Under my Skin

Avril Lavigne has never been the easiest of artists to figure out. Is she a skate-punk princess or a black nail-varnish-wearing Britney? Is she a real songwriter or just a pretender who insists on adding her name to the credits? Controversy swirled around the Canadian’s last opus, the 14 million-selling debut album Let Go, with crack songwriting squad the Matrix claiming to have almost entirely written the hits and Lavigne counter-claiming that this was nonsense.
Whatever the truth, on Lavigne’s sophomore release, the Matrix are gone and the likes of Ben Moody (ex-Evanescence), Chantal Kreviazuk (a Canadian singer-songwriter) and Lavigne’s guitarist Evan Taubenfeld have been hired in their stead. Lavigne has been at pains to point out she wrote many of the lyrics herself – and, having listened to the album, I’d believe her.
With the exception of the smartly individual and melodic lead single ‘Don’t Tell Me’, these lyrics sound exactly like they were penned by a 19-year-old and carefully edited by a bunch of suits. There are no clangers here, but no fireworks, either. The broad (and bland) themes of the record are these: boys have done Lavigne wrong; life is difficult; she is not a sk8r girl, but not yet a sk8r woman.
If Lavigne’s attitude is somewhat confused, her music is shiny with purpose. Super-catchy choruses dominate and virtually every track comes on like it’s aiming for world domination. This is impressive in small doses, but terribly wearing in large.
That said, Lavigne has a strong, distinctive voice and the good sense to avoid any horrendous Mariah Carey-style warblings. On Under My Skin, she has also managed to maintain her unusual-for-these-times air of inscrutability that will keep her critics guessing. Is Lavigne a pop starlet? A teen rebel? A top-secret scientific experiment hatched in a laboratory by industry execs? Who knows? But remember: Marilyn Manson thinks she’s weird.
Give the girl time; she’ll break out yet.