The Globe, Cardiff
Sun 30 Oct
words and photos: ROBIN WILKINSON
If Bob Dylan has a “voice like sand and glue” (according to David Bowie, on 1971’s Hunky Dory album), then “anti-folk” musician Jeffrey Lewis could reasonably be described as having a voice like Scotch tape and sawdust. His deadpan, melodically-economic delivery, bares comparison with fellow New Yorker Lou Reed, albeit a Lou Reed less lyrically-obsessed with niche sexual morés and heroin than comic books, B-movies and giant, marauding brains.
Opening with a folk-inspired reinterpretation of Eminen’s Brain Damage, Jeffrey Lewis And The Junkyard then launch into new single Try It Again, which marries his standard lyrical introspection (“you know you’re not perfect, but you know you’re not worthless”) with a backing reminiscent of The Velvet Underground at their most upbeat. The strongest comparison, perhaps, is with another band that took the Velvets stripped-down sound and married it to slightly more cheery subject matter: Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers. Lewis certainly shares with Richman an ability to mine the subject of human frailty (song titles tonight include Broken, Broken Heart and Heavy Heart) and somehow resurface with something wide-eyed and optimistic, with an added dose of whimsy just to stop things getting too heavy.
Listening to Jeffrey Lewis used to be a little like panning for gold – sifting through lo-fi production values and limited technical virtuosity was all part of the ramshackle charm, and worth it to unearth the nuggets in his wry, literate lyrics. But what happens when someone whose aesthetic is borne from an enthusiasm to create despite a lack of abundant technical ability or money gets both of those things? Lewis’ excursions tonight into Neil Young-like guitar jams shows he’s no longer a slouch musically, and his hand-drawn cartoons (depicting tonight anything from aliens to the fall of Rome) are now projected behind the stage from a Macbook – admittedly hardly U2’s giant lemon – rather than held aloft in a raggedy old sketchbook..
However, for all this superficial polishing, Lewis’ performance has lost none of its human charm. Any charges of “sell-out” could quickly be answered when, fresh from a timely encore of B-movie inspired Halloween songs, he slouches from the stage to sell copies of his comic and chat with fans at the merchandise stand. Cult Boyfriend – a track off his newest album that compares his niche-interest status in the worlds of music and romance – closes with the line, “This song won’t go much further than an open mic night, but it’s guaranteed that two or three people are really gonna like it.” This is no longer the case, and it’s no bad thing.
