Tony Clayton-Lea reviews a professional but somewhat uninvolving gig by Aimee Mann at the National Stadium, Dublin
We had finished playing the when-was-the-last-time-you-were-at-the-National-Stadium game (it has been refurbished and they still haven't sorted out the air conditioning) we all settled into our seats to witness one of America's most under-rated musical treasures.
It's difficult trying to explain Aimee Mann's gift for melody and words, and she's hardly good at that herself, but if you care in any way about the essence of songcraft and how it can dissect, analyse and even repair crumbling human relationships, you'll have some idea of how good she can be.
On Monday night, however, Mann was firing on only a few cylinders, which means when she was good she was superb, genuinely spine tingling; when she was bad she was pretty good.
Following a slinky film noir intro, she delivered a professional but somewhat uninvolving set that delved into her not-so-recent past (4th Of July, I've Had It, I Should've Known and Stupid Thing from 1993's Whatever; Choice In The Matter, That's Just What You Are and Long Shot from 1995's I'm With Stupid), her recent past (Calling It Quits, Susan, Deathly, Red Vines and Save Me from 1999's Bachelor No. 2) and future (new songs Talk About It, Bring Me Up To Zero and Lost In Space).
Marvellous songs each and every one (even the unfamiliarity of the new material had a nagging, welcoming warmth), the sharp-suited and sharp-spoken Mann seemed engaged but not overly excited. There was also a sense that the band were holding things back, making the gig mellower than it perhaps should have been - a flaw that the structured seats-only configuration possibly assisted.
Still, Mann is a person who sings of life's pathos and pain in a way that "the ranks of the freaks who suspect they could never love anyone" completely understand. For that alone, she's tops in my book. But please - Vicar St next time?
