I've written my share of negative reviews over the years -- it's an occupational hazard -- but I've never had any delusions that the artists themselves ever read them. After all, they've got better things to do.
And then it happened.
About two years ago, I complained about my inability to understand what the big deal was about Aimee Mann. In my piece, I examined her critically acclaimed Bachelor No. 2. Though she's a fighter for artists' rights and had been dogged by moronic record company decisions, none of that convinced me she deserved more lenient treatment when evaluating her work. Despite her considerable talents, I took the album to task for being too smug, too insular, too delicate.
Well, imagine my surprise last month when I discovered an interview with Mann on the Web -- in Dutch, no less -- with the following exchange (translated as best as I could):
Interviewer: On the Internet there is an article titled, "The Case Against Aimee Mann." The author, Tim Grierson, called your music too delicate. Do you understand the criticism?
Mann: For him it would be too delicate. And it is sometimes. I can't sing loud. Whenever I use more strength in my voice, it doesn't sound good. I am comfortable about that, though. I am well aware what the limitations of my voice are. I can feel mad or aggressive, but I don't express it using my voice.
That wasn't quite what I meant about "too delicate" -- I was suggesting she was trying to be too pretty and self-consciously artful at the expense of the full emotions of her songs -- but I was still flattered to get dissed by a well-respected artist.
The fact is that Aimee Mann stayed with me. Yeah, I wrote some unfavorable things about her, but I had to admit that I continued to be intrigued by her work, even though it was often riddled with problems. So, I've been extremely pleased to tell people how much I love her new record -- while at the same time being deeply disappointed at how little reaction it's received.
Lost in Space was never going to be a big seller. (Mann resides in that little niche of singer-songwriterdom where you mostly settle for the praise of critics.) But even that has been difficult to come by with the new album. Lost in Space is a change of pace from the typical Mann release -- all for the better -- and it finds her in a much more generous, vulnerable mode. Before, she set herself apart by being caustic and withering -- all clever wordplay and acidic tell-offs. But her fatal lack of a sense of humor (not to mention an overly mannered style of chamber-pop music) made her albums tiresome and more than a wee bit self-righteous. She equated her inability to find happiness (be it romantically or in the biz) with the fact that, well, she was just smarter than all those dummies around her. Was it true? Maybe. But it was sure hard to empathize or relate to her.
Lost in Space flips all of that around -- beautifully, stunningly. From the album title on down to the muted resignation in these songs, Mann's latest is an ode to despair and self-doubt. The loss of spite may suggest a mellowing of her talent -- some of the reviews seem to argue this -- but nothing could be further from the truth. Lost in Space has the late-night vibe of sleepless hours riddled with anxiety, asking questions but getting only silence in response. It's emotional and direct in a way she's rarely attempted before.
Aimee Mann has always played the tough-talkin' gal, the woman who don't put up with no bullshit from any man, the one who ain't gonna get her heart broken. The confessional outpouring on Lost in Space, then, is a revelation. Where once she tried to bury her feelings beneath songcraft, now she allows her depression to hover over the new record. References to drug abuse, sexual need, drowning, driving off into the night never to return, abject failure, loss of self-expression -- nothing is working right for the characters on Lost in Space. And all those characters seem to be her or, at the very least, people she knows intimately.
The spiritual centerpieces are "This Is How It Goes" and "Invisible Ink," two glowing ballads that demonstrate how effective Mann can be as a performer both vocally and musically. Her supposedly limited voice has a wounded gentleness that can be quite poignant. The album's beaten-down desperation is as clear-cut as the opening lines of "Invisible Ink": "There comes a time when you swim or sink/So I jumped in the drink." In these two songs (and throughout Lost in Space) Mann grapples with the realization that all the old defense mechanisms -- sarcasm, anger, aloofness, the benchmarks of her career -- are futile against life's constant disappointments. And even if the forgone conclusion of the dejected "This Is How It Goes" might be interpreted as just one more oblique reference to a music industry that doesn't want her, then "it's all about drugs/It's all about shame" is as good a critique as we've had in a while. Even her old irritations gain fresh insight on Lost in Space.
This opening-up has a positive effect elsewhere. Too long restrained, her soundbeds of delicate arrangements have grown and matured. Openings of songs creak and stumble, uncertain and hesitant, mirroring the nervous feelings of our heroine. The tunes are mostly downers -- interestingly, only one of them is titled "Real Bad News" -- but their confident design keeps them from being despairing. Additionally, she gives us one of her best uptempo rock songs; "Pavlov's Bell" is a terrific bad-love tale fraught with electric guitars, and its very loudness is a cleansing relief to much of the sad-eyed proceedings.
Almost as encouraging, she's learning to lighten up a bit. "Guys Like Me" could be a companion piece to all the ridiculous, lovable jerks Randy Newman has blessed us with for decades. A typical no-account who means well but doesn't try hard enough, the narrator of "Guys Like Me" is all too human, and even Mann doesn't have the heart to completely hate him. Aw hell, she seems to be saying, we're all in it together.
If, by some perverse wrinkle in the galaxy, Aimee Mann happens upon this piece, allow me a moment to thank her personally. Don't let the negative reviews for Lost in Space bother you - guys like them don't know what they're talking about anyway. By owning up to vulnerability, by allowing yourself to be this brave and forthright, you've made your best record. If I had known this was where you were headed, I would have cut you more slack beforehand. I sincerely hope there are no hard feelings.
