Rotations

-- Adam Heimlich

Ani DiFranco
Little Plastic Castle
(Righteous Babe)

Ani DiFranco began as an outspoken, provocative, endlessly touring cult fave whose truly independent ways showed what "alternative" really meant, even if her songwriting had a tendency to be redundant. She turned into something rare: an excellent guitarist and an inventive singer-songwriter whose name is not preceded by the word country or traditionalist. She adamantly refuses, no matter how desperately courted, to become part of the corporate music world and releases all of her CDs on her own Righteous Babe label.

Her Not a Pretty Girl (1995) remains a perfect gem whose title track opens with the smartest lines about a woman's relationship to her appearance: "I am not a pretty girl/That is not what I do." But DiFranco's not limited to upright indignation. She has regularly expressed on her albums a poignant, nonsexualized tenderness, and she's a master of lyrics that fall somewhere between laughing and spitting. The combination of self-deprecation and disgust makes you smile, and it can be absolutely, cathartically satisfying.

A guitar player I know once described DiFranco's technique as "hardcore flatpicking," percussive and forceful, but her melodies often have a smooth groove. She heightened the sultry, danceable side on 1996's Dilate, and on her current release she alternates the grooves with an acoustic guitar assault. The title track of Little Plastic Castle features a funky backbeat punched through by horns. "Pixie" undulates with moody tape loops under gentle, get-over-it lyrics ("Maybe you don't like your job/Maybe you didn't get enough sleep/Well, nobody likes their job/... so just suck up and be nice").

Elsewhere, a great guitar-picking moment occurs on "Gravel," an old song improved here. That can't be said for the album as a whole. Almost everything on Little Plastic Castle has been done before -- and done better -- by DiFranco. Plus there are a couple of real missteps, including "Swan Dive," which boasts some interesting stuttering rhythms but goes on too long, and "Glass House," whose wah-wah guitar sounds frighteningly like a mediocre Eighties hit.

DiFranco's moods and methods can be fascinating. Despite some bright, head-turning moments, though, this album doesn't show her in top form. (P.O. Box 95, Ellicott Station, Buffalo, NY 14205)

-- Theresa Everline