Review: Jason Mraz - We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things (2008)

Jason Mraz has always been an infectious songwriter. And I mean that in the most endearing way possible. Waiting For My Rocket To Come was pure funkyfresh acoustic elation. So what if another pop acoustic guitarist from that era evolved into the artist currently known as John Mayer? So what if Mraz's second album, the cleverly eponymous Mr. A-Z, met the ire and disdain of virtually every music critic on the planet? I still loved (almost) every second of it. It was fun, it was cute, and above all, it was somewhere between respectable and bubblegum pop. And it still is.

I first heard Mraz during high school and his feel good lyrics, especially his wordplay, were unique and diverse and really spoke to my teenaged self. "You and I Both" was my long-distance-high-school-girlfriend-during-college anthem, as I'm sure it was for just about every other couple in that situation in 2003. I had no such sentimental connection to A-Z, though it was produced by Steve Lillywhite (U2, Dave Matthews Band, Peter Gabriel, Guster, Phish, Rolling Stones, etc.), which lends it a decent amount of credence. This time around, he doesn't even have that. In the five-plus years since Rocket, Mraz hasn't changed one damn bit.

He's still a mild pervert, a sex addict, and a wordplayer. But it's all so stale and forced. A-Z was an attempt at a newer, more produced sound. Sure, it came off as zany and ridiculous, but at least he tried! On We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things he's back to straight acoustic pop, but this time his witty quips are replaced with songs that are packed tight with a jumble of often nonsensical words.

What's worse, when his rhymes do make sense they are often embarrassingly frank about sex. I don't blush easily and I don't often get uncomfortable from the content of pop music (rap aside), but "Butterfly," Mraz unabashedly sings, "Curl your upper lip up and let me look around. Ride your tongue along your bottom lip and bite down, and bend your back and ask those hips if I can touch. Because they’re the perfect jumping off point of getting closer to your butterfly." Closer to your butterfly? Is this a joke? I can't believe a grown man wrote this. It gets worse, but I'll spare you...oh, I can't help it. Here's another gem from that same song: "You make my slacks a little tight, you may unfasten them if you like." The whole album is rife with overly graphic and unartistic descriptions of sex and shitty euphemisms for vaginae.

There is a token "You and I Both" style track entitled "Details in the Fabric," which is a refreshing throwback to when Mraz still had an artful, heart-touching way with words. In it, he advises a friend on how to best heal his broken heart with the simple counsel, "Hold your own, and know your name, and go your own way." It's simple, honest, and strikes a chord with anyone who's ever had to move on, which is everyone. That used to be the joy of Mraz...his ability to speak to the heart of complex matters in frank and/or clever ways. Other than "Details," there is no track that reminds us of that rare and valuable artistic quality. Unfortunately, the track is nearly ruined by the intro and outro, which consists of a pair of voice messages from, presumably, the friend that Mraz wrote the song about. It's a hokey ploy, though a valiant effort to fully establish the song's realism. The cherry on top is when the friend finishes the outro by jokingly confessing to being "an island of reality in an ocean of diarrhea." Funny? Yes. Appropriate for the song? Not even close. It's nice to see that Mraz doesn't take himself too seriously, but if he ever wants us to he'll have to refrain from the childish act of turning serioustime into playtime.

The music itself (lyrics aside) is very Mrazian and upbeat, with sentimental slow songs (most notably the aforementioned) scattered sparsely throughout. The one redeeming aspect of the entire album is the Stevie-Wonder-worth horn section that is featured on tracks 1, 4, 5, and 9. It's rather ironic that horniness is both the lyrical downfall and musical saving grace of We Sing, and it's a shame that he doesn't use it more. Similarly, Mraz uses a children's choir to back him up on several tracks, most notably the uplifting star track and first single "I'm Yours," and they add a layer of depth that is needed when it's there and missed when it's not. The grandiosity provided by the horn section and choir pales in comparison to the grandiosity of Mr. A-Z that drew so much unfair criticism, and works well to make the album much grander than it would have been in their absence.

Admittedly, I was toe tapping for most of the time, and however much I disliked the album as a whole, it's going to stay on the iPod for a while. While the infectious nature of his first two albums was charming, the infectiousness of We Sing is more viral than anything else, and far more nostalgically painful than what I had hoped to see come out of the almost three years since Mr. A-Z. It's abundantly clear that Mraz had a great time making We Sing...perhaps too great a time. His incessant self-indulgence reeks of immaturity, though I'm sure his die hard fans will consider this a goofy adolescence rather than a disappointing young adulthood.