Avril Lavigne "Under My Skin" Album

	Title: Under My Skin Format: Album Label: Arista Released: 2004-05-25
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Reviews

Part of Avril Lavigne's appeal -- a large part of it, actually -- is that she's a brat, acting younger than her 17 years on her 2002 debut, , and never seeming like she much cared about the past (she notoriously mispronounced David Bowie's name when reading Grammy nominations), or anything for that matter. She lived for the moment, she partied with sk8er bois, she didn't want anything complicated, and she sang in a flat, plain voice that illustrated her age as much as her silly, shallow lyrics. Those words got disproportionate attention because they were so silly and shallow, but most listeners just didn't care because, thanks to producer gurus the Matrix, they were delivered in a shiny package filled with incessant, nagging hooks -- a sound so catchy it came to define the mainstream not long after hit the radio. The Matrix became ubiquitous on the strength of their work with Lavigne, who herself became a big star, earning constant play on radio and MTV, kick starting a fashion trend of ties-n-tank tops for girls and inexplicably providing a touchstone for indie rock queen Liz Phair's mainstream makeover. Fame, however, didn't pull the two camps together; it pushed them their separate ways, as the Matrix went on to record their own album and Avril decided to turn serious, working with a variety of co-writers and producers, including fellow Canadian singer/songwriter Chantal Kreviazuk, for her second album, 2004's . Lavigne hasn't only shed her trademark ties for thrift-shop skirts, she's essentially ditched the sound of too, bringing herself closer to the mature aspirations of fellow young singer/songwriter Michelle Branch. Since Avril is still a teenager and still a brat, it's livelier than Branch. Even when it sags under minor keys and mid-tempos, it's fueled on teen angst and a sense of entitled narcissism, as if she's the first to discover the joys of love and pain of heartache. In a sense, she comes across as Alanis Morissette's kid sister, especially now that the Matrix are gone and the hooks have been pushed to the background for much of the record; it's the teen spin on , where she's self-consciously trying to grow as an artist. Naturally, this means that is less fun than since there's nothing as giddy as "Sk8er Boi," even if much of it is written from a similarly adolescent vantage. Lavigne's collaborators, Kreviazuk and Evan Taubenfeld chief among them, have helped streamline her awkward writing, and her performances are also assured, which almost makes up for the thinness of her voice, which sounds far younger than the meticulous arrangements around it. So, is a bit awkward, sometimes sounding tentative and unsure, sometimes clicking and surging on Avril's attitude and ambition. But it's telling that the one song that really catches hold on the first listen and stands out on repeated spins is "He Wasn't," the fastest, loudest, catchiest, and best song here, and the one closest to the spirit and sound of -- it's not that Lavigne hasn't matured, but it's that her talents are better suited on music that's a little less contemplative and deliberate than. ~Stephen Thomas Erlewine, All Music Guide.

With her breakthrough 2002 debut, Let Go, Avril Lavigne tried to market herself as the bona fide alternative to tarty teen queens, Britney and Christina. Her guitar-pop hits were irresistibly bratty but the whole "Complicated" teen pose was a little hard to swallow, especially since two songwriters called the Matrix--who had at least twenty years on the Canadian singer--fed her most of the material. Having had the chance to live a little, Lavigne returns to make good on her angsty image with Under My Skin, an album rippling with delightfully dour melodies and heartfelt lyrics about loneliness ("How Does It Feel") and fractured relationships ("Don't Tell Me"). Is it cliched? Sure. Will it scare off her necktie and t-shirt wearing fans? Possibly. But there's nothing quite as satisfying as watching a teen-pop icon actually reveal her soul. ~Jaan Uhelszki, Amazon.com.

With her self-penned songs stamping a bovver-boot over the vagaries of adolescent angst, this tomboy of teen rock kicked into the chart two years ago, providing a refreshing alternative to the bubbling broth of confectionary pop.
So, has the 19-year-old matured from the punk pixie doing time in the skate park and finding things just oh-so complicated? Well, the stock loaded guitar riffs, ambling piano melodies and brooding vocals suggest that Avril is desperate to ditch the mantle of youth and be taken seriously as an artiste.
But this is where she goes wrong. We enter the world of dating with Avril and what a gloomy, dire place it is. Too many tracks, such as 'Take Me Away' and 'My Happy Ending', pivot on the pain and despair of relationships going off the boil and, despite the stadium-rousing choruses, her whiney vocals and trite lyrics imply that madam is merely having a strop rather than wearing the hair shirt of Alanis Morrissette-style suffering.
'Don't Tell Me' turns all coy with the finger-wagging warning to her boyfriend, "Did I not tell you that I'm not like that girl, the one who gives it all away". So it's with relief that 'He Wasn't' leaps out with all the plucky cheek of old-skool Avril. A punchy chorus harks back to the kohl-lined rock chicks of yesteryear but possesses enough contemporary verve to set it up alongside the best of Busted. Similarly, the final track on the album, 'I Always Get What I Want' delivers a healthy slap in the face of authority, smacks heavily of Transvision Vamp and suggests that Avril isn't quite ready to grow up.
The combined writing efforts of band mate, Evan Taubenfeld, ex Evanescence guitarist Ben Moody and the watchful eye of Linkin Park producer Da Gilmore infuse the album with a nu-metal edge that might levitate this release from the ashes of forgettable rock but until Avril learns to take herself a little less seriously and manage a glimmer of a smile, she will continue to sound like a petulant teenager having a strop. ~Annabel Leathes, BBC.