@#%&! Smilers by Aimee Mann
July 2nd, 2008The life of a songwriter who has technically mastered her craft can be a thankless existence. In any other line of work proficiency and consistent excellence are admired. But, ironically, if you are a creative artist those very same qualities can work against you and brand you as predictable. In pop music mere excellence without reinvention is seldom enough.
During her solo career Aimee Mann has released nothing but technically proficient and consistently excellent albums. Even her few missteps have been flawed in a way one easily forgives her and still appreciates the overall artistry (I’m mostly thinking about The Forgotten Arm album here). The downside is that after five albums of excellence we are tempted to start demanding something more. In other words, we know the songwriting on a new Aimee Mann album will be excellent (it always is) but will it be any different?
With the new Smilers album the answer to that question is a resounding no. The album has all the markings of a classic Aimee Mann record. It has melodies that slowly burrow themselves into your subconsciousness; lyrics that are at the same time literary and simple (”You love me like a dollar bill / You roll me up and trade me in.”) and a cast of broken, deeply flawed and hurt characters. We’ve seen it all before. And yet, after all I’ve written above, that doesn’t really matter.
After leaving the major labels behing and founding her own SuperEgo records Aimee Mann’s songwriting, it seems, has become more and more literary. For sure, all of her records are full of songs that are basically little narratives (Fourth of July, I’ve had it, Ghost World) but after Bachelor no. 2 that aspect of her songwriting has slowly started to take over entire albums. The Lost in Space record only flirted with the idea. As a concept album The Forgotten Arm took the narrative as a songwriting device to its logical conclusion. Now, Smilers picks up from where The Forgotten Arm left off.
If we were to compare The Forgotten Arm to a novel then Smilers would be a short story collection. And in that sense Smilers is the superior album. The trouble with The Forgotten Arm was that it felt constricted by the limits of its concept. Smilers on the other hand is looser and more relaxed. The songs have no obligation to hang together and therefore the whole album is more accessible. One can dip in and out of it at will. I’m reluctant to call it her best work but it is certainly on bar with Bachelor no. 2 (I’m with Stupid still remains my favourite).
In their review of Smilers the Rolling Stone magazine called Mann the Raymond Carver of pop. The comparison is more than apt and, I suggest, for us to expect Mann to reinvent herself with every new album is missing the point. Just as we view the work of writers obsessed with certain themes and topics which they then explore without feeling the need to always reinvent themselves, we should also view every new Aimee Mann album. It’s not how the music industry usually works but, ever since Bachelor no. 2, one of most interesting thing about Mann has been the way she has managed to operate outside of those strict industry confines that demand constant change for relevance and, instead, been able to concentrate on perfecting her own music.
Aimee Mann on Morning Becomes Eclectic
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