Avril Lavigne
Under My Skin

THE REVIEW

Writing album reviews often aimed at a particular audience, surrounded by that "radical chic" aura and almost certainly praised by that music press that "knows its stuff" is a rather easy habit. It's simple to venture into praising the pop experiments of Radiohead, the electronic quirks of Bjork, or the "great classics" of rock music, those indisputable and unappealable albums (only Scaruffi dares to belittle the Beatles, earning himself tomatoes and insults that, in a certain sense, are deserved).

It is more challenging to attempt to analyze an album that must necessarily be considered among mass consumer products, a so-called "mainstream" artist who churns out singles and videos that routinely end up in heavy rotation on the radio and MTV, thus subject to heavy cynicism and an almost certain condemnation from the aforementioned music critics who "know" and perhaps have a soft spot for trivialities that yet seem more "cult," like, in my opinion, the insubstantial Interpol.

Well, I say that Canadian Avril Lavigne has talent, and that "Under My Skin," her second album after the multimillion triumph of the previous "Let Go," is a work decidedly above the standards for the type of audience it targets.
Sure, it would be foolish to deny that the good looks of the young "rocker" might influence (positively or negatively) her music, but by listening to her songs and reading her lyrics, you glimpse nuances that certainly hadn't been considered in the judgments of many journalists: first of all, "Under My Skin" is a much more "adult" and convincing album than "Let Go," which was truly clichéd and nauseating for the childish choruses that brought it down. It was a lousy record.

Now, however, although there are those who doubt the real authenticity of Lavigne's personality, more interesting aspects certainly emerge in the songs' themes, much more tense and less "jovial," with a certain inclination towards heavy guitars used for contrast in the more "pop" moments.
The production is intricate, okay, but not as much as people say: "He Wasn't" is a fast-paced punk song that is certainly on par with tracks by Foo Fighters, Courtney Love, or other outcasts of American rock... not even fellow Canadian Alanis Morrissette has ever pushed so hard.
The naivety of some power ballads instead of irritating almost evokes tenderness: these are the diary pages of a girl transitioning from "young rebel" to "angry woman," almost indifferent to wanting at all costs to represent a sexual or generational fringe, showing indifference to the bigoted purism of "feminine" protest music and pressing the distortion pedal in all the songs.
In the end, although there are some decidedly light moments like "Who Knows," the feeling remains of a strong inner unrest still too hidden and that, if it were to come out in all its strength in future albums, would deliver us a new great rock singer-songwriter, reassuring but at the same time in love with heavy metal aesthetics, set to make many of her (alleged) competitors bite the dust.
As far as I am concerned, Morrissette is already KO.