The songs on Melissa Etheridge's new album, "Lucky," sound like the samples that didn't make it onto her previous effort, "Skin." While it is refreshing that there are still women in the business who play and write their own music, this album begs the question, "Why didn't somebody else write the music to this one?"
The only song Etheridge did not write or co-write is "Breathe." Unfortunately, those assistant writers fell into the same trap Etheridge did -- sounding like all the other songs. It isn't until the sixth song, "Secret Agent," that Etheridge breaks free of the common sound that pervades the previous tracks. While it's a nice break from the monotony, it is not enough to redeem the album. The heavy drums and low, thumping guitar at the beginning give listeners a reason to be excited for the first time on the album, but that excitement dies as soon as Etheridge begins singing.
Only at moments does the intensity of her vocals compare to the intensity of the rhythmic sound behind her. The remainder of the time she constrains herself to the same lazy singing she uses for most of the album. The only other song with any amount of passionate singing is "Giant," which sounds very similar to "Secret Agent." By the time listeners get to "Giant," they should not be surprised that there is already a song on the album that sounds just like this one.
It is difficult to notice that the content of the lyrics varies because of their poor quality. Rather than coming across as the words of an experienced adult and songwriter, they appear to belong to a fourth-grade class project on poetry.
"Tuesday Morning," a song about Flight 93 (the flight that crashed into rural Pennsylvania rather than another city on Sept. 11 due to the heroics of the passengers), exemplifies this perfectly. Etheridge gives tiny snippets of normal everyday lives of Americans as a symbol of the kinds of lives lost in the event and then sings in the chorus, "You can't erase this/You can't pretend this is not the truth."
Such an event deserves a lot more than a statement of the obvious. If there were a moment to exercise a little creative freedom on the album, this song would be the place to do it. Maybe the lyrics would not come across as elementary if the music supporting it captured listeners' ears. Instead, the music is just another version of every other song.
With the exception of the praiseworthy wailing in "Secret Agent" and "Giant," Etheridge sings as if she were afraid of scaring a small child. In the title track she sings, "I want to ride with my Angel and live shockingly." Perhaps all this living drained Etheridge of the energy needed to make this a good album. It plays more like an obligation Etheridge has to her record label than a genuine effort to be artistic and creative. This album might be acceptable if this were a first-time effort by a brand-new artist.
Listeners expect a lot more from a woman who is one of few females in rock 'n' roll these days, and Etheridge should expect the same. Instead, she seems to be pushing toward a pop-music sound. If this is the case, she fails. Despite its superficiality and cheesiness, pop music can still be pretty catchy no matter how badly one does not want to admit it. Etheridge falls short of even this. The similarity between the songs only enhances the boredom found in each. And why does this album sound so much like her previous album? Maybe the science of cloning humans has not been mastered, but Etheridge has undoubtedly mastered the science of cloning songs.
Between these two albums, her greatest achievement has been getting Jennifer Aniston to be in the video for "I Wanna Be In Love" from her previous album. Maybe Etheridge can save herself by getting Demi Moore to be in an upcoming video, but that probably would not be enough.
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