Avril Lavignes first record since the beginning of Barack Obamas second term (in other words, seemingly centuries ago) finds everyones favorite arrested-development case emerging from a physically and emotionally debilitating time. She divorced husband number two, Nickelbacks Chad Kroeger, and was diagnosed with Lyme disease so severe that she was bed-ridden for a period. Alas, Head Above Water is neither a concept album about the life of a liquid-terrified tick nor one about Kroeger; Lavigne insists their breakup was amicable, and her ex is thanked in the credits for beginning this album with me and seeing it through to the end.
The record nonetheless comes with its own twist. Along with sophomore slumps, breakup albums remain one of pops most enduring traditions. But rarely has anyone sounded both as wrecked andrejuvenated over the course of the same record as on Head Above Water, which is an ongoing mood swing set to music. The Lavigne heard at the beginning of the record is almost an entirely different person by the end; the hard part is figuring out which part you like more.
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For roughly the first third of the album, the heartbroken Lavigne is in sight. Shes fighting the calm before the storm, is locked up in a cage called love and fell in love with the devil. These songs are largely steeped in the sort of rain-lashed sludge rock heard on (surprise!) Nickelback records. Theyre like Blood on the Processed Tracks.
About halfway through, she sounds as if she popped an antidepressant on the way to the studio. Like a teenager after her first major date, shes dreaming of riding bikes at sunset by the ocean and rhyming pajamas with bananas as he sings about her new lover finding her sexy. Aptly, the musical settings are far lighter: Suddenly, were in the land of carefully plucked acoustic guitars, finger-snapping pop and self-empowerment life lessons. Dumb Blonde, her kiss-off to those who are quick to condescend/Well, you think Im empty, Im not, lurches jarringly into rap-metal turf in its chorus, complete with a Nicki Minaj cameo.
Whatever mode shes in, Lavignes never sounded stronger or more vocally confident. Her half-yodel on Love Me Insane is a hook in itself. And both sides of Lavigne have their merits. Shes guardedly optimistic about a new love in Souvenir and appropriately giddy on Bigger Wow, which seems destined to be a summer jam.
But as on her second album, 2004s Under My Skin, shes just more compelling and far less generic as a troubled adult. With its gloomy, feet-crunching-in snow beats, Birdie overcomes its clich-a-verse lyric and, her voice spiraling up, breaks free of her burdens. She also sounds more convincing comparing herself to a Viking in the Kroeger-cowritten Warrior than going the power-balladeer route in Tell Me Its Over. You hate to tell someone to stay distraught, but turmoil really suits her.