Bachelor No. 2 (or, the last remains of the dodo)

In one of those quirks of fate that happen periodically in the music business, several of Mann's new songs were featured prominently in ''Magnolia,'' which resulted in a highly regarded soundtrack album, an Oscar nomination (for Best Song), a performance during the telecast, and a flock of record company suits scurrying to her door. Ultimately, Mann decided to release the in-limbo album on her own SuperEgo label, first via mail-order in late February and now in stores as of May 2.

It's essential to retell this story not simply because it's a fascinating example of music-biz unpredictability, but because Mann herself won't let us forget it. ''Nothing Is Good Enough,'' track No. 2 on ''Bachelor No. 2,'' is addressed to a label A&R man who asked her to write more radio-friendly material: ''There's no one else, I find, to undermine or dash a hope quite like you,'' Mann sings to him. Other songs on the album could easily be metaphors for Mann's career travails. ''Calling It Quits'' sports a tossing-it-in chorus and a reference to a big-money man (''shake his hand and he'll twist your arm''), while ''Ghost World'' is about a high school graduate who lingers around town long after her classmates have left. This is the Mann beloved by her champions: the underdog who writes erudite pop yet has been repeatedly burned by the cold, cruel showbiz scene.

As someone who found Mann's earlier work likable and intelligent but wished a more passionate singer were delivering it, I've resisted abandoning myself completely to her or viewing her as a martyr. Life and the entertainment world are unfair at times, and even Mann's best songs are, for better or worse, simply not the stuff of Top 40. That said, the poignancy of her ''Magnolia'' contributions perfectly fit the film's dampened mood, and ''Bachelor No. 2'' (which repeats three songs from that soundtrack album but sports otherwise new material) is a genuinely winning collection of sublime, old-school pop.

That's not to say it's upbeat, of course. When she's not reflecting warily on her profession, Mann is eviscerating phonies no one else seems to see through (''Red Vines''), casting a watchful eye on feckless ex-lovers (''How Am I Different''), and warning friends who have a weakness for feckless lovers (''You Do,'' ''Driving Sideways''). In ''Susan,'' Mann both consoles a female friend for her romantic screwup and offers herself as an example: ''We kissed for a while to see how it played/And pulled the pin on another grenade.'' As usual, Mann presents these observations as if she were a composed adult, even as she makes life sound as if it's forever set in a high school cafeteria.