Like streaking naked at your grandmother’s funeral, duetting with Christina Aguilera,
Lil’ Kim and Mya on ‘Lady Marmalade’ might raise your profile,
but it isn’t going to win you any respect. So, if sense prevailed, Pink‘s credibility recovery
should start here.
It doesn’t. Because while the language bending of ‘M!ssundaztood”s title suggests
hip-hop trickery, it really spells out – albeit badly – a case of mistaken identity.
No longer content with cruising the pop/R&B interface, this is where Pink ditches the
sassy street style to reveal her ambition to be an Alanis Morissette-style singer-songwriter.
So, rather than draft in The Neptunes or Timbaland to add some spectacular sheen, over half
this album was co-written and produced by a talent as stellar as Linda Perry of ancient
moan rockers 4 Non Blondes.
It works for the red-raw confessional ‘Family Portrait’, but everything else is so
bad Natalie Imbruglia would be proud. So ‘Don’t Let Me Get In’ and ‘Dear Diary’
see all pop joy expunged for acoustic seriousness, dreary unobtrusive beats and lyrics about
relationship woes and record company badness. It gets worse, as she trills throughout
like an Aguilera-clone, fatuously compares her childhood to savage fighting in South
East Asia on ‘My Vietnam’ or displays the kind of clod-hopping attention-seeking on single
‘Get The Party Started’ that makes you assume you’re listening to a Geri Halliwell record.
Remarkably, merely by being upbeat, it’s one of the best tracks here.
It’s bad. Don’t misunderstand us now.