by: Marissa Fox; page 48

When I was a little girl, my mom would force me to play with Joannie, a neighbourhood eccentric who had few friends because of her shy and awkward manner.

Joannie didn't have much in the ways of personality, but she could play the piano real well. She loved music and even hummed to herself while she chewed her food.

10,000 Maniacs' mysterious leader Natalie Merchant exudes a similar aura. She too has put all her eggs in her musical basket and shied away from basic human touches like eye contact and smiling. She plays with her hands a lot, kneading the sides of her dress or crossing her arms over her chest. She's so self-conscious you start to feel weird too. You start questioning otherwise simple decisions. Like what you want to be called.

Natalie's either unusually formal or else she has the dryest sense of humour ever. For starters, she introduces herself by saying: "Miss Fox, this is Miss Merchant." Miss Fox?

We meet in her hotel lobby. Natalie’s eyes seem hard pressed to open. She buys the New York Times and greets some of her entourage. Obviously the Maniacs are happy about being a U.S. college radio sensation for some five years now. They've graced the crass commercialism of supermarket tabloids as well as MTV. They've conquered mainstream media somehow without caring that their lyrics are often cryptic (Pit Viper), personal in an in-jokey kind of way (Death of Manolete), pretentious (Pood de Chirico) and politically trendy (Anthem for Doomed Youth).

Natalie doesn't feel it's her role to elaborate too much on her lyrics or explain the appeal of her tiny-town perspective on the world. She and the Maniacs also don't care about the image they project - onstage or off, they all look semi-groomed. It goes without saying that doting on hair (even facial hair) is a no-no; and forget about make up even for a photograph. It's not that the Maniacs are weathering a rock’n’roll grunge look or cultivating some nouvelle bohemian trend. It's just that style of any sort is out of the question.

Natalie, as the leader, singer and songwriter of 10,000 Maniacs, sets the mould. She tries so hard to be unsexy - or even assexual - that she resembles a nun more than a pop star. Today, it's a hot, sunny day in Chicago as early November temperatures climb to the 70s. Still Natalie sports a long-sleeve, heavy, dark blue matronly dress. It looks like something left over from the Victorian era.

"No. It's new. I didn't buy it for a look or anything. I bought it because it's loose and comfortable. I like loose and comfortable clothes, especially onstage. Once I wore a tight mini skirt and I felt really uncomfortable. Really self-conscious about my body."

Onstage at Chicago's Riviera Theater, Natalie wears a button-down white blouse loosely tucked into a pleated, navy blue skirt. Thick, orthopedic grey tights cover her legs. Her long brown hair hangs loose like a wild shrub. She never tosses or flails it around her face as if it were some electric rock'n'roll mane. That's not Natalie's approach - she'd never willing draw attention to any of her body parts. She's the kind of performer who likes to forget herself in public. As she launches into a song, she paces back and forth then lands centerstage and starts flailing her body in circles as if in some bizarre hippy ritual. For that brief moment, she loosens her tight grip on her chastity and lets go.

Her rich voice bathes you in lilting melodies. As the group launches into one of their first hits, the eerie and catchy My Mother the War, the stage is an exuberant burst of sound and energy. The capacity crowd bops along to the jumpy chorus. One girl even does a modified pogo on the side, dating the group back to their early '80s start. But that's the point of this tour. The Maniacs are out to promote a repackaging of their first releases entitled Hope Chest/The Fredonia Recordings 1982-1983. And since the last time I saw the Maniacs was when they first toured the U.S., songs like Planned Obsolescence and Daktari sounded strangely and pleasantly reminiscent.

About seven years after they were first recorded, the Maniacs' early material stands up. The Latin One with its heavy dub background sounds fresh and airy. Songs like Groove Dub and Grey Victory display a structural looseness missing in later material.

"I was suprised at how well the crowd knew all that stuff," Natalie says. "A lot of those records are out of print, that's why we decided to re-do them. I mean, our first album was recorded in a college studio and things just don't come out sounding like they should. My voice isn't clear enough. The drums have no real force behind them. We thought it was time to produce those songs properly."

And if you're a fan of that early material this album and its accompanying video is a must. Somehow Merchant and co. have retained that spirit of surprise and managed to convey the songs' essence with real clarity. The end result is pristine and fragile. Her voice echoes gently from track to track with what's becoming her signature accent. It's somewhat Irish, full of playful inflections at times and almost as raspy as Marianne Faithfull's at others. When I ask her about it, Natalie draws a blank about her accent or even about Faithfull.

"I didn't know I was perceived as having an accent," she says. And since she does come from a nondescript part of America, devoid of any cultural identification, her singing accent is a mystery, but when the audience sings along, they try to imitate it too. The kind of welcome reception she received last night is typical. And what a difference to how Natalie behaves onstage and off.

"I feel most comfortable onstage," she says. "It's strange I know, that I can open up and feel best when I'm standing there in front of thousands of unknown faces. It wasn't always like that though. When I first started, I was a bit shy about it. I would turn my back to the audience and look at my band, but then I realised they've all paid money to see me, I should really face them!"

There were only a few moments last night when she turned her back on the crowd.

"I like to see what my band is up to too," she explains.

And I guess the audience is used to Miss Merchant's strange antics. Towards the end of the show she stopped the singing to announce: "Thanks for all coming out, despite this awful place."

What was wrong with it?

"It's a dump," she says later laughing. "The bathrooms were so gross I couldn't take a shit before I went on. And the hotel was too far away to go back to."

Were you in pain?

"Well, it wasn't pleasant... also there was smoke everywhere because it's a theater, me and my band are very sensitive," she continues in her soft and serious tone. "We all have delicate lungs and smoke really hurts us. That's why we try to insist on playing concert halls or auditoriums. The acoustics are better anyway."

And if Ms. Merchant is this serious about her music, she's also this serious about her liberal little world. Through her friendship with Michael Stipe, she became involved with public service announcements and Greenpeace-type benefits for Earth Day, the environment and so on. She is wearing leather shoes today, but it seems all other aspects of her life are filtered through the close scrutiny of a liberal lens.

"I don't use anything with animal products, even basic things like houehold detergent or cosmetics." And of course, earth-mama Merchant doesn't eat meat. "You know, when you're on the road it seems so difficult to eat naturally. But I would never patronise a fast-food establishment."

Even down by Chicago's lakeshore, with a clear blue sky up above, Natalie finds fault with the surrounding. "Look at how polluted this water is," she continues. And water is something she cares about. Just listen to Poison in the Well off Blind Man’s Zoo. Some say it was prophetic about the Exxon oil spill off the coast of Alaska two years ago.

"I wrote it about Love Canal which is close to where I am. There, people are born with all kinds of deformities and wind up with diseases later on in life that are a direct result of nuclear radiation. I'm afraid about what we've done to our environment."

"I try to volunteer my time to causes. I live in New York City now and I spend a few days a week at a shelter for homeless kids. I really love them. No one there knew who I was and I got on really well with the other volunteers. They even offered me a full-time job there. I was so flattered."

So if it weren't for your music, you'd probably be involved with some social service?

"Well, I'm not trying to be a bleeding heart liberal or anything. It's just what I like to do. I feel you should give back to whatever you take from. I just love kids. I like to think that my music can be enjoyed by kids. I know lots of parents who take their kids to my shows. My music is for all ages and it's nice that kids enjoy it too."