Fiona Apple perfectly sums up the visceral power of her music right at the onset of her fourth album: "Every single night's a fight with my brain/ I just wanna feel everything," she yowls, her tongue twisting each syllable with the force of a bullet. Throughout, it's this vicious self-combat that bleeds out as erudite rhyme ("orotund mutt" with "moribund slut") and metaphor ("I could liken you to a werewolf the way you left me for dead/ But I admit that I provided a full moon"). Meanwhile, the skittering percussion and free-jazz flow sound as wild as the battle in her brain must feel.