Fiona Apple, When The Pawn ...

I have a feeling my experience with Fiona Apple is similar to most other people my age with similar musical inclinations. At least, those with whom I've discussed her ascribe similar trajectories to their relationship with her. Here it is: When Tidal came out, I thought she was a pandering, overrated, pretentious charlatan. The "Criminal" video exploited a lot of things, not least of all her body. She carried the ultimate curse for any famous woman today: she was skinny. Surely she must be anorexic! She made inflammatory, facile remarks in public, swearing just for the shock value of it, and her songs were all built from the same cloying formula of breathy vocals delivering dorm-room poetry lyrics like "The shades and shadows undulate in my perception." Ugh. Next.

So, a couple years pass. I hear she has a new album, this one with a 90-word title. Oh good, she's making it that much easier for her detractors this time. Then the cracks begin to appear in the music snobs' cynical armature: The album was produced by �berproducer Jon Brion. She was dating Paul Thomas Anderson, who also began directing her videos. These may be superficial benchmarks, but they were enough to make me hestitate before dismissively tossing my copy of Spin to the floor. My Fiona Apple Hate Machine fell to pieces on the day I saw the video for "Paper Bag". Done entirely in one shot (this is PT Anderson, after all), with muted hues and warm lighting, it was the perfect complement to the swinging sadness of the song. And the woman in the video seemed elegant, mature, confident; there were no traces of the insipid waif in the "Criminal" video just three years prior. The last hook went in when her chorus dropped away at the end of the song and those impossibly smooth french horns delivered that final bittersweet progression. I went and got the album and never looked back.

It certainly didn't hurt that it also features one of my favorite studio drummers, Matt Chamberlain (also Tori Amos' go-to guy). The vamp at the end of "On The Bound" is vintage Brion, with manic orchestral squeals and Chamberlain moving the downbeat around within the meter. Every note on this album is impeccably placed and recorded; Jon Brion's hand is definitely in the mix, but Apple is still the main attraction here. Her compositions are so much more sophisticated and engaging than on her debut album, it makes me eager for the long-awaited follow-up. "Love Ridden" finds Apple finally getting a breakup ballad right, draping lonely piano chords around an incredibly sad chorus: no, not "baby" anymore / if I need you, I'll just use your simple name / only kisses on the cheek from now on / and in a little while, we'll only have to wave.

For me, the album culminates with the dark resignation of "The Way Things Are", an unforgiving stomp with strings swooping low, tympani accenting the drum fills, sawlike electric guitar, and strident Hammond chords throughout. You hear the simple startling truth in the line How can I fight when we're on the same side / how can I fight beside you? and you realize Apple's not just cribbing from her high school notebooks anymore, she's writing from actual experience and heartbreak, and that makes it all the more satisfying to hear her come of age on this album.

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