I saw Jenny Lewis live at the Fox Theatre in 2019. She was on tour for On the Line (2019), her third solo record since Rilo Kiley broke up in 2010. She wore a full length, long sleeve sequined dress, her hair in an elaborate half-up half-down situation. The whole set was pastel, from the instruments to the lighting effects to the heart shaped platform she stood on to perform. It had the effect of a jewelry box, as if Jenny Lewis and her band were dancing just under the lid, perfectly painted and assembled. Her voice was crisp and clear as it had been on records from in the early aughts, and her stage presence had not diminished one bit.
Interviews with Jenny Lewis are always a little unhinged. She smiles, but not too much, makes jokes that only she understands, goes on tangents. This particular video is almost painful to watch, the interviewer obviously floundering while Lewis toys with him. More seasoned hosts can keep up with her, but she always throws in an element of eccentricity, like wearing massive sunglasses in dark rooms. She discloses what she wishes people to know and leaves out the rest, filling the gaps with outlandish stories and loosely related anecdotes. Convoluted as it is, her persona is exactly what one might expect from someone who looks like her, who performs like her.
I spent years prior to seeing her live watching these interviews. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect at a show, which for performers can be both intimate and isolating. The showmanship of the vast majority of the concert, with the costuming and set design, reflected the most natural response to that strange experience: drama, spectacle, theatrics. But her performance of “Acid Tongue” shed the pageantry; she stood with her band crowded in a semicircle around a single microphone. Every video I’ve seen of it shows them all with their arms around each other. The harmonies swell on the refrains and the final verse:
And by the rolling river
Is exactly where I was
There was no snake oil cure
For unlucky in love
To be lonely is a habit
Like smoking or taking drugs
And I've quit them both
But man, was it rough
The first Wilco song I ever heard was “Muzzle of Bees.” They’re one of my favorite bands now, but I didn’t get into their discography until a few years ago. I’ve always loved the imagery in the chorus, the way that descriptions of nature are interspersed with more traditional themes like love and relationships. A Ghost is Born (2004) is Wilco’s fifth studio record, directly following Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002). Tweedy became the band’s lead guitarist in this era, after Jay Bennett left the band and before Nels Cline entered. It won them a Grammy for Best Alternative Music Album, their only win out of seven nominations.
I particularly enjoy listening to the live and stripped versions of the song, because of its intricate interlocking parts. This live performance from 2011 features Nels Cline’s interpretation of the guitar part and the Jeff Tweedy solo version feels soft, like he’s playing you a lullaby. When taken in the context of A Ghost is Born and Tweedy’s personal life at the time—namely his struggle with drug use and depression—the Elliott Smith-inspired folk guitar makes for an understated gem.
“Tummy” by Tamino is a similarly soft, but rather than leaning on Americana and country influences like Wilco, Tamino pulls from his Belgian, Egyptian, and Lebanese roots. The music video for the song features Tamino covered in gold paint and glitter, dressed as a stereotypical ancient Egyptian, like the kind you see in drawings in textbooks. He washes the paint off at the end of the night, but he wakes up golden, dramatic eyeliner intact.
He’s often reduced to his heritage, exoticized by the media and his fans. He’s also a model, and his experience being objectified, valued for his looks, comes across in his writing. The chorus opens up with the lines:
Once we were lost
Like we almost
Like we almost were in love
This song captures perfectly the feeling of running endlessly from yourself, trying to evade the person you’re bound to become. It’s an impossible task, and yet you expend energy on trying to change. I’m not sure it’s possible to stop it, but I know I try:
Lost, like we almost
Like we almost were in love
Well it made something
Something of me, something of me