Even though she's not quite as overt about it as or , remains one of 's expert chameleons. Her ever-changing sound keeps her music open to interpretation, and her seventh album, , is no different in that it departs from what came before it. -- a title that can be pronounced and interpreted as an affirmation, a gasp, a sigh, or a laugh -- is, as promised, darker and rawer than the manicured . That album was a bid for the mainstream that said she made just to see if she could; this album sounds like she made it because she had to. However, despite the playful tantrum and the noisy mix of pent-up erotic longing and frustration that is isn't the redux that one might envision as a reaction to the previous album's gloss. Instead, uses some of each of the sounds and ideas that she has explored throughout her career. The gallery of self-portraits, juxtaposed with snippets of 's notebooks, gracing 's liner notes underscores the feeling of culmination and moving forward. The results aren't exactly predictable, though, and that's part of what makes songs like interesting. Earlier in 's career, a track like this probably would have exploded in feral fury, but here it simmers with a crawling tension, switching atmospheric keyboards for searing guitars. Indeed, keyboards and odd instrumental flourishes abound on , making it the most sonically interesting album since Lyrically, heartache, sex, and feminine roles are still 's bread and butter, but she manages to find something new in these themes each time she returns to them. is an especially striking example: a beautifully creepy murder , the song conjures images of hidden feminine power -- a pocketknife concealed by a wedding dress -- as well as lyrics like "I'm not trying to cause a fuss/I just wanna make my own fuck-ups." meanwhile, is nearly as direct and vulnerable as anything that appeared on . isn't perfect; the track listing feels top-loaded, some of the later songs, such as and come close to sounding like generic (if such a thing is possible), and the minute-long track of crying seagulls is either a distraction or a palate cleanser, depending on your outlook. Still, does so many things right, like the gorgeous, -tinged and the stripped-down beauty of (one of a handful of short, glimpse-like songs that give the album an organic ebb and flow), that its occasional stumbles are worth overlooking. Perhaps the most nuanced album in 's body of work, balances her bold and vulnerable moments, but remains vital. ~ Heather Phares