Jagged Little Pill, Allison

Two days before our wedding, my then-fiance and I watched the cast of Broadway's Jagged Little Pill on Good Morning America. The full cast sang "You Learn" in a context-less performance that I found charmingly nostalgic yet somewhat underwhelming.

"Wait, so who sings this?" my partner asked between bites of his oatmeal. "Alanis Morissette? I could not possibly relate to this less."

I married him anyway.

I think a lot of women in my demographic (suburban-raised white women in their 30s) felt a kinship to Alanis. As a teen whose music tastes leaned more pop-punk and indie rock, I liked the way Alanis blended her singer-songwriter vibes with grungy-rock energy. She wasn't as hard and messy as Courtney Love, but she wasn't as soft and sleepy as Jewel. She was singing about female sexuality, but she wasn't doing it like Britney and Christina. She was an artist for the other girls.

That said, for as strongly as a few of these songs still resonate with me, I was only eight when this album was released. I don't think I've ever actually listened to the album in its entirety. I only knew the singles going into this review.

First, I was struck by how theatrical the album felt. The first three tracks are a full-body experience. "All I Really Want" and "You Oughta Know" (more on that in a second) are honest, abrasive, in-your-face songs. A little messy, a little desperate. Arms wide open—speaking her truth. Suddenly, "You Oughta Know" smashes into "Perfect". Suddenly, she's timid, melancholy. Later on, "Forgiven" and "Mary Jane" add more layers to the narrative. This is as much of an album as is it a collection of short stories. I'm surprised it took this long to turn it into a musical.

Back to "You Oughta Know". It was the first single which feels like a bold move. That's like showing up to a first date with a t-shirt reading "I've got baggage!" Not only that, it's on the album twice! It closes out the album as if she's coming back to remind you, "—and another thing!" Alanis is not going away quietly. It's pretty rad.

It even won Best Rock Song at the 1996 Grammys. Yet, I've recently noticed that it is often referenced for comedy's sake. The song becoming a parody of itself. On The Office, Kevin Malone sings it with searing sincerity. On 30 Rock, Liz Lemon, alone in her apartment, sings it drunkenly into an empty bottle of wine. In the slept-on coming-of-age film Booksmart, the introverted awkward nerd-girl comes out of her shell by karaoking it for a room full of her peers. It's become the ultimate sad-sack swan song. Regardless, 25 years later, as I was reminded this week, it's still a perfect song to shout-sing in your shower.

Isn't it iconic, don't you think?

(By the way, my husband has still not listened to a single Alanis song. I guess marriage is about choosing your battles. You live, you learn.)