Published on Feb 18, 1998
The reason why I don’t listen to rock music as much as, say,
opera, is the whining. I get enough whining by reading my journal.
In fact, I have more political commentaries between last December
and today than all the Cranberries albums put together. Though
lately I’m partial to the one-guitar folk rock scene I still lose
interest when the talk turns to everyday injustice (being a Korean
high school student, I’d need a double-CD).
This nuance is made obvious by over-stressing vocals to
compensate for insincerity. It’s very similar to the Whitney
Houston School of Oversinging; “I Need” has a cleverly poppy lyric
gimmick going on but it wouldn’t do good in radio with that nasal
lamenting all through. She doesn’t sound as confident as she should
when singing “I may crack but I’ll never shatter” in “Shatter” but
she sure tries faking it well.
“My Little Town” teeters on the edge of the usual
driving-through-some-midwest-town-in-top-down-car, the ultimate
radio rock cliche. Flattering herself in “Pollyanne”,
unconvincingly tragic in “Watched You Fall”, awkward partying in
“It Don’t Get Much Better Than This” all simply don’t work. She has
the song in her head and, despite the earphones she’s donning in
the liner notes photo shots, she isn’t listening to her actual
singing.
She sounds much better when her vocal smearing is subdued.
“Bitch” has a groove that refreshes the mind, body and soul without
exaggerated expression and “Somedays” works with the acoustic
guitars nicely underlaying her liquid-clear vocal. Unexpected but
absolute sensuality in “What Would Happen” finally sounds as if
she’s using her insides to sing.
Unfortunately, this gives away to “Birthday” which signifies
everything that’s wrong with the album. Electric guitars and
percussion that she has to concentrate on shouting over, thinking
that the asinine lyrics about nitty-gritty first date inquiries
would be enough. The two last tracks “Stop” and “Wash My Hands” do
little to fix the damage done; more faking!
These tracks have underestimated the empathy of the listener.
After all those years of performing in bands, Brooks doesn’t know
that her vocals can be engineered to sound louder; the sound is too
rough for the private listener’s silent room. Excuseable live; for
now, spend your $15 on Paula Cole.