Alanis Morissette, Souleye

[VELVET HAND IN IRON POCKET] As much as there's something admirable about Alanis Morissette's reluctance to temper the stridency of passion that rewrote expectations for alt-rock's better half in those waning days of grunge, a voice so perfectly pitched to howl the torments of the wronged still requires objects to fuel her disaffection. Traditionally, an artist with her peculiar gift for melding impossibly wordy sentiments to stirring melodies would've inevitably been drawn toward protest anthems. But clear perspective—this is a woman emotionally devastated by Dave Coulier and Ryan Reynolds—and interests beyond the strictly personal (no, thank you, India) have never been strong suits. Latest album Havoc and Bright Lights reveals a generally content young mother speaking about her life with aggression undimmed, and it's all rather like cloudless skies on your wedding day: pleasant, we're sure, but one needn't yell.