What once was love is now but obligation, and soon that too will be gone, leaving the emotionally deadened narrator with only her self-doubt and the embers from her previous passions. Phair levels a fair share of her bitter resignation at her bored lover, but directs the brunt of it at her own inability to maintain a relationship. “Divorce Song” is the expression of a rage that’s collapsed under its own weight and been given up on. And Danita Sparks’ frayed howling, which grows in demented intensity as the song goes on, is pure guttural catharsis. Bare-knuckled street fighting resulting in shattered teeth and broken noses is what this tune should be a soundtrack for. Screeching, chaotic, pummeling and murderous, “Shitlist” is an anthem of wit’s end wrath. Twenty years on, it still flattens the landscape like a nuclear blast. Her “ FUCK YOU” is so much more than anger, it’s a cannonball of grief, humiliation, rage, impatience, disgust, righteousness and – significantly – liberation. The calm, restraint and even timidity that begins the phrase is obliterated in a hot second by Courtney’s sudden violence. not… yours… FUCK YOU!!!” is such a true, raw and perfect expression of feminist rage. It’s a raging song, with Apple’s marvelously textured voice giving poetry to lines like “ It’s time the truth was out that he don’t give/ A shit about me” and “ You got away with a lot/ but I’m not turned on/ So put away that meat you’re selling.” We don’t need particulars or to even know who she’s singing about to know the raw depth of feeling that she can give even the ugliest emotions. – Nathan Kamalįiona Apple may be our single most emotive living songwriter, and she has never sounded more furious than on “Get Gone.” The penultimate track on her sophomore album When the Pawn… sounds melancholy from the first few notes of a piano, but it’s not a sad song. It’s pop music in the mode of 1964, but all it takes is a moment of the lyrics “ You don’t own me/ I’m not just one of your many toys” to hear the defiance under the smooth strings. Beginning with a simple, ominous piano line, the song (written by John Madara and David White) swiftly turns huge, buoyed by Springfield’s enormous voice and palpable aggression. “You Don’t Own Me,” as recorded by British blue-eyed soul icon Dusty Springfield on her debut album A Girl Named Dusty, is a practically perfect example of the latter. It can be violent or insidious or self-destructive, but sometimes it can be a great expression of assertion. Dusty Springfield – “You Don’t Own Me”Īnger takes many forms. It’s not a song you can listen to on repeat.
Haze describes being sodomized by multiple vile predators in horrifying detail.
Angel Haze starts by threating to cut off God’s hands and it only gets darker from there. “ Parental discretion is advised” is right. Morrisette completely owns the ’90s grunge tone, which is the perfect delivery vehicle for her bile. Her lyrics are bitter, the delivery is a little insane and the end result is a blast of angsty scorn aimed at her ex and the girl that replaced her. It’s hard to talk about angry women musicians without including this song. In this case, rather than repress it or keep it private, Alanis Morrisette was driven to share her fury, contempt and pain with a chart-topping hit, written in blood. Usually, one party finds themselves blindsided, left stewing in their revenge fantasies. Break ups are seldom pretty or even handed.
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