- Music
- 20 Apr 05
This album sees Aimee Mann adopt a refreshingly speedy and ad-hoc approach to recording, not to mention a return to the comfort zone of early ‘70s AOR sounds: dampened down drums, piano, classic rock guitar licks, all overseen by producer Joe Henry (co-collaborator on Jim White’s excellent last album). Such warm upholstery suits her un-histrionic vocal approach, and the choice of players complements the musical aesthetic and set-up (The Forgotten Arm is a song cycle about two lovers: John, a Vietnam vet, boxer and drug addict, and Caroline – echoes of the female lead in Lou’s Berlin).
Aimee Mann. This writer could happily exist with nothing else in the house only her Magnolia songs, and yet, I could never 100% commit to what she does. Maybe it’s the prim appropriateness of the production on her records, or the nagging sense that she’s always singing down her nose at someone. Just once I’d like to see her crack, admit culpability, show some regret.
Having said that, this album sees her adopt a refreshingly speedy and ad-hoc approach to recording, not to mention a return to the comfort zone of early ‘70s AOR sounds: dampened down drums, piano, classic rock guitar licks, all overseen by producer Joe Henry (co-collaborator on Jim White’s excellent last album).
Such warm upholstery suits her un-histrionic vocal approach, and the choice of players complements the musical aesthetic and set-up (The Forgotten Arm is a song cycle about two lovers: John, a Vietnam vet, boxer and drug addict, and Caroline – echoes of the female lead in Lou’s Berlin). Here, director PT Anderson’s fidelity to Mann’s work makes complete sense. Songs like ‘Dear John’ and ‘Goodbye Caroline’ are bathed in Boogie Nights pastels, period perfect clothes and a sort of narcotic innocence – west coast Eden before the fall. In many ways the feel of the record is akin to Maria McKee’s awesome but woefully ignored last album High Dive, if not quite as ambitious.
And yes, there are some gorgeous songs. Inevitably, it’s the ones that chart the decline of John and Caroline’s affair that hurt so good. ‘That’s How I Knew This Story Would Break My Heart’ sounds like something Ray Carver and Amy Hempel might have co-written after an illicit and short-lived fling. Or the despondent, world-weary ‘I Can’t Help You Anymore’ – proof that nobody does tired and emotional quite like Mann.
And yet, there’s still a last layer of gauze between the listener and performer, as if she’s holding that last ten per cent in reserve. The Forgotten Arm was recorded in five days, but it’s still a million miles from sloppy. It’s tantalising to imagine what she’d do in two. This is an impressive record, but still, part of me is waiting for her Tonight’s The Night or Blood On The Tracks.