To a man, Jason Mraz mentions his debut album with a dismissing shrug that intonates, Hey, that one's for them. Them means the people who are putting their careers on the line for the kid that VH1 and GQ hail as the next sliced bread. Fans who knew Mraz' funky white-boy acoustic scat-song from his Java Joe's days were shocked and awed to hear the antiseptic pop gloss applied to Waiting for My Rocket to Come. "It's crap, I mean, they're ruining him!" a good friend and fan of his once emphatically told me. To her I say, You're right. But one man's ruin is another man's fortune. In an effort to woo Wal-Mart and the tender ears of radio programmers, Elektra replaced Mraz' aw-shucksian charm with Josh Groban-esque falsified composure. And it was horrific geniusÑit's catchy, Star 100.7 lacquer-pop that will open the necessary commercial doors. And what people will find when they catch Mraz live a slack-jawed ironist, an unlikely, self-deprecating sex symbol, a gifted storyteller, an on-spot improviser and pure-pitched singer will snap his pop fans back to his reality. Back to the disarming kid from Mechanicsville, Va. with an unrivaled ability to win over a crowd.