Aimee Mann.
She makes me so sad, but so happy. But so empowered. So lesbian, feminist, so righteous. So okay.
Whatever she makes me feel, I feel alright.
Not like Tori and too much wine, Aimee is more optimistic in a way.
Maybe it’s because in Magnolia, everything works out okay despite the frog storm?
Not sure, but I’m really disappointed with myself for discovering her wondrous honey like vocal style and delicate guitar picking this late into adulthood. There are no excuses; I had multiple copies of “the forgotten arm” from my music directorship at wrst. What. Was. I. thinking. Well obv, I wasn’t.
Anyway, I think you should all listen to Aimee Mann right now. If not this instant, later on today. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning. Listen to “you could make a killing.” or “one is the loneliest number.” “Save me.” “Today’s the day.” “Wise up.”
Damn, Miss Mann’s the next Fiona apple to me. And that’s a big statement. I heart me some Fiona big time. She was my first tori. And yet, when I think of Aimee, I can’t help but reminisce on esthero’s first album, “heaven sent.” her second and if any after that . . . not so much. But “that girl,” “breath from another,” and whatever the intro track on that album was called—solid, total feministic girl power. That sounds so 12 year old, prepubescent. I’m not talking spice girls here, although I can definitely comment on why liking them is totally ok too. Fuck posh and her hot soccer husband. Or the black one with her dumb dancing show. I’m not talking about that, I’m referring to being on the verge of 13 and hearing “wannabe” for the first time at 3 am, waking up to get ready to visit dying gramma in the hospital, not quite ready to get in the car even though mom’s calling for me, because I’m too mesmerized by this group of British girliness, hopping around in halter tops and chunky platform sandals, cooing out words like “luva,” “friends” and zigazigahh. Wow. Hmmmm. this is neat.
That’s what I’m talking about. Not that tabloid shit. Fuck that noise.
But Aimee Mann. She’s got some pipes on her, eh? She’s pretty sounding, delicate, yet you just know by listening to her that she isn’t some typical bimbo you can push around. If you tried to snatch her guitar from her and call her ugly, she’d give you a look, or kick your ass, or something else equally intimidating. Or maybe she wouldn’t even have to resort to violence; you’d just KNOW not to mess with her. You’d feel guilty and immoral. But wait a minute, why would anyone want to kick her ass anyway? Man, red wine makes you think up unusual hypothetical situations, don’t it?
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