Ms. Carson's latest paean to her preciousness leaves this listener wondering how anyone so minimally talented can continue to find labels willing to distribute this solipsistic, self-absorbed school-girl drivel. The waif-like vocal stylings, designed to enfold us into a confessional embrace is only enervating, never liberating, for in these confessions the direction is always down, the atmosphere always joyless.This is third-generation Plath, second generation Joni, but without insight or humor, just suburban petulance and fake mysticism.