All conceptual trappings aside-- the love-story conceit, the lyrics printed in paragraph form in the insert booklet, the book-like look of the CD sleeve-- The Forgotten Arm is no more conceptual albumthan any other Aimee Mann album. Regardless of what is sung or who she sings with, the underlying message is often the same-- life is tough, love can make life easier and even tougher all at once, and the crap folks put up with for love is both admirable and ridiculous. For this album, Mann chose to talk about this theme through the trials and tribulations of two characters, delineating their dissolution and resolution linearly, over the course of 12 songs.
The story in The Forgotten Arm is girl (Caroline) meets boxer (John) at a county fair, boxer and girl go gaga for each other, boxer and girl go on the road, boxer is addicted to drugs, girl cuts boxer loose, boxer wises up to his problem and quits the stuff, boxer and girl ride off into the sunset. The title of the album refers to a boxing maneuver wherein a fighter in close quarters uses one arm to punch and lets the other arm hide in plain sight, waiting to land a surprise blow. No doubt this idea of a sucker punch fits perfectly with the ups and downs of Caroline and John's cross-country tryst-- falling in love, learning about your lover's drug addiction, the addict finding out he's being dumped. It's also a maneuver Mann uses adeptly within songs, dropping in a deceptively powerful detail that snaps a scene into sharp focus, like this couplet from "The King in the Jailhouse": "...they pack up their troubles in an old Cadillac-- that's her in the mirror, asleep in the back."
Musically, The Forgotten Arm is a down-to-earth version of what folks expect from an Aimee Mann record. Joe Henry's production doesn't offer the multi-instrumental whimsy of Mann's best-known work with Jon Brion, though there are moments (such as when the mandolin comes into play on "Video") that briefly recall those songs. Otherwise, it's a straight-up rock record essayed live-to-tape by a handful of studio pros. Sometimes, the "studio pro" vibe is a bit too redolent-- see those "forgotten arm" wee-er wee-er wanky guitar moments-- but these folks otherwise do a fine job in letting Mann's songs shine.
And this is an Aimee Mann record through and through. Even though she's writing songs under the guise of two different characters, it's her lyrical voice that's actually speaking. If you're able to suspend disbelief enough so that a junkie boxer can talk about being trapped in a "cone of silence" or observe that "all the sweet green trees of Atlanta burst like little bombs, or little pom-poms," then you might be up for a high-ranking position in the U.S. government. Regardless of the happy ending of John and Caroline's story, there's no treacly moments to be had. The resolution is a hard-fought one, with plenty of knocks collected along the way for both characters. Mann's despondent deadpan eloquence, as it's been for her entire career, is perfect for delineating each of these bumps and bruises in loving detail. After all, this is a songwriter that had some of the best actors in Hollywood singing, "It's not going to stop until you wise up." Don't go thinking she's going to take it easy now that she's directing and scripting her own characters. So, yeah, here's yet another exemplary Aimee Mann album to add to the pile. Ho-hum.
