One of my favourite albums of the 90s was Alanis Morrisette’s Jagged Little Pill.
Like most young women in their 20s at that time, I identified with the angst and anger in the lyrics. I turned up the volume and sang along. Here’s a snippet from You Oughta Know:
I want you to know that I'm happy for you I want nothing but the best for you both An older version of me Is she perverted like Would she go down on you in a theatre Does she speak eloquently And would she have your baby I'm sure she'd make a very excellent mother Cos the love that you gave that we made Wasn't able to make it enough for you To be open wide. No And every time you speak her name Does she know that you told me You'd hold me until you died Till you died. But you're still alive And I'm here to remind you Of the mess you left when you went away It's not fair to deny me Of the cross I bear that you gave to me
And as a petulant, snotty, young woman, who’d been slighted by a man, this line was my favourite:
And every time I scratch my nails Down someone else's back I hope you feel it Well, can you feel it?
Ah young love. Grand, wasn’t it?