Being a serious respecter of both all things '90's and nearly all things music, I really feel like Sarah McLachlan has put me in a sticky situation. I remember standing in line for her "I Will Remember You" cassette tape single; "Ice Cream" was featured on the B-side, and that was a fantastic track, too (which was crazy rare for B-side promos.). I journeyed to Lilith Fair '97 at the old Starplex Ampitheatre just to see her. My then-boyfriend went with me hours before Sarah's showtime to brave all of the tree huggers and Doc Marten-wearing-in-the-summertime lesbians. Yes, I did use brave as a verb in that sentence. I was forced to sit through post-Jagged Little Pill Alanis Morissette, The Cardigans (love me, love me, sayyyy that you love me!) Suzanne Vega, Paula Cole, etc. The sheer amount of one hit wonders combined with rogue female body hair and flannel was enough to make this girl almost give up her lawn seats, but it was all worth it when Sarah came out, belting out her latest aria, "Angel." Simply. Divine.
So, imagine my disappointment when I am forced to sit through super-sad, mangy puppy commercials put to once-amazing music with not one pair of eyes more depressing than the crooner's herself. She doesn't, even once, look hopeful during the entire duration of the million-minute ASPCA time slot. The viewer does not read from Ms. McLachlan's visage that each day the New York-based nonprofit has never reported earnings lower that $132k in decades. That's earnings, as in "in the black." Daily. Now I completely get that no animal in the United States should be allowed to be abused, and the rescue has cared for and placed so many animals that otherwise might not have had a chance. However . . . as a woman who just watched the "Feed the Children" commercial ten minutes ago, watching children with flies buzzing around their heads and no fresh water (which I also get are oftentimes staged for maximum effect,) I have already determined where my $10 is going. Humans v.s. pets; for me, there has never even been a question.
Alright, back to the crux of my irritation: Sarah McLachlan. I really feel as though "Angel" should now be reserved for terrorist interrogations and perhaps a gifted download for a person you hope to never have to call you ever, ever again. That's where I am on her voice at this point. I hear "Sweet Surrender" playing in a department store somewhere, and I'm out. I surrender, Sarah. I surrender.
