When we heard Alanis Morissette had a new album coming out, the bitter (is there any other kind?) 14-year-old girl inside us was excited—or at least intrigued. Alanis hadn't really done it for us since 1995's angry woman classic Jagged Little Pill. Then she went to India, got all spiritual, and sang that song about thanking India and suddenly were older and wiser and had discovered better music. But when we read that she'd written her new album, Flavors of Entanglement, amid her breakup with actor Ryan Reynolds, the frosted-lipstick-wearer within wondered if this just might be a triumphant return to rage-filled form for Alanis.

What could bring back that jagged little pill better than a big breakup, one in which her ex ended up with the notoriously STD-free Scarlett Johansson, no less?

Sadly, Flavors of Entanglement is no Jagged Little Pill 2. There are rare moments of rockin' female rage, but there are many more moments of dreadful song writing and grating over-production. The album opens with "Citizen Of The Planet." The husky, talky opening works well enough until the chorus comes in, with roaring guitars and a screaming, low-rent Kelly Clarkson declaration: "I am a citizen of the planet." Then there's your poppier "Straightjacket," which is just a bit too reminiscent of Britney Spear's "Crazy." Producer Guy Sigsworth, of electronic duo Frou Frou, seems to have tried to update our mid-90s anti-heroine with vocal tweaks, funky beats, and eastern rhythms, but his production talents only serve to work against the rawness that once made Morissette appealing.

Elsewhere, she tries quiet earnestness with no more success. On "Torch" she sings, "I miss your smell and your style / Miss your approach to life." Over a slow piano, her voice does its trademark crackle over "life," making the one-syllable word into two. She continues, "These are not times for the weak of heart / I miss your warmth and the thought of bringing up our kids." Such songs don't summon breakup empathy; they make for an awkward, uncomfortable listen. It's like sitting with a depressed friend drinking syrupy wine coolers while she reveals too much about how hard losing Billy is hitting her. You want to sympathize, but she speaks so candidly and so cornily about the whole affair you really just want to slap her.

The woman who once penned the classic break-up lyric "Would she go down on you in a theatre?" has grown-up and gone soft, with songwriting that leaves quite a bit to be desired, even with a juicy, ScarJo-enhanced breakup for inspiration. We hate to say it, but maybe she should take a different sort of inspiration from her ex's new fiancée and think about doing a covers album.