidly slow introspective lobotomy. 21 Things was fast, but also obnoxious. She's awfully choosy now for a chick that used to hastily sweep a theater floor clean so she didn't getkernals and M&M's stuck to her knees while she mouth-throttled a boner. P.S. I think the dude who fucked her in Hands Clean was Don Cherry.

Then we had Feast on Scraps. Oh, so this is what happened to the half-aggressive half-slow even MORE introspective shit that was cut from Under Rug Swept.

Then she started fucking Ryan "Van Wilder" Reynolds. Good for her. She got so excited about riding his beaver-dipper that she wrote a happy album in So Called Chaos. She was giddy, she sang about flying naked and she was a self-destructive cock-tease in 8 Easy Steps and Everything.

Her press interviews were getting stranger and stranger though. She started playing at anonymous quotations to define herself. She just declared that people declared her "spiritual". Guess what Alanis? After 3,000 songs of navel-gazing, you're not spiritual. Just because you discovered that some of your emotions are universal doesn't actually hold you in an esteem above the rest of us. I enjoy taking a good piss and sometimes, when it's been a big one, I get a little bolt of cold that makes me go "Brrrrrrrr". It's universal, but it's not song material and it's no reason for me to force my head into my lap to honk my own dick.

So it was with great agitation that I listened to the first track from her new album "Flavours of Entaglement". Is this a fancy fucking way of saying "Glue Eater"? Fuck me. The title of the album is already learning disabled and I haven't even heard the song yet. Oh wait, here's a video promo for the album on YouTube where she starts yomping about how she appreciates how the album came together sonicly. Of course you should appreciate it you dippy fucking cocksucker, YOU WROTE THE FUCKING THING. Unless you murdered a poetic hobo and stole the work that was going to make him millions, you were involved in every step along the way and made choices which increased the sonic togetherness (whatever the fuck that means) so it should come as no fucking shock to you, let alone something worthy of revelation to a viewer. Oh and what's this? You decided to write the album because you felt "very pregnant with song material"? Jumping fucking Jesus. I don't need a song that had an incubation period, thank you very much. Now it's going to be covered in mung and have sticky muff hairs all over it.

Alanis Morissette is going bat-shit insane right before our eyes. The once mega-starlet is becoming the 21st century Margot Kidder where she'll have a shaved head, exposed twat and be yelling at the cars following her. Well, Britney beat her to that one I suppose. She's become so obsessed with her Oprah Winfrey manufactured intimacy that it's a wonder she doesn't require you to wash her feet with your fucking hair for the privilege of listening to her music.

Alanis Morissette needs to be flung into space. Or, as she'd put it, into space flung.