Alanis Morissette new album review: Such Pretty Forks In The Road is full of likeable melodies

Alanis Morissette’s new album, Such Pretty Forks In The Road, may not pack the punch of Jagged Little Pill but it’s full of likeable melodies

Alanis Morissette           Such Pretty Forks In The Road                   Out now

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A quiz question for you. Alanis Morissette’s last album, released in 2012, was called… what? The answer turns out to be Havoc And Bright Lights. It reached No. 12 in the UK chart, which goes to show that a record can sell thousands of copies and still sink without trace.

Her new album opens with the line, ‘This is a life of extremes.’ She can say that again. The fates catapulted her from nowhere to everywhere and most of the way back. Now things are looking up again. 

At the Shepherd’s Bush Empire in London in March Alanis Morissette had 2,000 people singing every word of the old hits – no mean task

At the Shepherd’s Bush Empire in London in March Alanis Morissette had 2,000 people singing every word of the old hits – no mean task

Her monster-selling masterpiece, Jagged Little Pill, has become a hit musical. At the Shepherd’s Bush Empire in London in March she had 2,000 people singing every word of the old hits – no mean task, as she was never one to let the demands of scansion impinge on what she wanted to say.

Aged 46, married with three children under ten, Alanis must have a very different life from the 21-year-old who became the spokeswoman for the angsty young people of the mid-1990s. But you wouldn’t know it from the new album. To Jagged Little Pill, a solid little sister.

The melodies of Such Pretty Forks In The Road are likeable, while never quite packing the punch of You Oughta Know. The subject matter has moved on, to parenting and the patriarchy

The melodies of Such Pretty Forks In The Road are likeable, while never quite packing the punch of You Oughta Know. The subject matter has moved on, to parenting and the patriarchy

Alanis and her co-writer Mike Farrell have dug out the recipe she and Glen Ballard were using in 1995: simple folky chords, big anthemic choruses, shamelessly over-sharing lyrics. The songwriter in her keeps setting tests for the singer, from mistimed stresses to mouthfuls of psycho-jargon and a whole track (Smiling) with no rhymes. Somehow the singer passes with flying colours.

The melodies are likeable, while never quite packing the punch of You Oughta Know. The subject matter has moved on, to parenting and the patriarchy, and may well carry the old fans with it. Alanis is like that friend of yours who comes round and talks about herself, but is so genuine that you soon forgive her. And the bottom line is this: she’s your friend.