POP BEAT : 1995: Nothin’ but a She Thing : Alanis Morissette’s Rage and Elastica’s Odes to Supreme Joy Lead the Way as Female Artists Continue to Shatter Barriers

Sorry, James Brown, but pop music was chiefly a woman’s world in 1995.

Spearheaded by two selections each from Alanis Morissette and the British rock group Elastica, women or bands led by women gave us eight of the 10 most compelling hit singles of the year.

This strong showing underscores the continuing creative emergence of female artists, a movement whose timing is caused in part by the increased willingness of record companies to sign women.

For years, labels and radio stations were so focused on male artists that they appeared to operate by quota: Sorry, the word was at record companies and radio, but we’ve already got our Joni Mitchell or Blondie type this year. There were lots of female singers around, some of them excellent, but the songs and visions were usually written or shaped by men.

The barriers, which began coming down slowly for women in the ‘80s, have begun to tumble. The result is a new generation of artists--from Sinead O’Connor and PJ Harvey to Courtney Love and Me’Shell NdegeOcello--who have brought fresh ideas, perspectives and sounds to pop.

Morissette’s “You Oughta Know,” a brutally raw expression of a woman’s reaction to romantic betrayal, illustrates the shifting consciousness. The recording (lyrics by Morissette, music by Morissette and Glen Ballard) tops this year’s singles list.

The other welcome news during 1995 was the continued softening of hard-core or gangsta rap. Although softening isn’t usually a positive term in pop, it is in this case.

Public Enemy and N.W.A. infused rap in the late ‘80s with a valuable sense of hard-edged street commentary, resulting in music that was sometimes raw and startling. Eventually, however, the anger in rap became cliched, the message replaced by hollow, tough-guy bravado.

Ice Cube’s “It Was a Good Day,” which topped The Times’ singles list in 1993, was an important turning point in hard-core rap--a tender daydream about a day in the ‘hood when nobody got killed. The rap audience embraced the song and made it something of an anthem. Other rappers, including 2Pac and Coolio this year, have also begun to show a softer side.

The term “singles” is used here out of a sense of tradition. For various marketing reasons, some album tracks are never formally released as such, although they end up getting as much airplay as a conventional single. That was true of Nirvana’s “All Apologies” last year and Morissette’s “You Oughta Know” and “Hand in My Pocket” this year. (“You Oughta Know” was issued as a single outside the United States.)

The countdown begins with honorable mentions, open to all singles and album tracks. The Top 10 list that follows is limited to songs that made either Billboard’s Top 100 airplay or sales charts. (The year’s best albums are listed in Sunday’s Calendar.)

* Oasis’ “Wonderwall” (Epic). It was tempting to begin the list with the Beatles’ “Free as a Bird”--as a reminder of why we shouldn’t be wasting New Year’s Eve wishes on a reunion tour. As that limp single showed, the dream is over. But the best way to lay the Beatles to rest is to simply recognize how a contemporary British band can make a better Beatles-sounding record than “Free as a Bird.” In “Wonderwall,” Oasis looks at romantic complications with a disarming touch of Lennon-McCartney imagination and craft.

* Edwyn Collins’ “A Girl Like You” (A&M;). While in a retro mood, this Scotsman checks in with the best example of Bowie-esque romantic anxiety in years. The lyrics are as wonderfully over-the-top as something from the Thin White Duke himself: “You’ve made me acknowledge the devil in me / I hope to God I’m talkin’ metaphorically.”

* Emmylou Harris’ “Goodbye” (Elektra). Harris is the greatest female country singer of her generation, and it’s fine if she wants to keep experimenting with producer Daniel Lanois’ moody sound-scapes--as long as she keeps the focus on her voice and material and not on the aural trappings. Everything comes together wonderfully on this Steve Earle ballad.

* Jill Sobule’s “I Kissed a Girl” (Lava/Atlantic). The novelty charmer of the year--a record with so cheery a concept that even the video couldn’t ruin it.

* Garbage’s “Only Happy When It Rains” (Almo Sounds). This rock quartet’s mysterious and menacing “Queer” has been getting the most radio airplay, but this swirling, feel-good exercise is even more addictive. Jesus and Mary Chain meets Blondie.

* Tricky’s “Black Steel” (Island). You can see how empty most rap is these days by going back and playing Public Enemy’s image-rich “Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos” from 1988. Better yet, check out this superb update by a master of English “trance-hop.”

* Bruce Springsteen’s “Sinaloa Cowboys” (Columbia). Don’t look for this track from “The Ghost of Tom Joad” to be released as a single because its theme about underclass injustice is considered far too serious and somber for radio consumption. But it is a profoundly moving record.

* PJ Harvey’s “To Bring You My Love” (Island). Nobody made more powerful or original music during 1995 than Harvey, who is emerging as the consensus artist of the year in year-end critics’ polls. The title track from her Island album speaks with volcanic fury about relationships and needs; the next stop for anyone looking for even bolder emotions than those of Morissette.

Now, the Top 10, all of which made the nation’s top sales or airplay charts.

10. Joan Osborne’s “One of Us” (Blue Gorilla/Mercury). It’s not every day a hit single can ask a spiritual question so provocatively that it is branded both inspirational and blasphemous. Eric Bazilian wrote the song, but Osborne sings it as if it were her own.

9. Dionne Farris’ “I Know” (Columbia). This R&B-shaded; pop single, from Farris’ excellent 1994 debut album, was a smart, stylish expression of romantic wariness that succeeded on so many vocal and musical levels that it stayed on the charts for a remarkable seven months.

8. Alison Krauss’ “When You Say Nothing at All” (BNA). The former bluegrass star sings this love song by Don Schlitz and Paul Overstreet (who also teamed on Randy Travis’ “On the Other Hand”) with a gentleness that demonstrates that all the talk about her being the next Emmylou Harris of country music may not be far off the mark.

7. Coolio’s “Gangsta’s Paradise” (MCA). Rap with a heart and a gangsta message from the “Dangerous Minds” soundtrack: “Tell me why are we so blind to see / That the ones we hurt are you and me.”

6. Elastica’s “Connection” (DGC). This delightful British band needs to move beyond its affection for ‘80s new wave to make a lasting impact, but its debut album provided moments of supreme pop joy--as evidenced by this delicious track and its teasing asides about the mysteries of romantic attraction.

5. Alanis Morissette’s “Hand in My Pocket” (Maverick). “You Oughta Know” is such an eruption of rage that it was easy for Morissette to be stereotyped as the Avenging Lover, so this upbeat anthem is an important record for the 21-year-old--an expression of self-affirmation that was even better received than “Oughta” at her recent concert at the John Anson Ford Theatre.

4. Elastica’s “Stutter” (DGC). Another gem from the coed British band, this time some sexual taunts framed by a supercharged, buzz-saw beat.

3. 2Pac’s “Dear Mama” (Interscope). Country heroes have long expressed love of mother in their music, but it is a radical--and welcome--step in tough-guy rap.

2. TLC’s “Waterfalls” (LaFace). This marvelous record is a hip-hop reversal of “Dear Mama,” with the mother voicing concern over her children, whom she fears are headed for trouble in the streets. Built around a seductive, Prince-like groove, the song includes a subtle AIDS warning. Given the ineligibility of “You Oughta Know” in the Grammy record of the year category because it wasn’t released as a single, “Waterfalls” should be the easy winner.

1. Alanis Morissette’s “You Oughta Know” (Maverick). It’s easy to see how some listeners could find music that’s this tenacious to be melodramatic and contrived: “Is she perverted like me?” isn’t your usual pop line. But there was a liberating tone to Morissette’s hurt that struck a nerve in a legion of listeners. In its most striking moments, she stripped away the normal politeness of pop music and spoke with the unflinching fury normally reserved for films, books and, ultimately, real life.