The troubadour is a rare bird in this day and age, and
Jeffrey Lewis is certainly that. He’s a throwback of sorts. A keeper of
folk tradition, accessibility, and transcendent punk-rock values. And
if he weren’t such a geek, you might call him a renaissance man.
At his core, Lewis is an acoustic guitar-toting New York
folkie—a tongue-in-cheek version of Gaslight Dylan and Pete
Seeger politics—wrapped in punk-rock values. God didn’t give
Lewis the same wide voice as Seeger’s, or Dylan’s stoic, profound
poetic seriousness, but it hasn’t made one bit of
difference—that’s where the punk bit comes in. Don’t look or
sound the part? So what? Indeed, in Lewis’ perfect imperfections lie
the roots of his charm.
Stranger writer Eric Grandy nailed Lewis’ nasal style: “His
voice is ragged, flat, and pinched in all the right places.” But Lewis’
punk parts extend beyond the aesthetic. He’s obsessed with the history
and culture, which led to a series of educational, borderline
performance art pieces like “The History of Punk on the Lower East
Side,” where he rattles off names, dates, and the connecting influences
that sprung bands like the Velvet Underground, the Holy Modal Rounders,
and the Fugs. Lewis has many of these “teaching songs,” which also
include “The History of Communism.” Many are accompanied by drawings,
which Lewis flips through on a crinkled sketchpad while standing on a
chair (he is also an avid comic book artist).
Of course, there are personal songs. The most touching of which is
“Williamsburg Will Oldham Horror,” a semi-comedic chronicle of the
unknown artist’s struggle for self-satisfaction. Lewis explains it as
an exploration of “spiritual or mental survival, and feeling you’re
doing the right thing and operating in the world in a way that makes
you feel good about what you’re doing—to feel as though you’re a
contributing member of society in some way.” This desire to contribute
helps explain Lewis’ inclusion of the “teaching” songs.
Then there’s 12 Crass Songs, the brand-new cover album where
Lewis reinterprets the seminal, hyper-political punk collective.
Responses have been widespread, some loving, and others—many
devout Crass fans—fully pissed. Still, Lewis has received
positive responses from members of the band—singer Eve Libertine
even joined him onstage. Even without the cover album, Crass’ influence
has been huge on Lewis.
“The amount of dedication and the amount of talking the talk and
walking the walk that every member of that band did, and the level of
integrity they had, that’s not something that’s often found in an
artist and entertainer and in the music business,” Lewis says.
By donating half the album’s proceeds to charities, he’s walking the
walk too. So far Lewis says he’s donated over $1,000 to various
causes.
Lewis’ DIY approach to touring—booking unusual venues without
knowing where he’ll sleep—have given him a “tremendous range of
experiences.”
“The predictability of comfort,” he says, “has its own pros and
cons. If we’d been doing it the official way all these years we just
would’ve missed out on so much of the world and so many of the people
and the highs and lows of experience that have just been incredibly
enriching. I can’t imagine having done it any other way.”