Personally, I thought that Rilo Kiley -Jenny Lewis' former band- were pretty mediocre; and Rabbit Fur Coat, the album she recorded with The Watson Twins, which drove a lot of my friends gaga, left me feeling a bit cold. So when she released Acid Tongue in September of 2008 I didn't even blink. I'd kind of written Jenny Lewis off.
And then, over a year after it was released, I listened to it. And holy shit.
Somewhere in there, between plopping out not-particularly-great music in collaborations, Lewis became a genius.
I figure that the majority of female artists out there these days fall into a few categories:
There are the pretty and pretty vapid pseudo poets, best personified by Chantel Kreviazuk and (sorry Becca) Jewel.
There are the teen pop tarts, full of love and angst and singing about absolutely nothing at all, rightfully more known for what's written about them than for what they write, if they even write anything themselves. (Lindsey? Britney? Jessica?)
There are the distillations of what was once good, but devoid of the edge a sparkle of the originals... Avril Lavigne is meant to harness the fuck you attitude of Joan Jett but fails; Kelly Osbourne is a watered-down Blondie, or maybe Courtney Love.
And then there are the holy-fuck-we're so-weird-we-must-be-artists, like the bewildering Lady Gaga, La Roux or Peaches; none of which have a clue what art looks like. (Self-promotion is not art.) This is the new generation of Madonna wanna-bes (Madonna-bes?), but each lacking in her basic sense of melody or what makes a strong pop hook.
This was not always so. Once upon a time there were female recording artists; once upon a time female recording artists were the rule and not the exception once upon a time there was Emmylou Harris, Patsy Cline, Loretta Lynn, June Carter, Joan Baez and Dolly Parton! And there were a million jazz singers: Sarah Vaughan, Etta James, Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, Etta James, Carmen McRae, and on and on.
These were artists; these were master interpreters and creators.
And with Acid Tongue, released a year and a half ago, you can add to that list Jenny Lewis, with a voice that recalls Loretta Lynn especially, and not her own early self in any way. Acid Tongue is a rock & roll album with balls, rare enough to find from someone with balls, and insanely rare from someone without them. It's a tough record, but one that refuses to shy away from true beauty, in the way that, say, Courtney Love does. (And alternately, it doesn't flinch at adding a little darkness to the beauty, like the way opener Black Sands starts to turn a bit towards the end, or how the very pretty Bad Man's World opines "I've got a bullet left, but I can’t decide which scorpion I’m going to shoot; will it be me, or will it be you?")That said, when she needs unadorned beauty she can nail that too, as she does on Trying My Best to Love You.
Godspeed is one of the most incredible things I've heard in years, with a wonderful melody, and an almost hopeful bounce underlying the melancholy.
The chugging See Fernando is brilliant and Carpetbaggers (with a shockingly good, shockingly ferocious guest turn from the almighty Elvis Costello) is straight up aggressive in the best possible way.
Jack Killed Mom is a murder ballad / story-song that would make Johnny Cash or Bruce Springsteen smile with glee.
The whole thing has a kind of 1960's Laurel Canyon singer-songwriter, community-made feel to it, where every single note played by every single player was struck, plucked or sung with pride and a desire to create the very best art possible.
There's not a bad song in the lot, and although I might be two years late, I can't now recommend it any more strongly. I feel like your life is probably worse for not having this album on your iPod.
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