Sheryl Crow’s self-titled second album lands on September 24, 1996, with a stomp, a shimmer, and a sharper edge. Trading the jam-session spirit of Tuesday Night Music Club for a self-produced, deeply personal statement, Crow writes with swagger and sings with the ease of someone who knows exactly where every chord should fall. Blending folk, rock, blues, and a little cosmic mischief, it becomes a defining record of the ’90s—and one of Crow’s boldest artistic declarations.
1. The UFO Gospel According to Sheryl
“Maybe Angels” opens the album like a flickering X-Files rerun on a Delta blues frequency. Sheryl spins lines about government secrets, heavenly choirs, and Kurt Cobain floating beside Lennon. It’s a conspiracy lullaby dressed in Wurlitzer and fuzz. Somewhere between Roswell and redemption, the groove soars.
2. Walmart vs. the Chorus
“Love Is a Good Thing” rolls in like a protest sign with a power chord. Sheryl calls out gun sales at discount stores with laser-precise lyrics—and Walmart hears it loud and clear. The retail giant pulls the album from shelves, which only makes it louder. Rock and roll, meet retail resistance.
3. Johnny Cash Finds “Redemption Day”
Buried deep in track ten is a folk-blues lament Crow wrote after visiting Bosnia on a USO trip. “Redemption Day” hums with moral gravity and gospel glow. Years later, Johnny Cash records it for his final album, turning it into a gravel-throated benediction. The song becomes a bridge across generations.
4. “A Change Would Do You Good,” Hat-Trick Edition
Sheryl, Jeff Trott, and Brian MacLeod write “A Change Would Do You Good” by literally pulling lyrics from a hat. Each verse becomes a coded message: one about a producer, one about Madonna, and one—finally—about Crow herself. Soul, sass, and Staple Singers energy keep it all spinning.
5. If It Makes You Fuzzy
“If It Makes You Happy” tries on a parade of sonic outfits—punk, country, funk—before landing on its now-iconic slow-burn rock strut. Crow lays down the vocals like a smoky truth bomb while guitars drip with just the right amount of chaos. It becomes an anthem for the cathartic and the chaotic alike.
With Sheryl Crow, the artist becomes the architect. The album swerves from swampy riffs to satellite beams, folk musings to full-throttle rebellion, and finds power in every pivot. Triple platinum sales, Grammy wins, and retrospective acclaim follow—but it all begins with one woman taking full control of her story. Twenty-nine years later, it still makes you happy, and it still makes you think.