After a few years now of trying to dance about architecture, most of the reviews I do are still via label submissions. However, occasionally I’ll be sent something directly from an artist I’ve never heard of, give it a listen, and find a hook—musical or otherwise—that gets me listening deeper. Such is the case with Ann Frances’ No One Wants You (You’ve Been With Too Many Men). The album starts with the title track, a catchy pop song that could be a little cloying until you listen to the lyrics. Laying out the reality of sexual double standards in a way that certainly reduces the likelihood of radio play, it’s impossible not to admire the honesty buried in the hooks.

With that lead-off, the tone for the album is set. The second track, “Parking Lot,” is a mid-tempo ode to having sex in a car with an old high school flame. Frances has a strong, clear voice that could slot easily into commercial radio, but programmers at adult alternative stations would likely balk at the lyrics, which include lines like “Let’s pretend… I’m a cheerleader that’s a little freaky.” However, I can only support taking such a fearless, if less-lucrative, route.

Musically, perhaps some comparisons could be made to Liz Phair, but with lyrics written by Annie Sprinkle. The Juliana Hatfield Three sing the lighter moments of Lydia Lunch? Maybe! There are also some punk-tinges around the edges, like the excellent “Believe Me,” that wouldn’t be out of place on a Lemonheads record. But what makes this sex-positive album have additional depth is the barb in just about every song that makes it clear that Frances knows that living your own way comes with a cost, even when it shouldn’t. Promo material indicates an early history of abuse and what has likely been a long road of working at self-acceptance, as reflected in the pure pop “Whore.” Just go around singing that one in the grocery store.

Frances has a talented and sympathetic band in guitarist/co-producer Fareed Haque, bassist Alex Austin, and Greg Fundis, whose propulsive drumming is lively without being overpowering. The musicians largely drop away on “Fever,” a slow burn with acoustic guitar, as well as cello provided by Veronica Nettles. Things slow down even further for “Lay Keppe,” a no-bells-and-whistles love song that allows Frances to further showcase her voice. The acoustic ballad “Rather” flips the previous love song on its head in a bid for the painful truth. Things pick up again with the Sheryl Crow-ish “One Winged Butterfly Girl” and Americana-tinged “Sex Object,” a pushback against being what’s spelled out in the title.

Frances covers quite a bit of musical ground on this album, especially in the last third, which is a bit of a cool down. “When You’re Here” is a jazzy torch song, and both “Gypsy” and “Sweetest Man” follow a languid, acoustic vibe, again putting the spotlight on Frances’ voice. Jonathan Rozman lends some fiddle to the two-steppin’ “Lost And Gone,” and “Take Me Back” would appeal to fans of KT Tunstall. “Cheater,” with minimal electronic rhythmic accompaniment, may be the most harrowing track, the true shadow side of the album, but leavened with hard-won self-awareness. However, Frances doesn’t let things end on that note, rather closing the record with the upbeat—both musically and lyrically—“Beautiful And True.”

If there’s a critique to be had, it’s probably that at 22 songs and 76 minutes, the album is a lot to digest in one sitting. I remember the only way I could get into The Clash’s Sandinista! was to listen to each side of the three vinyl LPs for a few days at a time. CDs (or, even more so, streaming apps) aren’t good for that kind of thing, and so the back half of this record might go a bit unheard, especially given the downshift in tone and genre jumping. But I get it; resources are scarce, and if you’ve got the material to fill an entire CD, why not go for it? If you’re looking for a no punches pulled alternative pop soundtrack to the pleasures and pitfalls of carnal knowledge, as well as the emotional attachments that go with it, desired or not, I’d recommend taking this brave journey with Ann Frances.

Rating: B

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