WHEN ALANIS SHOWS UP IN YOUR WORKDAY PLAYLIST LIKE AN UNINVITED GUEST
WHEN ALANIS SHOWS UP IN YOUR WORKDAY PLAYLIST LIKE AN UNINVITED GUEST
here's a particular kind of musical whiplash that happens when you're deep in your daytime work playlist—emails, tabs, caffeine, mild dissociation—operating on muscle memory and productivity, and suddenly Alanis Morissette bursts in, emotionally barefoot, demanding that you feel things. Hard.
I like Alanis. I really do. Jagged Little Pill is iconic for a reason. That litany of songs was a lifeline once: raw, articulate, vulnerable, furious. She gave a voice to feelings a lot of people didn't yet know how to name. But when one of those tracks sneaks into a random workday shuffle, my immediate reaction is often:
"Gimme a break. Quit whining." And then I feel vaguely guilty for thinking it.
ere's the thing: Alanis operates at a very specific emotional frequency. Her songs aren't background music. They're active processing. She doesn't vibe quietly in the corner; she shows up, locks the door, and starts unpacking unresolved feelings with laser focus and a raised voice. That intensity is the point—and also the problem.
he best way I've found to think about Alanis Morissette's music is this: it's someone you visit, not someone you live with. She's perfect for karaoke nights, long drives, moments when you actually want to crack something open and sit with it. She's less ideal when you're mid-task and your brain is in "functional adult" mode.