Signs of Life 2008: Best Music
Cory Chisel & The Wandering Sons - "Tennessee"
Killers album on MySpace for free, this weekend only
Live at Paste: Duncan Sheik
Since the beginning of time (OK, fine, the '60s), musicians and their various social/political/ethical causes have been inextricably linked. Taking that tradition of activism into the 21st century, we give you the newest trend (not involving Barack Obama) in musical stumping: network neutrality.
We know; it's a win-win-win. For one, Miss Aimee Mann is taking her summer tour all the way into mid-September in support of her June release, @#%&! Smilers, the singer-songwriter's seventh full-length to date.
Click above to watch a live at the Artists Den version of "Freeway" from Aimee Mann's new record @#%&*! Smilers, out now on SuperEgo Records.
Related Links:
Features: Aimee Mann: My First...
Review: Aimee Mann - @#%&! Smilers
Features: Catching Up With...Aimee Mann
First band: A trio called the Young Snakes. Mann was 20 and living in Boston.
“That was kind of an art-rock, noise [laughs], punk, post-New Wave band. I don’t know what the other two guys were thinking, but I sort of felt that our goal was to, you know—you’re young, and you’re like, ‘We’re breaking all the rules! Anything that’s been done before, we’re not doin’ it!’ And, unfortunately, that kind of included melody and song narrative. I remember we had this one thing where we wouldn’t use any cymbals. It was ridiculous.”
Aimee Mann made a conscious decision to record her latest album, @#%&! Smilers, without the use of electric guitars. While that sounds like a huge stretch for someone who has built her sound around the instrument, the result is simply a more keyboard-centric entry into her consistently excellent solo catalog. “Freeway” uses Cars synthesizers and way-out-front bass, and is her most radio-friendly single since radio was friendly to her. The lack of electric actually works best on the more uptempo songs like “Borrowing Time,” where the organ, piano and even horns drive the song rather than the subtle, adult-contemporary flourishes on songs like “It’s Over” and “Phoenix.” The best song on the album, “Thirty One Today,” is classic Aimee Mann adult angst—“I thought my life would be better by now.” Overall, it’s a minor tinkering with a formula that didn’t need much work.
Although the headline looks as though we haven't had our morning coffee yet (which is pretty serious considering it's the afternoon), Aimee Mann recently confirmed additional dates for her tour that will carry her through the summer and into fall in support of her upcoming release @#%&! Smilers (June 3). And in case you missed it, Mann recently caught up with Paste editor-in-chief Josh Jackson.
A few weeks ago, Aimee Mann (whose smiling face graced our second issue ever) took some time out of her busy schedule to chat with Paste editor-in-chief Josh Jackson. The two talked about the power of keyboards, séances, being bad at blogging and, of course, @#%&! SMILERS, Mann’s imminent new album.
Her new record is scheduled to hit stores shelves June 3, and Mann will be touring this summer as well.
Curious about what she had to say for herself? That’s what we thought. Eavesdrop on the conversation here.
Related links:
Feature: The Evolution of Mann
AimeeMann.com
Feature: Paste’s 100 Best Living Songwriters
Got news tips for Paste? E-mail news@pastemagazine.com.
When we were going through our Aimee Mann photos for the second issue of Paste back in 2002, we were surprised that in one of them, she’d broken into a beautiful, wide grin. Because we couldn’t recall seeing a picture of her smiling, we ran it on our cover. That’s why I cracked up when I heard that her new album was called @#%&! Smilers.
Aimee Mann has announced that her new album, entitled @#%&! SMILERS, will be released June 3. This, her totally-not-explicity-titled seventh solo album, is said to be very different from the last two “artistic detour” albums, The Forgotten Arm, and her 2006 Christmas release, One More Drifter in the Snow.
Of course, with most new albums come a new set of dates, and Mann has booked herself full for the summertime months. Seemingly preoccupied with wildlife and pretty scenery, she is conducting a tour primarily staged in zoos, aquariums and parks. And one winery, which sounds particularly nice.
To get a sneak peak of her new song, “Thirty One Today,” go here.
See the Mann on tour:
June
2 - Largo @ Los Angeles, Calif.
6 - House of Blues @ Anaheim, Calif.
10 - Largo @ Los Angeles, Calif.
12 - Minneapolis Zoo @ Minneapolis. Minn.
13 - Pabst Theater @ Milwaukee, Wis.
15 - Bonnaroo Music Festival @ Manchester, Tenn.
July
9 - Chautauqua Auditorium @ Boulder, Colo.
11 - Denver Botanical Garden @ Denver, Colo.
12 - Deer Valley Resort @ Park City, Utah
14 - Mountain Winery @ Saratoga, Cali.
15 - Stewart Park @ Rosebud, Ore.
16 - Seattle Zoo @ Seattle, Wash.
24 - Calgary Music Festival @ Calgary, Alberta
Related links:
Feature: The Evolution of Mann
Review: The Forgotten Arm
Aimee Mann on MySpace
Got news tips for Paste? E-mail news@pastemagazine.com.
Sonny and Cher, Captain and Tennille, Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson. These are all musical artists who have made the holidays even hokier with their campy renditions of Christmas carols and amateur attempts at humor. Most viewers would rather watch It’s a Wonderful Life for the 128,384,477th time than sit through the corny comedy sketches and ridiculous wardrobe choices.
But, wait! Look into the distance. There is a light shining above, a star of hope for all that are willing to follow. What star you may ask? It’s the glimmering rays of the goddess singer/songwriter Aimee Mann, and she brings us tidings of comfort and joy.
For the second year in a row, the brilliant songstress is gathering some of the best in indie-rock to hit the road for her Christmas variety show. Josh Ritter, Ben Gibbard, Nellie McKay, and members of The Decemberists are all slated to join Mann on her holiday voyage. Unfortunately, not all will be appearing at the same time. Different artists are scheduled for different dates on the tour, but comedians Paul F. Tompkins and Morgan Murphy will be there for every stop on this winter musical express. More tour dates and artists will be announced in the weeks to come.
Christmas tour dates:
November
29 - Solana Beach, Calif. @ Belly Up (w/ Grant Lee Phillips and Joe Henry)
30 - Los Angeles, Calif. @ El Rey (w/ Grant Lee Phillips, Joe Henry, and Ben Gibbard)
December
2 and 3 - San Francisco, Calif. @ Bimbo's (w/ Chuck Prophet and Sean Haves)
5 - Portland, Ore. @ Aladdin Theater (w/ Nellie McKay and Decemberists members)
7 - Boulder, Colo. @ Boulder Theater (w/ Nellie McKay and Patrick Park)
10 - Minneapolis, Minn. @ Guthrie Theater (w/ Nellie McKay and Adam Levy)
11 - Chicago, Ill. @ Vic Theatre (w/ Nellie Mckay)
12 - Ann Arbor, Mich. @ Michigan Theater (w/ Nellie McKay)
14 - New York, N.Y. @ Grand Ballroom (w/ Josh Ritter)
15 - Tarrytown, N.Y. @ Tarrytown Music Hall (w/ Nellie McKay and Ben Lee)
16 - Boston, Mass. @ Berklee Performance Center
17 and 18 - Alexandria, Va. @ The Birchmere (w/ Nellie McKay)
Related links
AimeeMann.com
Paste: Aimee Mann: The Evolution of Mann
YouTube: Clips from Aimee Mann's 1st Annual Christmas Show
Got news tips for Paste? Email news@pastemagazine.com.
Last year, touring in support of her Christmas CD One More Drifter in the Snow, Aimee Mann brought out the big guns. Comedians Paul F. Thompkins and Fred Armisan, actor John C. Reilly and musicians Nellie McKay and Grant Lee Phillips all appeared with her on various dates along Mann's holiday journey, bringing merriment and good cheer to venues across the nation. In 2007, the extravaganza happens once again.
Mann's keeping mum on this year's variety show lineup so far, only hinting at "a well known comedian" and "special guests" in a press release for the trek. Tour dates, however, are settled:
November
29 - Solana Beach, Calif. @ Belly Up
30 - Los Angeles, Calif. @ El Rey
December
2 - San Francisco, Calif. @ Bimbo's
3 - San Francisco, Calif. @ Bimbo's
5 - Portland, Ore. @ Aladdin Theater
7 - Aspen, Colo. @ Wheeler Opera House
8 - Boulder, Colo. @ Boulder Theater
10 - Minneapolis, Minn. @ Guthrie Theater
11 - Chicago, Ill. @ Vic Theatre
12 - Ann Arbor, Mich. @ Michigan Theater
14 - New York, N.Y. @ Grand Ballroom
15 - Tarrytown, N.Y. @ Tarrytown Music Hall
16 - Boston, Mass. @ Berklee Performance Center
17 - Alexandria, Va. @ The Birchmere
18 - Alexandria, Va. @ The Birchmere
Here's a look at one of last year's performances.
Related links:
AimeeMann.com
Paste: The Evolution of Mann
Paste: Aimee Mann - The Forgotten Arm
YouTube: Aimee Mann - "Whatever Happened to Christmas"
Got news tips for Paste? Email news@pastemagazine.com.
The christening of the new Starbucks salon in New York’s Soho district marked the beginning of an endeavor uniting the “traditional coffeehouse” with emerging talent (or so the coffee-shills said). And although the schedule for the upcoming month includes an array of hip-hop, Latin, jazz, theatre performances and even psychic readings, the opening VIP event featured a concert by Aimee Mann (who, arguably, “emerged” a long time ago.)
Standing on a raised stage and framed by a shiny grand piano, Mann was undoubtedly chosen for her artistry as a singer-songwriter, a genre traditionally nurtured in coffeehouses. Although she played songs from across her catalog, she included enough Magnolia hits to lend an appropriate flair to the display of “hip” that seemed to categorize the evening.
“Goodbye Caroline,” from her latest, The Forgotten Arm, was near the top of her set, and set the tone for the show. She delivered each tune without affect—letting each speak for itself—with a singular focus that seemed to transcend the caffeinated buzz created by the crowd. Moving to the bongos for “You’re with Stupid” added texture to the rhythm’s simplicity. The Magnolia fare in the show: “Save Me,” “Wise up” (which she substituted on the spot for two slightly lesser known songs originally listed), “One” (the Three Dog Night cover that’s become her own) and final song “Deathly” were straightforward without being tired. She freshened her tunes by adding new instrumental textures, most notably through a couple honky tonk piano interludes during the instrumental breaks and through fresh chord voicings on “One.”
Through this posh, temporary Greene St. location, Starbucks hopes to “bring together diverse groups of artists to provoke thought and discussion…in a traditional coffeehouse setting.” At nearly $5 for a reinvented coffee beverage, clearly Starbucks has become its own tradition, and one that may continue to reshape emerging artists with the same monumental impact it’s had on America’s favorite cup of Joe.
Starbucks Salon is at 76 Greene Street in Manhattan and will run through Sunday, Sept. 17, with two to three headline performances each day. All performances are free and open to the public. Complete performance schedule available at StarbucksSalon.com.
With Aimee Mann’s deep yet immediate 2005 album, The Forgotten Arm, Joe Henry demonstrated that his “live-on-the-floor” approach is as effective with contemplative guitar pop as it is with eruptive soul. Most of Mann’s previous records “were carefully assembled by very talented people, but over long periods of time,” Henry points out. “And I think she was looking to do something else.”
The Mann/Henry collaboration began with sucker-punch spontaneity. “We both take boxing lessons from the same trainer,” Henry says, “and we were sparring one day—if you can imagine that. We were getting coffee afterward, and she made a comment to the effect of, ‘I’d love to make a record with somebody for whom The Beatles isn’t their only frame of reference.’ I said, ‘That would be me.’ ... So we tried an experiment. I said, ‘Lemme put a band together for you, and let’s take three days and go in and cut two songs—record, do vocals, overdubs and a rough mix—and see what happens.’ And in fact we recorded five songs in two days. I think it blew her mind a little bit, because the music was very exciting to her and felt very alive to her… and there was plenty of time to get coffee afterward.”
They reconvened a few months later at Studio A of Hollywood’s Sound Factory (Henry’s favorite workspace) and in less than a week completed the most free-spirited recording of Mann’s career. “There’s nothing like the energy that happens in a room when everybody’s playing together,” Henry raves. “The song kind of stands up and identifies itself. You can’t possibly get that any other way. It’s a real high.”
For more on Joe Henry, click here.
Aimee Mann’s almost singular devotion to themes of addiction and dysfunction would’ve become an artistic liability for most songwriters about three albums ago. It’s hard to think of another tunesmith working today who hits the same motifs and emotional notes with more consistency. From 1993’s Whatever to 2002’s Lost in Space, Mann’s first-person protagonists invariably find themselves on the raw end of a doomed romance, ducking out under a smokescreen of half-mumbled mea culpas and a cloud of fatalism that makes Richard Lewis look like Zig Ziglar.
Relationships are, for Mann, both irresistible and toxic. No image captures this notion better than Lost in Space’s cover art, a row of high-tension power lines framed against the night sky like human silhouettes, their outstretched arms draped in wires that bind them together yet carry a lethal power. As Mann sings on 2000’s Bachelor #2, “One act of kindness could be deathly.” The female voice behind “Highway On Sunday 51” from Lost in Space is perhaps the archetypal Mann-equin, a hopeless, nakedly self-conscious figure constructed solely for the sake of modeling Mann’s reductionist view of romance: “The monkey knows how you’ll react / Creating want by holding back ... I propped my window up and then / I turned my back to lure you in ... Let me be your heroin.” Given her obsession with the human psyche’s remarkable complexity, the conclusion Mann reaches time and again is morose and simplistic: all of us are too screwed up to make meaningful connections with other human beings.
With her latest release, The Forgotten Arm, Mann finally seems to have discovered a format that gives her characters room to breathe: the concept album. According to Mann, The Forgotten Arm follows the travails of a Virginia carnival worker and a down-and-out boxer who meet in Richmond not long before he’s sent to Vietnam. Inevitably the boxer returns with a drug addiction and the carnival worker spends most of the album contemplating the relationship’s fiery tailspin, trying to muster the courage to eject. Though the scenario is a bit too familiar, Mann has time over the course of the record to develop nuance and believability. This freedom is a blessing and a curse: while the emotional payoff of the album proves more satisfying than anything she’s done so far, the individual tracks don’t stand alone as well. But as anyone who’s followed Mann’s toils in the record industry can tell you, she probably isn’t all that concerned with crafting a Billboard Heatseeker at this point. It may turn out that Mann’s best record is also the least radio friendly.
Recorded almost entirely live by producer/songwriter Joe Henry, The Forgotten Arm fulfills the cinematic potential Mann’s songs have always possessed. It might be argued that the Magnolia soundtrack accomplished just that in rather spectacular fashion. But Paul Thomas Anderson held out more hope for Mann’s characters than she did, and took them further than she could. Now Mann has replaced the determinism of her previous records with real narrative. The backstory creates intrigue, and gives tracks like “Video” the ability to work Mann’s trademark ambient melancholy without succumbing to maudlin sentiment or leaving listeners feeling manipulated.
But it’s not just the bigger canvas and narrative devices that elevate The Forgotten Arm. Mann has finally quit psychoanalyzing her characters, affording them the freedom to act and respond according to their own impulses. As a result, she’s discovered they can form connections with others, and that even the most damaged soul possesses beauty and dignity. The final track, “Beautiful,” charts the relationship’s endgame, an episode Mann has revisited again and again over the years. Usually it’s a sordid, depressing moment with recriminations and bitterness and navel gazing. But on The Forgotten Arm we find real compassion: “Baby you’re beautiful / Sometimes it hurts me / To feel so much tenderness / Beautiful / Wish you could see it too.” It’s an earned emotion and easily one of the most affecting tracks she’s ever written.
Mann’s undeniable skills as a composer have always been her greatest strength, and The Forgotten Arm is further proof she’s a master at matching the emotion of a lyric to its musical analog. Forlorn, Brit-friendly melodies waft above rhythm tracks laid down by Mann’s usual brilliant array of supporting talent. The band sounds engaged, ready to rock out and serve the song all at once, like Elvis Costello’s Attractions unwinding between sessions for Blood and Chocolate. Drummer John Sands in particular has quietly developed a simple yet distinctive feel that’s as integral to Mann’s sound as Nigel Olsson’s skinwork was to Elton John’s classic recordings. Henry’s choice to forego the heavy overdubbing and studio trickery of her previous efforts gives The Forgotten Arm grit and urgency. There’s an honest feel to the disc, from the writing to the performances.
In his 1983 send-up of self-help culture, Lost in the Cosmos, Walker Percy argued that the modern age is stuck in a paradox: our obsession with self-analysis effectively alienates us from one another, hindering true self-knowledge. Countering the malaise involves self-denial and genuine compassion for others. On The Forgotten Arm, Mann seems to have backed into just such a discovery.
In the interview portion of Live at St. Ann’s Warehouse, Aimee Mann sums up her primary songwriting inspiration: “I just think people’s problems are fascinating … there are just a million different ways people can go horribly wrong—the whole thing is just so terrific.” While the notion of delighting in charting others’ dysfunction suggests a sort of meta-dysfunction, it’s provided a stream of beautiful, incisive pop gems for Mann, including “Wise Up” and “Save Me” (the Magnolia soundtrack’s crown jewels). While hardly a revelation musically—each song is rendered in about the manner you’d hear it on record—this 2004 performance offers an enjoyable glimpse of the congenial woman behind some of your favorite wan, doomed-relationship ditties.
Sometimes a child stares at a mannequin in a storefront window; eyes fixed intently, waiting. Waiting to catch the slightest movement. Waiting to see if there’s life in the mysterious plastic body. The Central Park concert with Aimee Mann brought such images to mind. Stoic and beautiful, standing in front of thousands of bewildered fans, Mann transmitted the energy of a true songwriter and natural artist.
There were moments of sudden splendor, as her backing band, dressed in suits, lifted the mood with tight rhythms tucked beneath Mann’s voice. Yet, just when I was most engaged with the sounds, I couldn’t help staring into my ticket stub. I couldn't help staring into the expressions on other listeners’ faces. I wondered if any of Mann’s fans realized they could buy several of her records for the cost of admission.
After a while, Mann played a few of her amazing songs from the Magnolia soundtrack. She also covered Coldplay’s “The Scientist,” after telling the story of her old crush on Noel Gallagher. Later she reminisced about her Academy Award loss to some Phil Collins monkey-movie love-song. Each moment of the show, one could speculate, allowed a different thought or feeling to go through Mann’s mind, yet there was something lacking, as if the night was a long lull. It didn’t frustrate me when people left early and it didn't frustrate me when others pushed towards the front, trying to get a better seat. As Mann stared down the middle of the crowd and I glanced up into the night-air and surrounding trees, this performance felt like the longest sound check in history.
Aimee Mann’s entire career path has been predicated upon being misunderstood. Ever since ’Til Tuesday’s accidental 1985 hit "Voices Carry," labels have been sorely disappointed by Mann’s resolute refusal to replicate that bottled pop lightning in favor of pursuing her personal musical vision. The latest chapter in Mann’s solo career finds her once again in the role of misunderstood artiste. Just as her label rejected Mann’s last solo album, Bachelor #2, as unmarketable, the fluke success of her Magnolia soundtrack allowed Mann to retrieve the album from the industry scrap heap and self-release it to almost universal acclaim.
True to form, Mann followed Bachelor #2’s brilliance with the muted exploration of Lost in Space, an album rife with familiar themes of loss and emotional dysfunction. This time, Mann wraps her tales of heartbreak in a musical atmosphere as melancholy as her downcast lyrics, creating an album that demands repeated listenings for its subtle beauty to reveal itself. And, predictably, critics have responded to Lost in Space with the same confused apprehension characterizing Mann’s major label relationships. . Lost in Space has been unfairly dismissed as inferior to Mann’s previous works. However, patience and time have proven the worth of her work in the past, and Lost in Space will likely find its audience in retrospect. For those who have no need of that distant perspective, Lost in Space is one of the albums of the year–right now.
Aimee Mann is not the sort of person who dwells on the past with self-defeating bitterness or crippling regret. Whether it’s the natural resilience of her psyche or merely the emotional callous accumulated after years of being used as a corporate speed bag by the music industry, she’s managed to let go of her past battles.
Mann’s well-documented battles with labels both major and minor could very easily have left her with an intense spirit of recrimination and malice, but she has wisely chosen to take the higher road by beating the system at its own game with the creation of her own label, Super-Ego Records, and the self-releases of Bachelor #2 in 2000 -- an album Interscope rejected as commercially unworthy -- as well as her latest studio foray, the evocative and brilliant Lost in Space.
Unfortunately, even as Mann forgives her trespassers and moves ahead, there are days when the business pulls her unwillingly back in, like a pop music version of Michael Corleone. Today, for instance; Mann has just spent the morning in court for the depositions in her pending lawsuit against the Universal Music Group over the release of The Aimee Mann Collection, a greatest-hits compilation that Mann contends was completely unauthorized and rife with sub-par bonus tracks that she would never have okayed given the opportunity. The case is an unpleasant reminder of skirmishes fought long ago and a preview of events yet to unfold; the wounds Mann has suffered at the hands of the music industry’s corporate vampires are still healing and lie just below the surface of her cool, willowy exterior.
"They are horrible, horrible people," says Mann, with a pause for composure. "Horrible. But the bitterness passes."
"I seemed to be writing songs in a certain vein," says Mann of her latest release. "Then I realized there were songs that weren’t in that vein, so I thought, ‘I’d really like to have a consistent tone,’ so I gradually wrote more songs that went along with the theme and threw out the ones that didn’t go with it."
As Mann began assembling the pieces of her next recorded work, it came with the blissful knowledge that there was no one to answer to, although that scenario could have been just as intimidating for a songwriter who has been looking over her shoulder for most of her career. Mann was more than equal to the challenge.
"It’s a subtle thing; it’s the feeling of freedom to make Whatever decisions I needed to make in service of the record," says Mann. "Whatever I felt was going to make a better record. Not necessarily a more commercial record or a record I thought they would like, but a record that I felt was good, according to what I think is good. That’s the most you can ask for. If you at least think you’ve done your best, that’s a pretty good standard to shoot for."
Mann stops just short of labeling Lost in Space as a concept album. Although it features a string of songs loosely threaded together by a theme, Mann makes it clear that no more should be read into that than necessary.
"It seemed to me that after I gathered the songs together there were themes that kept cropping up," she says. "I just got the feeling that these songs belonged together. I don’t think it could be more thematic than it is. For instance, there are several songs that, to me, seem to be about addiction. I don’t know if I have that much to say about addiction. An entire record about addiction might get a little old; maybe two or three songs, but not 11. Obsession, compulsion, loneliness and despair, those I could stretch out over a whole record."
Lost in Space is another marvelous collection of Mann’s intimate portraits of lost love and broken people, all set to a wry pop soundtrack that often lilts at the precise moment that one would expect dour melancholy. It is the ecstatic tension Mann creates between her often downbeat lyrics and her sprightly pop melodicism that is unique and has thus far made her impossible for major labels to classify and market.
"My goals were never to be particularly outlandish or left of center or avant-garde," Mann says with a dry laugh. "My tastes harmonically really run to classic ’70s chord progressions and melodies, and my ideas are pretty simple. None of that is crazy or experimental. From a record company viewpoint, everybody’s so worried about ‘Can this be turned into a million-selling record?’ and what’s required to turn it into a million-selling record is usually to remove everything that’s interesting. Their idea of commercial is so much more bland than mine. My music is not going to sell outside a certain audience, so why not leave it alone so you don’t alienate the people who actually like it?"
That’s a slightly more than rhetorical question Mann must certainly have asked all her labels along the troubled arc of her career. After the windfall success of ‘Til Tuesday’s debut Voices Carry in 1985, Epic Records tried tinkering with the band’s dynamic on its two subsequent albums in hopes of revisiting that initial commercial accomplishment. When the label couldn’t "fix" Mann’s unbroken musical creation and reached an impasse on the next ’Til Tuesday album, they stonewalled the band, tangentially causing its demise and ultimately making it legally impossible for Mann to record for nearly five years.
Geffen released Mann’s sophomore solo disc, I’m With Stupid, in 1995, but only after a titanic tug-of-war over every detail. Again the album generated great notices, and the single, "That’s Just What You Are," wound up on the soundtrack to TV’s highly successful Melrose Place, but Geffen remained unconvinced that Mann had achieved her potential on the album. From Mann’s perspective, she was always doing more with less on Geffen’s stringent budget.
"Geffen had a policy of not having more than a little slip of paper and not even a booklet in the CD," says Mann. "‘No 8-page booklet for you, that would break the bank.’ Or, ‘Only black and white printing, no color. That’s too crazy for you.’ That was super cheapo and just not good value for money."
Before Mann’s next album could even be imagined, Geffen was itself absorbed in the Seagram/Universal deal; when Geffen was dissolved as a label, Mann was reassigned to Interscope Records. In 1998, Mann delivered Bachelor #2 to Interscope and was promptly told that some changes would have to be implemented to make the album release-ready. Mann insisted that the album was done, and the label insisted that Bachelor #2 would never come out in the form that Mann had delivered it.
Interscope’s refusal to release Bachelor #2 coincided nicely with Mann’s unexpected (and Academy Award-nominated) success with her songs for the Paul Thomas Anderson movie Magnolia in 1999. Flush with the royalties generated by the Magnolia soundtrack, Mann was able to buy back the album from the label and made the momentous decision to release it herself. Although not considered among the best of her career, Bachelor #2 was a rousing success for an independently released and promoted album. More important, it was her vindication, a success achieved without label support or interference. Freedom from label restraint can itself be a poorly navigated two-way street if the unshackled artist doesn’t impose some appropriate boundaries on his or her own work. If there is a positive side to label meddling, it is that a critical and creatively removed viewpoint can sometimes correct the trajectory of a project spinning dangerously toward self-indulgent twaddle. Mann has yet to fall victim to that particular pitfall in the recording process; while she may load up on the emotion of the moment, she works with an economy of sound as the perfect counterpoint. In the recording of both Bachelor #2 and Lost in Space, Mann encountered no significant obstacles that could have caused her to rethink her label-less journey.
"I’ve been making records long enough that it’s not a big surprise," says Mann. "I produced a lot of the last record myself. It wasn’t a big surprise that, at the end of the day, I found it to be a little more work than I wanted to take on. I was going to co-produce [Lost in Space] with Michael Lockwood, who’s played guitar with me for a long time, but he turned out to be this great producer, this great hidden gem. He was so good, I was like, ‘Dude, you’re the producer, take over.’ He did a great job. I would definitely work on the next record with him."
"The way I like to work is if I have a song, I like to go in and record it while it’s fresh and interesting, rather than waiting for two years and recording everything at once, which is not really an optimum way to work," says Mann. "You have no time to listen to things and get a perspective, where if you need to rerecord something, you can. If you record it all in one lump, you’re sort of stuck with it."
The artwork accompanying Lost in Space is just as important to Mann as the music that it houses, and she has spared no expense in creating a fabulous package for the music. Renowned illustrator/graphic novelist Seth drew the cover art and the accompanying illustrations for each lyric page in the CD booklet, as well as a wry and melancholy panel cartoon that tells an oblique story every bit as compelling as Mann’s own songs. The way the booklet unfolds from the interior and the mechanics of the digipak’s gatefold come as close to vinyl album cover design as we’re likely to experience in the CD era. All of that additional planning and decision-making, usually the jurisdiction of a label’s art department, falls on Mann’s shoulders. It’s a responsibility she relishes -- particularly the ability to spend more and give her audience a nicer product without worrying solely about the bottom line. "The package is a very heavily thought-out thing that really goes with the music well, and so I’m very concerned with making sure it looks good," Mann says. "I usually come up with a design, and I have an art director that I’ve worked with for the past three records or so (Gail Marowitz), and she’s a really good friend of mine and she helps out tremendously." This is an expensive and time-consuming element of Lost in Space’s presentation, and one that a major label would never have considered for a "mid-level" artist like Mann. That may well be the reason she has so adamantly pursued more elaborate and aesthetic settings for her gem-like albums, even when that luxury has come at considerable expense. It may also represent the only real expectation that she harbors for the actual release.
"I think most of my work is done, and Whatever expectations I have are pretty much satisfied at the point where the record comes out," explains Mann. "I’m anxious to see it manufactured and make sure it looks good and make sure that the artwork came out well. I hope that some people appreciate that. I appreciate good art direction."
This mantle of extra responsibility is the natural by-product of launching a label. Most of SuperEgo’s details are handled by Mann’s manager Michael Hausman (who was also her drummer in ‘Til Tuesday) and his assistant, but Mann doesn’t envision a time when SuperEgo becomes a real functioning label.
"Any income is just from the sales of my record, and I don’t know if my record can sell enough to both finance another record of mine and somebody else’s," says Mann honestly. "There is one smaller project that I want to do -- we’ve started it but now I don’t know when we’ll be able to finish it -- which is an acoustic record by Scott Miller of the Loud Family. I think he’s really great and he’s been a huge influence on me. But that comes out of my own pocket, and we’re trying to do it as cheaply as possible. I’m just not such a huge seller that I can finance a lot of other records. I’m not setting up to be a business maven." Instead, Mann has helped to set up United Musicians (UM), a collective of artists who network to share methods of distribution and promotion as an alternative to the indentured servitude of the major label system. The other members of UM at this point are former Hüsker Dü/Sugar guitarist Bob Mould, singer-songwriter Pete Droge, and Michael Penn.
Mould’s recent Modulate was the first UM release; the album came out on his own Granary label and was disseminated through the collective’s distribution arrangement with RED. Mould already has two more complete albums in the can awaiting release in the coming months, making three separate Bob Mould albums in the space of a year -- something that no major label would attempt in the best of times. The fact that UM endorses this kind of expansive thinking is indicative of their belief that the labels have mismanaged themselves into a precarious position, and that music itself is in no danger of falling out of fashion. It’s merely changing its paradigm in a dramatic manner, and UM stands at the cusp of that change with a new way for artists to think about their work and how to expose it. Even so, Mann has no illusions about the challenge that looms ahead of her and the other artists in the UM co-op.
"It’s hard to market a record, it’s hard to get people’s attention when there’s so much other stuff out there, not just music but TV, computers, video games," says Mann. "Even people who want to buy the record or sometimes it’s hard to get the word out to them that there’s a record available, should they be interested. And that was the experience I had on major labels, too."
With her label experience standing as the anvil on which the United Musicians mission statement was forged, Mann has become something of a reluctant activist in the cause of artist’s rights. This reluctance doesn’t spring from a hesitation to get involved, but merely from the standpoint that she and many others are fighting for rights that shouldn’t require so much effort to retrieve; they should have been inherent in the system from the very start. Although Mann understands the need for substantive change in the label/artist relationship, she’s content to leave that particular fight to Don Henley and his Recording Artists Coalition and use United Musicians to show artists a way to avoid the major label debacle altogether.
"It’s basically a conduit to distribution for other people like us who want to put out their own records," says Mann of UM’s role in the artist’s process. "And Whatever other marketing and promotion help we can offer, but that is generated by Michael [Hausman], and it’s on a very small scale."
When it comes to the issue of artists’ rights, Mann has very definite opinions about the things that need to be addressed first and foremost. "The main thing that Henley is involved in is the repeal of the seven-year law exemption; there’s a law where you can’t have a personal service contract for more than seven years because it becomes more like indentured servitude," Mann explains. "But the music business had lobbied for an exemption to that, which they successfully acquired. So musicians are not afforded rights like any other worker in California.
"The other one that is really appalling is the idea that [though] a musician may pay back the money owed from an advance to make his record, at no point will he ever own it. I think that has to be addressed. If you pay off a mortgage, you own the house. When you pay off this mortgage, you don’t own the record."
Thankfully, Mann has shed the constricting corporate coils that threatened suffocation. While realizing that she will likely never own the rights to her first two solo albums for the very reasons detailed above, she has gotten past that and remains content in the knowledge that, from here on out, she can finally create from a position of pure creative control.
Of course, as the head of her own label, Mann has to start thinking about the bottom line, but all her experiences have taught her the positive way to consider her options.
"I was very happy that I was able to finance another record, but I should probably learn to make records that are less expensive because I did spend some money on this one; thank God for Pro Tools," says Mann with a laugh. "Live and learn." Live and learn -- two things that Aimee Mann has always done pretty darn well.
Contests.
Jolie Holland - "Mexico City"
