Pigeon Opinion Featuring an Interview with Riley Finch

In this version of “You Oughta Know” performed by Alanis Morissette, she embraces the volatile nature of the song while adopting an approach that is less confrontational and more introspective in terms of alternative rock. This version doesn’t seek to match the energy and intensity of the original vocal performance, but instead captures the emotion behind the song.

Interview with Riley Finch

What first drew you to “You Oughta Know” and made you feel it was the right song to reinterpret?

I’ve always been a big fan of Alanis, so that song was never something I heard casually. It stuck with me because of how honest it is—there’s no filter on it, and it says things people usually keep to themselves.

What made it feel right to reinterpret wasn’t just that I love it, though. It was that it already lived in the same emotional space as what I’d been writing. It didn’t feel separate from my own work—it felt familiar in a way where I could step into it without trying to be someone else.

How did you approach balancing respect for the original with making it feel like your own voice?

For me it was about not overthinking the “respect” part to the point where it loses its edge. The original already exists the way it’s supposed to, so I didn’t feel like I needed to protect it—I just needed to be honest with how I connected to it.

I kept the core of the song intact, but I didn’t try to mirror the way it was delivered. Once I let go of that, it started to sound like me instead of an impression. That’s where the balance came from—same emotion, just coming through my own voice instead of trying to recreate hers.

You mention the emotional edge of Alanis Morissette’s version how did you channel that intensity in your own recording?

I didn’t try to recreate her intensity—I tried to find where that same feeling sits in me. It’s a different kind of pressure. Hers feels like it’s exploding outward, and mine is more like it’s already been building and there’s no space left to hold it in.

So instead of pushing for a big moment, I let it stay right up front the whole time. Less about “hitting” the emotion and more about not pulling away from it. Once I stopped trying to match anything and just stayed in that headspace, the intensity kind of took care of itself.

What does “raw and unfiltered” mean to you in the context of your version of this song?

It just means I didn’t try to make it easier to listen to than it actually is. If something felt uncomfortable or a little rough around the edges, I left it that way instead of smoothing it out.

For this song especially, cleaning it up too much would’ve taken away what makes it hit. So “raw and unfiltered” is really just me not stepping in and fixing every little thing—letting it feel the way it felt when it came out.

Did your interpretation change at all once you started recording, or did it feel clear from the beginning?

It shifted a little once I got into it. I had an idea of how I wanted it to feel, but actually recording it made me realize it needed to be more direct than I first thought.

Some of the earlier takes felt a bit too controlled, like I was still holding something back. Once I let that go, it clicked pretty quickly. After that, it wasn’t about figuring it out anymore—it was just about staying in that space and not overworking it.

How does this cover connect to the original material you’ve been writing for yourself?

It connects more than people might expect. A lot of what I’ve been writing already lives in that same space—saying things that don’t feel comfortable, but need to be said anyway.

Working on that song kind of reinforced that for me. It reminded me not to second-guess myself or try to clean things up too much. Just write it the way it comes out and let the pieces fall where they fall.

So it didn’t really change my direction—it just gave me more confidence to stay in it.

You describe your own music as closely aligned with themes in Alanis Morissette’s work what specific themes resonate most with you?

It’s the honesty more than anything—the willingness to say things that aren’t neat or flattering and not try to clean them up. That mix of anger, vulnerability, and self-awareness all existing at the same time… that’s what I connect to.

A lot of my writing lives in that same space. It’s not just about calling someone else out, it’s also looking at yourself and not pretending you were perfect in it either. That kind of emotional push and pull feels real to me, and I think that’s why her work always stuck.

How did returning to New Jersey and finishing your songs shift your creative momentum?

Coming back to New Jersey kind of reset me. It reminded me who I was before everything got complicated, and where I came from. People here don’t really sugarcoat things—they’re pretty to the point—and I think I needed that.

It forced me to stop dressing things up in my writing and just be honest about what actually happened, both on their side and mine. I couldn’t really bullshit my way through it anymore. It also made me look at myself a little harder and admit where I wasn’t perfect.

That shift is what helped me finish the songs. Once I stopped trying to shape them into something else and just let them be real, everything started coming together.

Did the breakup in Ohio influence the emotional tone of your original writing as well as this cover?

Yeah, it definitely did. A lot of that writing came out while I was still in it or just coming out of it, so it wasn’t something I had distance from yet. There was a point where I didn’t want to see what was actually happening, and when it finally hit, it hit hard.

Being in that situation, in that place, it wasn’t always easy to just exist in it, let alone process it. That added another layer to everything—feeling like you’re already off balance, and then realizing the person you trusted isn’t where you thought they were.

That emotional whiplash is all over the album, and it naturally carried into the cover too. It’s not just anger—it’s confusion, hurt, and that moment where everything you thought was real kind of shifts underneath you.

How did having access to your stepdad’s studio shape your confidence in recording?

It made a huge difference, mostly because it took the pressure off. I wasn’t walking into some big studio on the clock—I could go in after hours, take my time, mess something up, start over, and not feel like I was wasting anyone’s time.

That gave me space to actually find my voice instead of forcing it. I’m pretty shy by nature, so having a place that felt safe and familiar made it a lot easier to push through that and try things I probably wouldn’t have otherwise.

It didn’t make me instantly confident, but it made it possible to get there.

You describe yourself as naturally shy what changed in you that made you decide to finally step into recording?

I don’t think something flipped overnight—it was more like I ran out of reasons to keep it to myself. I had all these pages sitting there, and at some point it felt worse not doing anything with them than the fear of actually putting them out.

Being back home helped a lot. Having my stepdad there, being in a space that already felt familiar, and having friends who’ve been around music made it less intimidating. There was a level of comfort that kind of eased me into it instead of throwing me straight into something overwhelming.

I was still nervous going into it, but I stopped waiting to feel ready. I just went in and did it anyway.

How do you balance working full time with finding space to create and record music?

It’s honestly just about taking the time when I can get it. I’m not in a position where I can drop everything and focus on music full-time, so a lot of it happens at night or whenever there’s a window to step into it.

It can be a little chaotic, but in a way it keeps it real. I’m not overthinking it or forcing sessions—I go in when I have something to say and the space to say it. Sometimes that means late nights, sometimes it means stepping away for a bit and coming back to it.

It’s not perfectly balanced, but it works for me right now.

Do you see your songwriting process as something private until the song is finished, or do you ever test ideas early?

It’s pretty private while it’s happening. Most of it starts as something I’m trying to figure out for myself, so I don’t really want outside voices in it too early.

Once it feels like I understand what I’m saying, then I’m more open to letting someone hear it. Not for approval, just to see if it lands the way I think it does.

I’ve tried sharing things too early before and it usually throws me off more than it helps, so I’ve learned to let it be mine first.

What role do friends in the industry play in encouraging your creative output?

They’ve been more of a steady push than anything else. Not in a “you need to do this” way, but just reminding me that what I’m doing is worth taking seriously, especially on the days I second-guess it.

A lot of them have already been through the process, so it helps having people around who understand it and don’t make it feel bigger than it needs to be. It keeps me grounded.

They’re also honest, which I need. Not harsh, but not just telling me everything’s great either. That balance makes it easier to keep going without getting stuck in my own head.

Where do you see your music heading after this release original material, more covers, or both?

Probably both, but the focus is still on my own material. That’s always going to be the core of it.

Covers have been fun because they let me step into something familiar and see how it fits in my world, but they don’t replace writing. If anything, they’ve made me want to push my own songs further and not hold back.

Next up is the Confrontations EP, which leans a little more acoustic but still hits hard. It’s just the next step, not a shift away from anything—just continuing to build on what I’ve already started.

(•)> That's all, Folks! Check out Riley Finch on the Pigeon Opinion Playlist