Yup, trust me Fiona, you will be cringing--hard.

By now, the litany of Fiona Apple's media misdeeds is so well-known as to be legendary: There was the "Go with yourself" outburst at the MTV Video Music Awards (second only to Sally Field's Oscar-night "You like me!" on the Awards-Acceptance-Embarrassment-O-Meter); her Thanksgiving entreaty on behalf of PETA urging people to call Butterball and "let them know that there is no proper way to kill and cook these beautiful birds" ("beautiful birds"--we're talking about turkeys, right?); and, of course, her relationship with pseudo-hip David Copperfield wannabe David Blaine (call me shallow, but I can't help but see dating a magician as anything less than embarrassing).

All of which has helped Apple become more famous for using her mouth to spout off than to sing, which is too bad, since her voice is quite nice indeed. In fact, Fiona Apple is something rare, a natural talent, and when she first burst on the scene last year, she was something even more rare: unspoiled.

It was inevitable that after two years of living in that alternate reality we call the music industry, Apple--whose debut album Tidal has gone double-platinum and just snared a Grammy for Best Female Rock Performance--would become consumed by her own hype, transforming from a sensitive singer-songwriter sitting cautiously behind her piano on the Lilith Fair tour into a spinning, dancing, arena-headlining diva with Important Things To Say, all in the blink of an eye (or, more accurately, in the five-minute span of her "Criminal" video, which used fancy photography and very little clothing to rocket Apple to top 10 fame).

But really, how can you blame Apple for becoming increasingly annoying under the spotlight? After all, she was 19 when she became a pop icon--she was bound to become a laughing stock. I mean, let's face it, there are very few 19-year-olds who aren't.

Had the cameras been pointed my way when I was 19, back in '91, I would have seized the opportunity to issue very serious pronouncements against the Gulf War, bitterly denounce all women (I had just been dumped, and for good reason), question parental authority, pontificate about the Important Play I wrote, and strongly advocate the legalization of pot. In other words, I would have ended up looking like a real asshole.

Such is the case with Fiona, who had the world's ear before she realized she might not have anything to say. Of course, she has plenty to say when it comes to her songwriting, which so far has focused on the one subject on which Apple is an expert: herself. Specifically, her feelings, her emotions, how Fiona deals with the world. It's when she's tackled the outside world that she has sounded the most ridiculous. One week, she's on MTV imploring fans not to follow the advice of pop stars, the next she's crusading for PETA, urging fans to, well, follow her advice.

But there is no contradiction in her music. Despite some songs on Tidal that sound like tortured, overly-melodramatic entries from my kid sister's diary, Apple's singing and songwriting largely bespeak, as I'm far from the first to point out, an experience beyond her years. When she sings, in "Never Is A Promise," that, "My fever burns me deeper than I've ever shown," we believe her, not just because her voice sounds like it's holding back from unleashing all the pain of her past, but also because we know so much about that past.

Much has been made of Apple's tragic life history, a darkness which no doubt explains her need to express herself so insistently and have millions upon millions take notice. But unfortunately, the more Apple has told her story, and especially the more writers (myself included) have recounted it for her, the more it has become trivialized. In most Lilith overviews, there seems to be little distinction made between Apple's horrific rape at age 12 and Jewel's plucky survival in Alaska--they're both just two hot young girls who overcame the odds and went on to become pop stars.

But unlike Jewel, Apple embraces complex, difficult, disturbing emotions and ideas in her songwriting (Jewel fans can send their hate mail to me at home) because she feels she has to. Apple has always appeared to be the real deal, a young (now 20) woman speaking her mind without filter, and that's what's inspired both intense devotion from her fans and intense hostility from her detractors, most of whom seem to expect public figures to only say brilliant things.

Because she became so famous so quickly, because she went from insecure fangirl to rock superstar in the space of a year, and at such a young age, Apple's fans have bonded with her in a way few artists inspire. While she has attracted admirers across the demographic spectrum, her fiercest defenders are the teenage girls who feel that Apple speaks for them, because she is one of them.

Fiona herself has said as much. "See, I'm not trying to kiss ass here," she declared in an Internet posting, "but I really can't even see you guys as 'fans'. It's as though I've introduced myself to you through my music, and you have, through your acceptance, understanding, and enthusiastic sensitivity, declared yourselves my friends."

			"Criminal"
			"Sleep To Dream"
			"Shadowboxer"

Now, Fiona is friends with the world. The teenage girl who needed attention has it in spades. Probably, like the Beastie Boys before her, Apple will grow into a reserved and articulate adult who does, indeed, cringe when looking back at some of the things she's done or said. But at least the image she's presented to us so aggressively is one of a real teenager, with no effort whatsoever to whitewash the flaws. If anyone should be cringing in a few years, it's that cloying country chanteuse LeAnn Rimes, who pops up in this commercial I can't seem to escape, singing lovingly about Samsung Electronics, every time I turn on the damn tube. Compared to LeAnn Rimes, Fiona Apple is a breath of fresh fucking air.

So let her continue to babble about turkeys and other idealistic causes, enjoy her deliberately provocative interviews, and by all means groove on her confessional, often irresistible songs--but should you hear Fiona Apple's silky, Nina Simone-esque voice snaking around lyrics that extol the glories of the Gap, then you'll know it's over.