The kicker, as it has always been in Mann's career, is this: for all of their confessions of weakness and self-sabotage, her songs are perfectly formed little toe-tappers, flush with hooks and blood-rushing bridges and choruses worthy of jealous rages from lesser tunesmiths. Yes, Mann has long specialized in charting the murkier waters of the emotional spectrum, from her '80s days as the leader of 'Til Tuesday through her Magnolia soundtrack breakthrough and onwards to her 2006 boxing/addiction-themed concept album, The Forgotten Arm (SuperEgo) - and so news of her latest recording continuing the tradition could hardly be considered revelatory. What can be considered as such, however, are the 13 songs contained within. For all of the strengths of her already-formidable canon, @#%&*! Smilers feels like the most cohesive, most carefully-crafted album of her career.

Perhaps much of the glorious inspiration behind Smilers - as it will heretofore be called, not out of concern for propriety but rather to spare me from fussing with funky punctuation - came from the "no electric guitars" mandate laid down by Mann and producer Paul Bryan at the outset of recording.

Whether or not these songs were written before the decision, I don't know, but the results are fascinating, particularly in consideration of the pivotal role the guitar has always played in her songwriting. Imagine fan favorite "Deathly" without its frenzied electric wind-up at the end, for example - bet you can't do it. Temporarily shelving her beloved instrument appears to have opened up these songs in intriguing ways, focusing instead upon twinkling pianos, heavily processed keyboards, and bubbling Moogs. Mann hasn't re-positioned herself as the singer-songwriter Stereolab, but she has introduced an entirely new trick bag of sounds into her craft, and the addition of so many winsome whirs and chirps only sweetens the punch in the gut when she drops yet another devastating couplet. While acoustic guitar does find its way into the mix, the instrument is largely relegated to a percussive role.

Bryan's bass work, however, assumes a dominant position, frequently moving beyond mere rhythm-making and taking charge of melody and mood: nowhere does this ring more clearly than on album opener "Freeway," a startlingly catchy number powered by a loping, head-bobbing bass line. Throw in some deliciously squelchy synth burps straight out of the Cars' "Let's Go" and a love-at-first-listen chorus ("you've got a lot of money but you can't afford the freeway"), and the results make for a serious contender for Mann's finest pop anthem moment.

Mann also has experienced a tremendous leap forward as a songwriter - not too shabby, considering that her work has been regularly praised by everyone from Elvis Costello to Andy Partridge. While her songs have always been clever in their construction, at times they have also been somewhat overt about calling attention to their ingenuity. Not so with Smilers: here, most songs (with the breathless immediacy of "Freeway" being one possible exception), continue to reveal their depth of intricacy after an endless number of listens.

There is something more subtle to the songcraft this time 'round - not that these aren't quickly hummable pop nuggets. They are. But even after multiple spins, they still seem to produce moments of genuine "Wow! I didn't notice that before."

I'm finding this observation to hold especially true for the emotional-knockout of "Little Tornado," a haunted soundscape of eerie synth "strings," slow-crawling piano, and thumping percussion (timpani?) over which Mann delivers a troubling refrain: "Make it go faster/ baby go faster/make it go twice the speed of you and me." With each listen, I notice another nuance to the aching murmur of her command; the song is a sterling example of Mann's increased attention to sharp, delicate delivery, a bold contrast from her former reliance on a more deadpan, sardonic vocal style. "Little Tornado" is the polar opposite of emotional detachment, and the drama is only intensified by the Ennio Morricone-recalling instrumental arrangement - a comparison helped along by the lonesome high-desert whistle contributed by…celebrated San Francisco author Dave Eggers. Who knew?

As one would expect, Mann's latest batch of songs is mostly inhabited by hard-luck types: the unlucky-in-love, the dysfunctional, the self-inflicted-gunshot variety. Familiar turf for the songwriter, to be sure, but hardly just more of the same. Her pursuit of getting to the heart of what forces the hand of fuck-up-ery continues to push her craft, and Smilers serves up good reason to believe Mann should carry on with her unblinking explorations.

The album offers plenty of wry humor in its occasionally wincingly accurate character studies. "31 Today," a synth-churning transmission of 30-something angst from a birthday girl who persuades herself that her best years are already behind her, seems to poke fun at the melodrama of such a conviction: "I thought my life would be different somehow / I thought my life would be better by now…but it's not." The "girl, puh-lease" thrust of her delivery might be understated, but it's tough not to miss.

And yes, glimmers of hope do indeed drift through from time to time: "The Great Beyond" tenders words of encouragement to a young hopeful stuck in a dead-end town. After a now-or-never piano introduction sets the scene, the drama gives way to rumbling bass gurgles and slow-rolling percussion - underwater Western music, perhaps. Synthesizers whistle occasionally above the ocean-floor trundle, and Mann imparts advice with the wisdom of someone who's been there: "Go honey go / if I were you I would leave this neighborhood / away from people who never treat you like they should." Whether these words speak from experience, I cannot say, but if anyone could convince me that fiction was fact, it probably would be Mann. Yes, @#%&*! Smilers is that @#%&*! good.