Barbara Manning

Barbara Manning's an enigmatic figure on the underground/indie scene: though she's indisputably the most formidable of all the folkie-waif chanteuses?including such way-after-the-fact copycats as Liz Phair?she's hardly ever been afforded the credit she deserves, and her professional life's traveled a rocky road at best. Because of the volatile nature of her craft, she's survived a plethora of multifarious incarnations during her lengthy career. Two years ago, rumor had it she was moving to New Zealand. Then I heard she was living in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, training to become a forest ranger because she could no longer afford rent in San Francisco, the city that has served as her physical as well as spiritual home base for so long.

On the sleeve of this new album is an image that's reminiscent of Manning's first album, Lately I Keep Scissors: a chair, a guitar and a dog, only on that first album a nine-year-old Manning was sitting in the chair. So does that mean that, with this album, Barbara Manning's career has come "full circle"? Well, in a way, yes, at least in the sense that this is Barbara Manning performing with what seems to be her most permanent band lineup since the SF Seals, and the sounds here are the most organically hard-rocking since that group's classic Nowhere way back in '94. Joining her on this opus are the Go Luckys, consisting of a pair of boy-brats named Fabrizio (guitar/bass) and Flavio (drums) Steinbach. Manning may be a forest ranger in real life, but on this album she doesn't put out fires, she starts them, by holding a candle under these youngsters' asses and whipping them into shape. Or maybe it's the other way around?she hasn't sounded this unhinged in years.

Take for instance the opener "Don't Neglect Yourself," which is the most aggressively paced work she's done since "Dock Ellis" in 1993?we're talking breakneck splatter like the bastard son of the Velvet Underground and Black Flag, with self-empowering lyrics like "topographical relief/Not difficult for me to perceive." Next track, "You Knock Me Out," skittles along with the quirky motion of late 70s punk/new wave (think Television) but still with lots of hyperkinetic Velvets strum. Manning's still waxing lovelorn sentiment on tracks like "I Insist" and "Never Made Love" and her voice is as distinct an instrument as ever, occupying that weird vortex in the brain where ions flow like melted honey. Another standout is "Buds Won't Bud," which with its Feelies crazy rhythms is like a game of hand toss on the front lawn of Lisa Suckdog's house with a loaded grenade. And "Goof on the Roof" reiterates the penchant for weird narratives Manning exhibited on the loosely thematic 1212 album (her least successful disc in my eyes). Like a forest fire, this album will leave its scent on your clothes long after it's over.