The art and craft of… Aimee Mann

After struggling with major labels, Aimee Mann to the indie route to success.

Aimee Mann

Good things don't always happen to good people (especially in the music business), which is why the accomplishments of Aimee Mann make such good copy.

As the bass-playing singer-songwriter for Boston's 'Til Tuesday, Aimee Mann blasted into the Top 10 on her very first try with "Voices Carry," its big drums and breathy chorus a perfect fit for the summer of '85. In the years that followed, Mann shed her glossy image and began crafting tight pop melodies and witty, incisive lyrics that owed more to the Kinks than the Cars. Her 'Til Tuesday swan song, 1989's confessional Everything's Different Now (mostly about Mann's breakup with songwriter Jules Shear), was a major leap forward, and the first real hint that Mann had turned a corner as an artist. Mann's 1993 solo debut, Whatever, was followed in 1996 by I'm With Stupid, a pop masterpiece brimming with pointed lyrics and powerful guitar hooks (mainly supplied by producer and co-writer Jon Brion). However, Mann would spend the better part of the decade enduring nearly every kind of abuse available to a major-label artist, from poor promotion and A&R mismanagement to a recording contract that bound her to a defunct label. Through it all, Mann kept writing and recording, and in 1999 several new songs were tapped by her friend, director Paul Thomas Anderson, for use in Anderson's film Magnolia. When Mann's label deemed the new work unsuitable for release midway, Mann threw in the towel, bought back her contract, and prepared for life as an independent artist.

Then the unexpected happened: On the strength of critical raves, the soundtrack to Magnolia (which contained nine Mann originals) began selling at a generous clip, and eventually earned the composer Best Song nominations from both the Golden Globe and Academy Awards committees. On a roll, in 2000 Mann released her indie debut, Bachelor No. 2, and it too sold respectably. Suddenly Mann found herself in a most enviable position—independent but with steadily increasing notoriety. Mann used the turn of events to her advantage, launching a label cooperative called United Musicians (with help from her husband, songwriter Michael Penn), and releasing a succession of strong albums including Lost in Space (2002) and The Forgotten Arm (2005), the latter a reference to Mann's newfound interest in boxing.

A decade ago, Mann foreshadowed her move to independence with "It's Not Safe," a song which warned that anything really worth keeping should be kept to oneself—because "God knows it's not safe with anybody else." Mann's subsequent success and artistic freedom have proven that her initial hunch was quite correct.

You've had quite an assortment of cowriters over the years. 'That's Just What You Are," for instance, was a song Jon Brion had started, then you came in and wrote the bridge and finished it off. Is that your favorite way to collaborate?

A lot of times Jon would do that, just hand me a little chord progression and some words and melody, or some kernel of an idea. And I just always found his music very inspiring, so it was very easy for me to make a whole song out of that. "Amateur" [also from I'm With Stupid] was like that as well—a lot of it was already there, I just had bring it to the end. The other thing about Jon is that he would always tell me right away what the concept of the lyric was—and I'd always know immediately what he was talking about. Like with "That's Just What You Are," he's referring to someone who's always acting like a jackass and won't do anything about it, you know, "that's just how I am, and I can't change," that sort of thing. I could relate to that!

So you like coming into it like that, where you've already got the road map?

Yeah, and it's definitely a lot more fun. Because there's already something there for you to follow.

What about writing with Elvis Costello? Same thing?

It's actually just the opposite with me and Elvis—that's a case where I'll have to come up with the initial framework. Like on "The Fall of the World's Own Optimist" [from Bachelor No. 2], I had like a verse and a chorus, but I couldn't come up with any words for the verses. So then he came along and wrote this whole B-section to the chorus, which was really great, it takes the song in this whole other direction. And then he added in the verse lyrics, which I then had to tailor to get back to the original topic.

It sounds very similar to the way he worked with McCartney.

Yeah, I'll bet it was. Because that seems to be a very effective method for him.

Do you write with your husband Michael Penn?

We don't really collaborate, mostly because we both like to work in the same style. Also, Michael has a harmonic sensibility that's totally different from mine. He just goes to chord changes that are kind of foreign to me, even though it doesn't sound foreign when you're listening. Still, it's hard when you're writing with someone, and he's going to this chord change and you're thinking, "Wow, I would never go there." But of course he can get away with it on his own, because he's got the melodic ideas and the arrangements already in his head—he knows exactly where it's going once it's time to record.

"I find that by jotting down ideas in a notebook� which I'll occasionally do when I want to get into the writing process�really helps."

Do you two at least sit down and exchange ideas?

Every now and then there'll be a song that he's working on that'll be close enough to my style of writing, that I'll come in and say, "Look, why don't you try this chord progression," or, "Why don't you do this thing in the middle." And he'll give me advice as well—particularly if I'm stuck, I might ask him what he thinks, and he'll come up with some chord that I hadn't thought of. But in general, I don't think we really click as writers.

You come up with really inventive lyric ideas. Do you labor over them?

It depends on how bad my writers block is [laughs]. I find that by jotting down ideas in a notebook—which I'll occasionally do when I want to get into the writing process—really helps, it's the kind of thing I should probably utilize more than I actually do. For me, it's usually just a matter of writing down topics, rather than individual phrases. But something like that can really jump-start the creative process—especially when you don't feel like writing at all.

What other techniques might you employ to get back on track?

A while back I was reading this Fiona Apple interview and she was talking about making poetry by cutting out headlines from newspapers. So I thought, "That sounds like fun." So I tried that, and I wound up with a couple of the lines for "Calling It Quits" [from Bachelor No. 2] that way. I kept working at it like that, and writing stuff down at the same time, until it took a shape that meant something to me. Then I just went back and threw out all the other stuff that was just wordplay.

What's an example of a lyric you've altered to fit the meaning of the song, but maybe kept the initial premise?

For the opening line to "Red Vines," instead of, "They're all still on their honeymoon/ just read the dialogue balloon," I'd originally written, "They're all still on their honeymoon/it's Underdog Day Afternoon." [laughs] Which I thought was a bit much—although for a while there I was actually going to call the record Underdog Day.

In "It's Not Safe," you wrote about an "idiot who keeps believing in luck." Was that you?

In this business, people often say one thing and do another. And for a long time I guess I did believe—until I finally reached the point where I stopped believing and just got out. I'm now satisfied that I can't do anything to make it better, I just equate it with anybody who's ever had to get out of a bad relationship. Believe in luck? Sure, you can be like Annie, you know, the sun will come out tomorrow, but that's crazy. I'd rather be perky and optimistic on my own behalf—and whatever happens, happens.