Have you met Mr. A-Z?

OK, bear with me here. Unless you live under a rock, you've probably at least heard of the Mraz guy. One can only wonder how many times I've made reference to him here over the years.

But consider this a commentary of sorts. A discussion prompted by recent events and even more recent news. I decided to mix things up slightly for this week's "Have you met...?" - so enjoy and, as always, feel free to comment.

Week Three: Have you met Jason Mraz?

About a week and a half ago, I rode in a car with friends, traveling over rain-slickened Massachusetts roads on a gray, dismal sort of Saturday. The gloominess outside the vehicle was belied by the smiling faces within the car. We were belting out the words of the sunshine pop pulsing through the speakers.

The summer storm relief was courtesy of Jason Mraz, the San Diego-based troubador who graduated from coffeeshops to mainstream success with a couple of studio releases and several years of extensive touring. He's "The Remedy" guy, the "Geek in the Pink" known for his plucky "Wordplay."

Hey now, don't judge, naysayers. And don't squeal, teenage girls. We weren't listening to that Mraz. We were listening to a live rendition of "1000 Things," a song that has never made the jump to a recording studio. You know, the good stuff.

Whenever a musician hits the musical jackpot and becomes a widely recognizable name, there are those clusters of fans that grumble about how things were before, back when the music was still pure, unaltered by A&R guys or songwriting teams. The word "sellout" is always at least whispered, if not shouted aloud.

Many could assume that those fans are just upset over losing a secret, that the gem they've followed and gotten to know is now easily accessible to anyone with iTunes or a radio. Just another example of musical snobbery, one could say.

With Mraz, however, the difference in craft pre- and post-big break are startling apparent. Longtime listeners who tried to chalk it up to transitioning or concessionary changes are faced with the reality that the musician they touted to friends as "The Next Big Thing" is now the musician who elicits grimaces in grocery stores or elevators.

Which raises the question any invested music fan hates to ask: When does that fan stop trying to blame a label, manager or screaming new fanbase and accept the fact that she and the artist have simply taken different paths?

The best example of the Mraz I once zealously followed remains "Recorded Live at Java Joe's," a 15-track collection of songs performed at an Ocean Beach coffeeshop in 2001. Saucy, sweet and characteristically witty, Mraz and percussionist/harmonist Toca Rivera bob their way through the material; three of the songs on "Java Joe's" made the jump to studio production a year later on Mraz's debut solo album, "Waiting For My Rocket to Come."

On "Java Joe's," however, Mraz delivers the songs as they were crafted - stripped down and intimately playful or sensitive, depending on the nature of the particular piece. Unconfined, Mraz and Rivera unleash the scatting that has become a trademark of live performance but gravely underused in studios. Laughter, witticisms and banter are included on the tracks, providing a sense of what made Mraz stand out against the sea of sensitive guitar guys who have cropped up in recent years.

That warm and comfortable ambiance is a complete 180 from the slick performances captured on 2005's "Mr. A-Z," the album that listeners prematurely championed as a return to the Mraz they knew.

The major label initiation behind him, Mraz was going to be able to deliver the album he wanted to create, they (and I) thought, and live previews of the material delivered the summer before suggested a return to the intimate and introspective songster of old. Dispatches they received from the musician along the way promised the best collection of material yet.

Instead, the material had grown contrived, cliched, overthough and overwrought. Instead of simply being witty and clever, Mraz seems to elbow the listener, winking and chuckling with each "Oh! So! Smart!" turn of phrase.

The emotions that made an audience member lean forward and gasp with delight during the 2004 Curbside Prophet tour are buried beneath synthesizers and glossy pop beats; a sharp and tongue-twisting "Geek in the Pink" is transformed into a song noted most for trying desperately to be hip-hop - and failing.

Presumably intended to reflect a musician's wide-scope of interest and talent, "Mr. A-Z" instead indicates a musician uncertain of where he's going, who he wants to be. Rocker? Singer-songwriter? Freestyle MC? Teen sensation? Mraz's attempts to force each persona upon himself leaves an audience puzzled and unsettled.

Live performances in the fall of 2005 did nothing to help. The overproduction carried over to the previously untainted stage setting, with Mraz dancing like an animetronic doll, delivering a static set that offered none of the personalized touches for which he'd become known. During shows in Montreal and Boston, it appeared he was going through the motions, catering to the screaming teenage fans who clamored for his singles.

The journal entries that followed seemed to offer confirmation:

"I had too many expectations. I heard about too many expectations of others and I grew tired. I was giving up," Mraz wrote on his official website in January. "I subconsciously sabotaged my own projects in hopes of being released from the popular reality back into the wild, to have time once again to reclaim my own path, a path not written by another, a path that leads not to a predestined location based on a series of formulas one can follow to receive a lucrative reward."

Plans were announced today for four intimate acoustic summer shows, to be recorded, in Chicago, New York and Saratoga, Ca. In the announcement, Mraz described the "promise I made to myself to go back to my roots, pay tribute to the present and acknowledge the future of my fanship to music."

After the long journey of following the musician that has brought both memories and missteps, a listener must wonder: can a musician who has strayed from that path for so long every really get back?