Pitchfork

If the CD packaging (which presents her as seven women in different walks of life) and the title track are any indication, Natalie Merchant thinks her of new release, Ophelia, as the album of everywoman. And if Merchant's view of the life of everywoman is correct, we're all in trouble.

Blessed with a voice nearly as haunting as Linda Thompson's, Merchant ultimately lacks Thompson's range of emotional expression. While Thompson convincingly sang of both human frailty and celebration, Merchant seems only to see life's underside, making a career out of wrapping one of rock's finest voices around somber, yet sticky sweet melodies.

At her best, Merchant is able to offset her often- preachy lyrics with charmingly understated production. Sadly, this album lacks the warmth of her best work, flaunting musical overstatement that matches the artist's bloated sense of self- importance. Merchant is still a master of melody, but trite string arrangements and excessive background vocals drown the dreary skeletons of songs, leaving Ophelia a volume of half- realized, plodding ballads. "My Skin" and the Scottish folk dirge "When They Ring The Golden Bells" are quietly endearing and Daniel Lanois' guitar work on "Thick As Thieves" is enough to rouse a sleepy listener, but the rest of Ophelia does its best to rectify that situation.

Ophelia is dedicated to beat poet Allen Ginsberg, but it's far from a fitting tribute. Merchant ought to do herself a favor and revisit the work of her hipster friend. Like Merchant's songs, Ginsberg's poems are narrated by the voice of the voiceless and littered with thoughts, emotions and characters generally ignored or avoided by society. However, Merchant's songs and characters sorely lack the pride, vision and sense of urgency infused throughout Ginsberg's work and, as a result, come off as sorry complaints rather than biting social commentary.