Knives wrapped in silk. That is an Aimee Mann song. Beautifully harsh, each one conceals the most piercing lyrics within catchy melodies and Mann’s unique voice. Who knows how many times she has been jilted or what romantic tragedies have befallen her? We would, however, like God to bless each and every one of them. Their absence would result in the disappearance of some of the most melodic songs by a pissed-off lover ever to grace our stereos. Her tunes often lodge deep in the brain before one realizes what they are about. The tracks on Lost in Space, released this week, continue that tradition, lingering at the edges of the heartbreaking experiences shared between singer and listener.
Mann’s best songs revel in the bitterness that comes from a life full of disappointment and dashed expectations. With dulcet vocals and intelligent lyrics, she is the popular poet laureate of romantic failure. Originally with Til Tuesday in the late ‘80s, Mann moved on to a solo career comprising a biting wit and a pop sensibility that result in infectious hooks. Mann’s first three albums saw her embroiled in the type of artist/record label standoffs that seem to happen to good musicians. The first label she signed to went bankrupt and refused to release her album, while the second expressed little faith in the playability of the songs she submitted for a second album.
Those songs became the soundtrack to Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia, and people finally began to notice Aimee Mann. It didn’t hurt that one of her songs got nominated for an Academy Award. Lots of CDs were sold, and Mann formed her own label, Superego, through which she released Bachelor No. 2 to ecstatic critical acclaim. Her new album is more of the same. Mann does not go anywhere fresh, stuck in a rut of superior songwriting that elicits little complaint.
She has not defied any expectations with Lost in Space. None of these songs will be appearing on the radio anytime soon, for obtuse lyrics and vibraphones don’t make many Clear Channel playlists. The diverse nature of Mann’s instrumentation remains idiosyncratically intact, ranging from bluesy slide guitars to rousing organs. Because of the large musical palette from which Mann paints her sketches, it is difficult to pin her down. What gives her away, though, is her lyrics. She offers beautiful and penetrating lines that sum up years of wasted time in one fell swoop.
Deception runs through the core of Lost in Space. In the title track, Mann sings, “So baby beware / I’m just pretending to care.” She also speaks of “fronts we’ve fashioned” and not being “the girl you put your faith in / Just someone who looks like me.” It is this quality, long existent in her music, which is finally made explicit in this album, helping to explain the draw of her music. The barriers she puts up are exposed by the heartbreakingly honest quality with which her music is infused.
Aimee Mann’s new album does not tread new sonic territory. It would have been nice to see her build off the success and excellence of her previous work. Instead, Mann coasts on the wave of excellence that she has established as one of our nation’s best songwriters. On its surface, the music remains bitter in its condemnation of love destroyed. If Lost in Space accomplishes anything, though, it is to convince us to look beyond facades. The caustic rhetoric hides only the anguish that afflicts Mann in her hopeless romanticism. As all romantics do, she returns time and again to the promise of deep love, only to be struck down by the winds of chance. When she sings, “And baby isn’t this your chance / To make a break with circumstance,” there is a deeply veiled exhortation to hope for something finer. Love might be better next time, she says, but as far as her music goes, it would be just fine if it remained the same.
