Fiona Apple: The Caged Birds Sings
Chris Heath, Rolling Stone, 22 January 1998
WHEN FIONA Apple pulls into a new town — some place where she has never been before but where tonight there is a theater with her name on, and an audience waiting to suck in her pushy, poignant songs of disaffection and self-reliance — she takes a peculiar pleasure in picking up a copy of the local newspaper and reading its short, skewed, action-packed summary of her life and credentials. "Fiona, who said something bad at the MTV awards," she offers, by way of example, "who was in therapy as a child, who was ugly but now is pretty..."
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