Juliana Hatfield is not the first writer to depict romance as a covert war between supposed allies. A previous generation of singer-songwriters, notably Joni Mitchell and Paul Simon, devised elaborate metaphors to symbolize lovers' devious strategies; Hatfield's lyrics have the spontaneous force of late-night recriminations blurted out after too much wine. As one-third of Blake Babies, Hatfield has often written vindictive or confrontational songs, and on Hey Babe, she harnesses a harsher music to match her morose introspection.

With Hatfield on bass and guitar, aided by members of Bullet LaVolta, Lemonheads and Firehose, the songs grow increasingly agitated over the course of the album, gradually replacing Blake Babies' winsome guitar hooks with thrashing monster-truck chords. Where the tension would normally resolve in a climactic solo, producer Gary Smith instead reinforces it with another layer of Seattle-style guitar goo. And from her opening, broken-hearted fear that "I might explode if I keep going on this way," Hatfield sustains a level of turmoil and anxiety equal to the rough, hurried music.

One word that frequently recurs in these lyrics is lies, a strategy in the love wars from which Hatfield doesn't exempt herself. On Hey Babe, romance produces only confusion. "When he said he loved me, he was lying, but he had his fingers crossed," she puzzles in "Lost and Saved" (written with Blake Babies guitarist John Strohm), mixing self-pity with black humor. The next song, "I See You," is the album's emotional centerpiece, a kind of rubber-room version of the Everly Brothers' "All I Have to Do Is Dream," in which Hatfield measures the force of lovelorn delusion and happily submits to madness. The chillingly pretty "Forever Baby" offers a refrain of devotion only after depicting a deceitful, abusive relationship ("He sees a couple of things in me/Like how I'm not very hard to please") and is followed by "Ugly," which gives a calm, horrifying voice to what talk-show authors have come to call "low self-esteem."

Hatfield can create the illusion of thinking aloud because of her amazing voice, which has a delicate, almost babyish quality and leaps wildly away from melodies to growl or coo. To augment her writing, which attacks rock's notion that women are either victims or vixens, she veers unpredictably from tender to rabid. Although Hatfield is often likened to Bjork Gudmundsottir of the Sugarcubes, the unsettling harmonies of "Forever Baby" and "No Answer," which blend the extreme ranges of her voice, are closer to the schizoid frenzy Axl Rose achieves.

Despite its accomplishments, Hey Babe at times lacks the desired kilowatts – if you really want power, why not go all the way and contract the likes of Motörhead or Crazy Horse? But in her bid to spike the tradition of Joni Mitchell's Blue with the attitude of Nirvana's Nevermind, Hatfield is one of those rare band members with a purpose to her solo project. (RS 634/635)

ROB TANNENBAUM