It can't be easy selling 28 million copies of what is effectively your debut album, just ask Alanis Morissette who in 1995 found herself catapulted into the mainstream collective consciousness with 'Jagged Little Pill'. Neatly filling the role of Courtney Love's more palatable younger sister, Morisette mixed the fury and noise of grunge with neat pop melodies, a pretty face and the classic vulnerability of the best singer songwriters. Along with the likes of Sheryl Crow and Tori Amos she pushed the female singer songwriter genre right back to centre stage and spawned an army of imitators, most of whom faded back to obscurity soon after (where are you now Meredeth Brooks eh?). By rights such sudden success shouldn't have gone to her head, Morissette after all had had in effect a trial run as a pop starlet in her native Canada between the ages of 16 to 18.

So four years on and in the face of declining audiences for the genre she helped revitalise, Morissette has a lot of ground to make up with 'Under Rug Swept'. Initial signs don't look too promising, Morissette has split with producer/co-writer Glen Ballard who presided over 'Jagged...' and much of 'Supposed...' and has opted for self production, all too often the last refuge of the over inflated artistic ego. So it is something of a pleasant surprise to announce that 'Under Rug Swept' is Morissette's finest album to date by quite some margin, largely returning to the territory she so thrilling inhabited on 'Jagged Little Pill' but also suggesting artistic progression. Gone are the unwieldy dictatorial swathes of lyrics that characterised 'Supposed...' and in their place are driving melodies, tangible and effective hooks and sharp witty couplets that cut to the point rather then giving us a complete emotional history. Unashamed pop rock tracks such as flyer single 'Hands Clean' and 'Surrendering' see Alanis setting out her stall: strong choruses, lashings of guitar and plenty of bite in the vocals.

The album kicks off with a crashing guitar line and a throaty vocal, which serves to confirm that the ghost of 'Supposed...' has been firmly banished from the recording studio. '21 Things That I Want in a Lover' is the closest to old school Alanis present here. Full on and passionate, in most hands the volume of lyrics in the verse would overwhelm the listener but the unrelenting guitar roar keeps them in line, marrying them to a marching melody and leading into a neat low strung chorus. Alanis sets out her criteria for the ideal man, but hinting that she knows better; admitting "Not necessarily needs / But qualities that I prefer." The superb little twist in the middle eight and the sudden fade out on conclusion create a startling curtain raiser.

The crucial evidence for Alanis' musical growth however is kept on the album's two pivotal tracks, 'At the Particular Time' and 'Flinch'. Never previously a great strength these two songs represent a textbook example of how to write and perform a strong ballad. 'At That Particular Time' despite its weak title is already making a strong case for my favourite song of the year (and its only June!). Beautifully paced and built on a bleak and sparse canvass of piano and subtle strings, Alanis sings with moving guilt, regret and elegant beauty. The contrast from the harsh screeching of 'You Oughta Know' could hardly be greater. The melody is gentle but memorable and moves seamlessly from verse to a stirring chorus before soaring into the middle eight that eventually crashes down in a wave of pathos and the repeated line "I'm sorry I lost myself." The lyric meanwhile represents an adult reflection on the end of a love affair rather then childish recrimination; she highlights her own mistakes as much as that of the former partner.

Thankfully however, Morisette has not lost her knack for penning a winning pop song either. Flyer single 'Hands Clean' hits all the right marks as a perfect piece of pop/rock, although its somewhat subdued chart success suggests the musical climate has moved on, since 'Jagged Little Pill'. The clever mix of the girlish acoustic verses, a tension building middle eight and a pile driving electric driven hook laden chorus works wonders and seems perfect FM radio material. Again Morisette has calmed the bile in the lyrics, letting the actions of her former lover speak for themselves. The bite is more in the music, with the contrast between the razor sharp acoustics in the verse and the pounding electrics of the chorus making the point more elegantly then a whole essay of poisoned prose. Add to this the lovely swirl of the middle eight, and you have one of the finest singles of this year to date (although admittedly the competition hasn't exactly been tough so far).

'Surrendering' provides the final piece of this accessible trilogy, quick paced and instantly foot tapping in its syncopation and jarring guitar lines. The odd little flute line which opens the song, and the hint of sitars in the guitar mix give the track an original feel, whilst the chorus is once again text book stuff, with an adhesive melody and driving beat. The guitars pound away in the background in a particularly startling manner, always teetering on the edge of dominating the proceedings, but reigned back by the sheer power of the vocal melody.