The song served Bree Sharp well enough. Better, in fact, than she ever could have imagined. But three years down the line, she reports that "David Duchovny," the irresistible stalker fantasy that bought her fifteen minutes of fame in 1999, has pretty much been retired.

"I don't want to be stingy about it, so I'll play it if I'm at a place that I don't play often," admits the Philadelphia-born, New York-based singer-songwriter. "But places that I play all the time, like New York or L.A., I usually won't play it because I want to move on from that."

In other words, she's hell-bent on proving she's more than a one-hit-wonder. "Not that there's any shame in that," she notes, "but I'm definitely interested in more of a career thing." Even if she has to do it all by herself, which is essentially the route she took on the slyly titled More B.S., Sharp's follow-up to her 1999 debut A Cheap and Evil Girl. Sharp was signed to Trauma Records shortly after graduating from college, but she and the label (best know for giving the world Bush and No Doubt) parted ways in the midst of the "Trauma drama" during which the label folded, started up again and folded again.

"We were on to a second single ['America'] and we were trying to position ourselves to get to a third single on the first record, but it just didn't happen because other things were going on at the same time behind the scenes," Sharp says. "I felt disappointed that it stopped when it did because I didn't feel it was necessarily ready to stop. I still sell out of that CD when I do shows."

Free from Trauma, Sharp briefly considered shopping around for another label before deciding to go it alone. More B.S. was released on Sharp's own label, Ahisma, and Union Recordings, operated by her manager, Michael Taub. "It's been really exciting and scary, but in a good way," Sharp says of the indie route. "It's very empowering to feel that I don't necessarily need the big machine to get something out there."

Producing and lending a hand on the writing on the new album is Don DiLego, whom Sharp began collaborating with before signing to Trauma. DiLego, a seasoned independent artist in his own right, also produced and played a key role in shaping Sharp's debut. "I've written with a bunch of other people, but obviously that relationship is the longest," says Sharp. "We have a real common language that we can draw on to help each other articulate our musical ideas.

Like A Cheap and Evil Girl before it, More B.S. showcases Sharp's knack for marrying razor-sharp lyrical sass with equally keen melodies. Though not quite as immediately catchy as her debut (few albums are), the long-term returns are just as sweet, particularly on stand-out cuts like "Everything Feels Wrong," the vengeful "The Last of Me" and a bristling take on Don Henley's finest moment, "Boys of Summer."

"I just wanted to put a little bit of an angry edge on it," says Sharp, adding that she never considered changing the song to "Girls of Summer." "I thought the idea of a woman singing it put enough of a spin on it . . . I always felt like Don Henley's version -- which I love -- was beautiful but also kind sad and weak. He's in love with this woman who's off partying with the summer boys, and he's saying, 'When you're done playing around I'll still be here because I love you so much.' I just thought of putting a little turn on it like, 'Even though I'm doing all this stupid fucking stuff, I still love you,' or even, 'Why am I in a position to go play with the boys? Maybe you did something.' I like how the lyrics are vague enough that you can make up your own story. Like, 'Remember how I made you scream' -- whoa, what's going on there? What kind of fights were they having, or was it good screaming? There's just so many different ways to interpret it. I love it."

Elsewhere on the album, Sharp takes aim at the fur trade and fashion industry ("Lazy Afternoon"), evokes her old X-Files fetish in the lovely "we are not alone" paean "Galaxy Song" and gets down and sleazy with "Dirty Magazine" ("Some girls got class and some girls got dreams . . . I just want to be in a dirty magazine.") But like the baser, Roger Corman-esque fantasies that characterized the first album's title track and "Faster, Faster," Sharp stresses that the song should not be taken too literally. You'll find no bigger advocate for the inherent sexuality of rock & roll ("Hands down, absolutely, I'm all for that," she says readily), but this is still a woman who blanched and firmly put her foot down when Maxim magazine tried (and failed) to get her into a revealing bikini for a cheesecake photo shoot.

"I was like, 'Holy hell, where are the clothes?!'" she recalls with a laugh. "I said, 'Look, I'm a singer, not a model!' We ended up doing the shoot with my own clothes, and it was great. I felt good about that decision."

The same goes for her venture into the uncertain world of running her own label. "It's definitely more difficult," she concedes, "but at the same time it's much more rewarding when you get stuff done. It's like, 'Oh, I fucking did that by myself!' Eventually, I think I'd like to end up back on a major, but I'd like to have more control over my career. Hopefully I can do this on my own, and then I'll have more leverage going back in."

Until that day comes, Sharp's got her eye on more pressing matters. "The plan right now is to sell a shitload of records, to rally my fans and meet new ones, tour around the country and just kick butt," she says matter-of-factly. "Independent butt."

RICHARD SKANSE
(September 9, 2002)