Former 'Til Tuesday front-woman Aimee Mann has always created a lyrical refuge for the romantically stomped upon. As MTV poster child for abusive relationships in the 1985 video for "Voices Carry" – battling off an arrogant beau with her bass and pigtail – Mann was obsessed by the patterns of love and vengeance
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through three eloquent albums with 'Til Tuesday before the band officially dissolved in 1992.
With her striking solo debut, Whatever, she returns to familiar territory. As patron saint of smart women making foolish choices, Mann sticks out her chin for another heartfelt slug – but she hits back with a songwriter's savviness and flair for having the final word. Sugarcoating "fuck you" lyrics with sunny, surreal melodies – like Chrissie Hynde merged with Spanky and Our Gang – Mann marries her tales of betrayal and disappointment with vibrant music.
Mann and producer Jon Brion take such agonizing therapy sessions as "I Should've Known" and "Say Anything" and adorn them with glittering arrangements, dipping into '60s pop styles without becoming too retro-reverent. The standout "Could've Been Anyone" – which partially credits Mann's very exboyfriend "J is for Jules" Shear – joyfully counters its accusatory lyrics with glockenspiels, lush vocal overlays and Roger McGuinn's shimmering guitar licks.
Yet it's Mann's razor-sharp lyrics that most effectively shield her soul. Her breathtaking ballad "4th of July" throws off confessions like fireworks in a summer sky: "Oh, baby, I wonder if when you are older/Someday/You'll wake up/And say, 'My God, I should have told her/What would it take?'" Mann sings with the weary wisdom that can accompany heartbreak.
And subtlety is usually tossed out the window. "Stupid Thing" aptly targets a disappointing lover from the perspective of his "dear departed" ("Claiming I stepped out of line/Which forced you to leave me/As if the idea was mine/Oh, you stupid thing"). "Put Me on Top" illustrates a pretty straightforward request, but Mann avoids slipping into a pouty pay-attention-to-me plea by smiling at her own "doormat serenade." Whatever is hardly a series of weepy regrets: Mann's aggravated angst is more like an emotional boot camp. She prefers verbal combat to self-pity.
Rendered by a weirdly graceful voice that hovers on the brink of being offkey, Mann's eccentric formulas can wobble – her slower songs are sometimes laggard and predictable. But when this accomplished musician and gutsy writer grabs her baggage and indulges in reckless pop fancy, Whatever truly flies. Like an acrobat inching along an emotional high wire, Aimee Mann works best without a net. (RS 662)
KARA MANNING
