Melancholic self-pity and petulant revenge would appear to be the two main colors in Janis Ian's rather precious, nearly monochromatic rainbow. At her infrequent best, this chronically forlorn artist is sometimes able to elevate the former hue into genuinely moving introspection and the latter into valid social criticism, but too often she seems strangely content to tell us how fashionably miserable she is and that it is all our fault. Ian does not lack talent—"At Seventeen" and "Water Colors" from Between the Lines are fine songs—but could sorely use an unfettered sense of humor and the ability to separate the posture of sensitivity from the perceptions of selectivity.

Listening to Aftertones is somewhat like hearing an Amy Vanderbilt treatise on the emotional etiquette of a Doomed Outsider who "measures out the time in coffee spoons" …, ad infinitum, ad nauseam. Exceptions are the Dylanesque "Boy I Really...