Like A Hangnail
One thing is made very clear during Ms. Lavigneâ€šÃ„Ã´s latest album Under My Skin – she doesnâ€šÃ„Ã´t want to talk about it. The exact cause of her angst is never explained, and her attempts at reflection fall flat. ClichâˆšÂ©â€šÃ„Ã´s run rampant in this album, and the music is too weak to support the awful songwriting.This disc doesnâ€šÃ„Ã´t aim to do more than appease the pop fan base, which has a habit of quickly moving on to fresh meat. The only song that shows any sign of good production is â€šÃ„ÃºMy Happy Ending,â€šÃ„Ã¹ on which Lavigneâ€šÃ„Ã´s vocals are actually complimented by her music. She still succumbs to the tired practice of unending, ever-repeating choruses, but at least this song is tolerable.
In the past Lavigne has been able to create catchy melodies â€šÃ„Ã¬ who can even think the name â€šÃ„ÃºSk8er Boiâ€šÃ„Ã¹ without getting it stuck in their head? But this disc is entirely lacking of them. In â€šÃ„ÃºHow Does It Feel?â€šÃ„Ã¹ little more is said than the repeated song title and a series of â€šÃ„Ãºahh ahhh ahhhâ€šÃ„Ã¹â€šÃ„Ã´s.
Throughout the album Lavigneâ€šÃ„Ã´s lyrics have her looking outward rather than inside for genuine reflection. Though she fails to reach much emotional depth, it is likely a reflection of her age and inexperience. Despite all this, remember that Lavigne writes her own work â€šÃ„Ã¬ even if she does so badly. Considering the current state of young girlsâ€šÃ„Ã´ role models, itâ€šÃ„Ã´s nice to see an artist who writes her own lyrics and stays relatively clothed at the same time. Though she comes off just as manufactured as the rest, Lavigne is a less bitter flavor of pop tart.