Arsonist lights a fire on Manning's hot "1212"

Barbara Manning (Matador Records)

When you've got strep throat--as I do, accompanied by the requisite fever-and-chills misery--even August weather feels cold. Luckily, I've been listening to Barbara Manning's fiery new release, 1212. The album begins with a song cycle called "The Arsonist Story," and its cover art and liner notes--which feature flames, fire trucks, and a picture of the bandmates laughing satanically as their clothes ignite--play up the immolation theme. From the first tune, which starts in discordant knob-twirling territory and morphs into a catchy chant ("Fire fire fire/fire fire fireman/hook and ladder fire brigade/spotted dog red hat parade"), Manning sets a corresponding tone--surprising, snappy, and warm.

Barbara Manning has been falling in and out of rock obscurity for the last decade or so. In her '80s albums A Perfect Green Blanket and Lately I Keep Scissors (still available from Heyday Records) she created a minor stir by crafting intelligent tunes so tight you could bounce a nickel off of them. Ever listened to Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville? Manning perfected the edgy mix of rock attitude and folky lyricism before Phair ever picked up a guitar. More recently, Manning has played with the SF Seals, who released the album Truth Walks in Sleepy Shadows last year. For 1212 she teams up with Joey Burns and John Convertino of the splendid, and similarly underrated, band Giant Sand. Despite her impressive curriculum vitae, Manning is still working as a record store clerk and crafting her should-have-been-hits in relative secrecy. If earthly justice prevailed, she'd be headlining the Lilith Fair--and blowing all those pallid folkies out of the water.

On 1212, Manning, true to form, keeps her melodic guard up. Her songs veer and turn corners, but she never lets a dull moment slacken their tension. Her albums are the same way--she strings tracks together skillfully, especially on "The Arsonist Story," which navigates anger, fear and redemption with seamless continuity. The song series peaks with the infectious "Our Son." While the song seems built on a silly conceit--the homonymic link between the title and "arson"--it gracefully chronicles a woman's discovery that her son is a criminal.

"The Arsonist Story," comprised of five songs, outshines the rest of 1212. Manning seems to have run out of material halfway through the album, and she fills in the gaps with five covers and a few goofy folk throwaways. Still, even her most lackluster material is carefully crafted and reveals plenty of imagination and wit. Manning's songs also benefit from greatly improved production quality (the move from Heyday to Matador obviously made some difference) and the added spice of extra instrumentation, even the occasional horn section. Burns and Convertino supply capable backup, resulting in a album that should embarrass any Jewel, Alanis, or Sheryl who claims to represent female rockerdom.

So buy this record. Barbara Manning has paid her dues: free her from her dead-end day job and let her blossom into the rock star she deserves to be. Whether you have strep throat or not, and I hope you don't, 1212 will definitely give you fever and chills.

--Darby Saxbe

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