Singer Mandy Moore has just released her sixth album, titled Amanda Leigh. (Nathan Denette/Canadian Press)

The perils of premature stardom are well documented. We’ve seen folks who achieved teen celebrity fall victim to drug abuse, psychological breakdowns and criminality, or some combination thereof.

But one unfortunate hazard of adolescent fame has gone under-reported, likely because it’s not quite as scandalous as getting busted for a DUI or baring your crotch while exiting a limo. It’s a pitfall that’s all too familiar to one-time tween pop starlet Mandy Moore: the scourge of cuteness.

'I find it a little bizarre that people respond to what I’m doing now with a sense of "Well, now she’s trying to be credible." I feel like I’ve actually been myself for 10 years.'

—Mandy Moore

“It’s not even like I have a dark side,” Moore sighs during a recent interview in Toronto, drawing out the syllables in a mock-dramatic manner. “But being perceived as cute or sweet, it’s very surface. It kind of negates any possibility of depth. I’m not trying to suggest that I need to be viewed as having excessive sophistication or intelligence. There’s just more there. There’s the desire to dig deep with what I get to do in life, which is music and film, and the choices I want to make in both of those areas.

“I find it a little bizarre that people respond to what I’m doing now with a sense of ‘Well, now she’s trying to be credible,’” says Moore. “I feel like I’ve actually been myself for 10 years. I don’t think it’s that odd to have grown up and to have evolved. People change, and their musical tastes change. Life experience gives you more awareness.”

The 25-year-old singer and actress gives the impression of a somewhat bookish, introspective individual who cares deeply about being seen for who she is – even if that means revealing that she’s still not sure what she wants to do with her career. Moore and I are holed up in the sleek underbelly of a chic Toronto hotel, where she is doing press for her new album, Amanda Leigh.

(Storefront Records)

If your knowledge of Mandy Moore the singer begins and ends with Candy, the treacly 1999 dance-pop track that helped launch her career at age 15, this new album might surprise you. It’s a sweet collection of folksy tunes speckled with images of jacarandas and Indian summers. It’s rendered more interesting by producer Mike Viola’s clever arrangements and unexpected instrumental touches – a clavinet here, a scrolling violin flourish there.

Save for the slightly cloying lead single, I Could Break Your Heart Any Day of the Week, Amanda Leigh is not a cute album. Moore’s first step toward establishing her authentic voice was Coverage (2003), a collection of quaint, rootsy covers of songs by artists like Carole King and Joan Armatrading. Amanda Leigh is a much stronger piece of work than 2007’s Wild Hope, which was marred by glossy production that overshadowed Moore’s vocals.

Wild Hope was written in the wake of some very public breakups, most notably Moore’s split with tennis ace Andy Roddick. “I didn’t know how to be anything other than reactionary,” she says now. “It was like, I just have to let this raw emotion out: ‘You f---ed me over; you broke my heart. How dare you?’ Those are so specific to a particular point in my life. [Wild Hope] was so focused on that time, on my story of what happened. Whereas with Amanda Leigh, I feel more removed. Like there’s a little distance. It’s not like I put my guard up, more like there’s a little more awareness.”

Moore is married to alt-country singer Ryan Adams, but she credits Mike Viola, who co-wrote most of the tracks on Amanda Leigh, with helping her develop as a songwriter. Their reference points included Bonnie Raitt’s album Streetlights, Todd Rundgren’s Something/Anything, Harry Nilsson and Randy Newman. This collection of names and albums seems more eclectic and retro than you’d expect from a kid who cut her teeth in mainstream pop.

Indeed, Moore is aware that she’s a bit of a cliché – the former kiddie pop star trying very hard to make work that’s more substantial. But there are a number of key differences between Moore and her so-called peers. For one, she’s a far more talented musician, and even when she was opening for the Backstreet Boys on massive stadium tours, Moore looked awkward trying to pull off saccharine dance hits. Listening to her choke out the come-ons of Candy (“I’m so addicted to the love you’re feeding to me”) was like witnessing a bad Britney Spears impersonation.

Moore performs in New York City. (Will Ragozzino/Getty Images)

Moore is mortified when she reflects on her first few albums. She once promised a refund to fans who’d bought her first record (and made good on the offer on at least one occasion). She has painstakingly asserted her musical chops since she released Coverage. Unfortunately, it sold poorly and convinced her label, Sony BMG, to drop her. But she has consistently won more respect for her acting skills. That’s because she’s made some interesting choices when it comes to film: she was a caustic mean girl in the dark teen comedy Saved, a wickedly funny pop star in the flop American Dreamz and had a small part in Richard Kelly’s surreal disaster Southland Tales. (Moore seems frustrated that she’s perceived as a better actor than she is singer, going so far as to remind me of her predilection for starring in trite romantic comedies.)

Pop culture has held a continuing fascination with Moore as a character. She’s appeared as an animated avatar on The Simpsons, one of the highest popcult honours. On the series Entourage, Moore played a version of herself: a sweet, genuine singer-actress who co-starred with Vince (Adrian Grenier) in an Aquaman movie and held the honour of being the only girl to break his heart.

The punchline of Moore’s multi-episode arc seemed to hinge on how nice she is – a characterization that seems almost as hard to shake as being “cute.”

“There’s always more than what meets the eye, right? I’m not just a nice person, though I appreciate the compliment,” says Moore. “When you’re in the public eye, you get kind of defined in very certain terms – in a very limiting way, essentially.”

Amanda Leigh is in stores now.

Sarah Liss writes about the arts for CBCNews.ca.