Pitchfork

You've probably heard Aimee Mann's story a dozen times: how, after releasing albums on Geffen in the 90s, she quickly became dissatisfied with the label's treatment of her records, and soon decided to buy back the tapes for her third full-length, Bachelor No. 2, and put it out herself. Just another long-haul pop talent that the majors have signed and then foolishly refused to make time for. So we can all root for her success story: she managed to move 200,000 copies of Bachelor No. 2 by herself, and now has a second album-- her fourth overall-- on her own label.

The story of her business life is worth retelling because it's so close to the themes of her songwriting: she hits bad times, but never mires herself in them. And it's easy to see why P.T. Anderson wrote his film Magnolia loosely around her songs: she understands the people who struggle through their work and love lives on the fringes of show business. As an industry veteran she seems to have learned to turn the highs and lows into a day-to-day routine, and in that spirit, she's learned to explore the most depressing themes while transcending the self-pity so associated with lovesick laments.

Lost in Space is the first album Mann has made solely under her own guidance and for her own label. And as with all her work, the craftsmanship is impeccable-- three- or four-minute pop songs with arching, lilting melodies, and arrangements where every detail is in place, from the succinct but grinding guitar solos, to the subtle keyboards and embellishments that back her up. And then there's the centerpiece: the rich tone of her subtly expressive vocals, a voice that's so even and melodic that the slightest crack speaks volumes. Her hooks grow subtler with every album, and though it can take a couple listens for some of her better tunes to catch hold here, her ballads have only become more striking: "This Is How It Goes" and "Invisible Ink", both opening with just Mann and her acoustic before swelling into orchestration, may be her most heartbreaking yet.

More so than with her previous albums, every song on Lost in Space sticks to the themes of need, strife and desire, filtering them through her own relationships and career while maintaining a narrative loose enough to apply to the listener's own experiences. Mann excels at writing lyrics that use specific imagery but carry general meanings. She talks about ambition ("The moth don't care when he sees the flame/ He might get burned, but he's in the game"), and the aching chorus of "This Is How It Goes" outlines a story while remaining unlimited by precise details: "It's all about drugs, it's all about shame/ And whatever they want, don't tell them your name." Sure, this is all far from chipper, without even one bright or hypercatchy song to mix things up, but the consistency, for the most part, is tight enough to warrant it.

For the most part. While Bachelor No. 2 felt more disparate and less powerful, the tracklist was varied and inventive. Lost in Space leaves you feeling that she's already covered this terrain-- even played variations of some of these songs. I find myself liking the sum more than its parts. But it's hard to fault Mann for repeating a formula that works this well, or for making a record this focused. Her fans will certainly adore it regardless, though if you're new to her work, Bachelor No. 2 may be a better place to start.