I'd forgotten how great Jeffrey Lewis is until I saw he had some UK shows lined up a few weeks back. I didn't make it to any of the concerts in question, but I did finally get round to removing his 12 Crass Songs from it's impossible packaging and giving it a debut spin some four years after its release. On the strength of this I also hurriedly obtained Em Are I and was similarly impressed. He was still as good as his first five Rough Trade full lengths, and no doubtin'. This time, having been behind for a number of years I thought I'd get ahead and hear the new record before release, such is the privileged, carefree life afforded to that of a music reviewer.
Unfortunately, the first track sounds like tuning up. Maybe Jeff and the gang will find their groove next? Almost. How Can It Be has excellent backing vocals but is still not natural enough. I Got Lost is floaty and pretty, but not engrossing.
Cult Boyfriend is pretty self-deprecating, but at the same time rather egotistically features big Jeff placing himself in exalted company. Things are picking up, though. This is the only boisterous component of the album, and must be commended as such. So What If I Couldn't Take It has a stupid but great solo by someone who, despite playing arpeggios and chords with great dexterity, never learned how to play a lead. This follows a breathless race through rhymes that whisks you up with the momentum.
The duet Reaching is a beautiful highlight, and Krongu evokes Futurama’s Slurm. The capitalism and evolution analogy was awkward at first, but now it seems fitting. Similarly, Time Trade’s lyrics are fantastic, but this only becomes apparent when doing a pleasingly laborious job. When You're By Yourself is not funny enough to cause laughter, but is touching.
There are differences from what you may be used to: some annoying, rather than endearing poetry. Boom Tube and From Draz are entirely unnecessary noise diversions. Unusually, even when he's singing songs of hurt Mr. Lewis sounds really happy.
This record must be judged against the superb back-catalogue. After several listens, the feeling is that Jeffrey Lewis is no longer great —as almost all of his preceding songs have intimated. In reality, given one last listen he's probably still shit hot, just mellower, less anxious, more comfortable in who he is at this point in his life and, dare I say it, reasonably content (even if this is contentment with sadness). He comes across as partly grown up, partly repressed teenager with troubles. There's actually not a duff (proper) song on the album, and unlike early attempts he doesn't break up the thoughtful, intelligent flows of words with unfathomably popular thrashes like Shoot The Head Kill The Ghoul, that end up feeling more contrived than his most personal rhyming couplets ever do.
He is also a rapper with flow.