Aimee Mann - Aladdin Theater (Portland, OR; Oct. 6, 2009)

The math is simple, but to look at the cover art of ‘Til Tuesday’s 1985 debut, Voices Carry, it’s a little shocking to realize that Aimee Mann, the erstwhile startlingly coiffed college dropout, is now pushing 50. In fact she is, but apart from her easy-going demeanor, there seems to be scant evidence of the fact. Indeed, the skinny jeans and Chuck Taylors that she donned on Tuesday night at the Aladdin Theater were suggestive of a generation younger than the one most strongly represented in her audience.

Having seen Mann perform once before at a decidedly impersonal afternoon show at the Oregon Zoo Amphitheater, I was eager to experience the emotive singer in the considerably more intimate confines of the Aladdin. To my delight, the experience was an improvement in every way, surpassing even the most optimistic of expectations. Taking the stage without bravado, Mann opened her set by greeting the crowd and announcing the schedule for the evening: the band would play a forty minute set, following which they would take requests. For a performer who fosters such an intimate relationship with her fans, the format was ideal, to say the least. And though Mann could just as easily have churned out a set of hits, sure to please all, the occasionally quirky requests that came from the audience cast a special aura over the evening. To be sure, this was a set that would not be repeated for any other audience.

To add to the appeal, the formal set featured something of a twist: rather than focusing on new tunes from the latest album, @#%&*! Smilers, which in fact came out more than a year ago, the band would play rarities and other songs that don’t often make it on to the set list. This ethic was most evident in “Nightmare Girl,” a 2003 b-side that was the second cut of the night, and was also represented by a couple songs from the Magnolia soundtrack. Indeed, it was during an aborted attempt at one such track, “Save Me,” that the casual tone for the evening was definitively set. Amidst general applause from the audience, one overzealous fan let loose a shrill scream of delight at the opening chords, causing Mann to break down in laughter. Having somewhat recovered, she resumed the song, this time with improvised lyrics calling into question the emotional health of the screamer. The burst of applause she received when, after several lines, the experiment degenerated once again into laughter, was well deserved, but Mann was unable to compose herself to take another stab at the tune.

The lighthearted “Save Me” debacle led directly into the requests portion, with dozens of fans responding to Mann’s instructions to write their request on a piece of paper and deliver it to the stage. In spite of the steep ticket prices, a few motivated individuals sought—and duly received—priority by including a cash incentive with their request. Indeed, the first song of the requests portion, “Real Bad News,” was bought with a $20 bribe. A later request was actually written onto a personal check, which Mann verified was endorsed, though its owner gleefully admitted it was expired when she encouraged her to come up to the stage and retrieve it.

Even those who did not deign to make a donation got their due. Several songs from Whatever, Mann’s 1993 solo debut, made their way onto the set, including the intergenerational love song “Mr. Harris,” to which Mann felt obliged to offer a disclaimer, making it clear that she no longer endorses such romances. Equipped with a stack of chords and lyrics, Mann gamely played every request that came her way, even when a lack of familiarity forced her backing band to improvise their way through a song.

The band fielded requests for well more than an hour, with Mann at one point expressing concern that she was overstaying her welcome, a sentiment that few in the audience seemed to share. Finally closing the set with a stellar rendition of Harry Nilsson’s “One,” which she had covered on the Magnolia soundtrack, Mann and company exited the stage to wild applause. Though some in the audience took the cue to leave, most stayed for the anticipated encore. After only a brief absence, Mann returned to perform “Save Me,” this time with such gravity that it was difficult to recall the convivial atmosphere that had reigned earlier in the evening. The applause following the final note was tremendous, but Mann had one final treat left. Quietly, gently, and unassuming, Aimee Mann led into “Voices Carry,” the song that made her famous almost 25 years ago. It seemed to dawn on the audience only gradually, and as she reached the chorus, the sense that this was something special was palpable.

For all her immense talent, it is the bond with her fans that makes Aimee Mann such a joy. The contrast between Tuesday evening’s show and my earlier experience with her serves to underscore that fact. On a beautiful sunny day at the zoo, sitting on a lawn with picnic baskets stocked with wine and crackers, it was impossible, for me or anyone, to forge a connection to the deeply personal, frequently melancholy music emanating from the stage. Sitting in the darkness of the Aladdin, though, one could close one’s eyes and hear only the music, experiencing on a personal level the full depth of emotion that lingers in every one of Aimee Mann’s songs. It was a performance to match the beauty of her music, surely no small feat, and cast an indelible image of a performer at one with her audience, and herself.

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