Jenny Lewis first entered the public eye as a child-star; appearing in cheesy movies like 1989's The Wizard and Troop Beverly Hills. By 1998, she'd formed the indie-rock band, Rilo Kiley, with fellow former-child-star Blake Sennett; and, in the decade since, they've released four increasingly-popular albums. In 2006, Lewis released her first album, the alt-country-ish Rabbit Fur Coat, and followed it up with the bigger, richer, slicker Acid Tongue two years after.
Interview: 15 November 2008
You're about to play a show in Mexico City with Conor Oberst. Have you ever played south of the border before?
“I have not. I’ve visited Tijuana and Juárez on several occasions, but never have I strummed a guitar across the border.”
Had you done much traveling, personally, before rock-n-roll took you to the world?
“When I was 18 years old, I spent a couple of months backpacking in South-East Asia, in Thailand and Malaysia, and it definitely changed me. There was actually a moment when I was on a ferry, quite seasick, traveling to an island off the coast of Thailand, with a tape of Exile in Guyville in my walkman. I was looking out on the water, listening to Liz Phair, and I thought: ‘huh, maybe this is something I could do’.”
But you'd had a musical childhood, right?
“My parents are musicians. They had a lounge-act in Las Vegas, Nevada, where they'd do versions of popular hits from the ’70s. Legend has it my mother went into labor, with me, whilst on stage at the Sands Hotel. So, I grew up with music being played around the house, but I never really assumed it'd be something I could pursue professionally.”
When did that change?
“When I met Blake from Rilo Kiley. We started out playing together, in the ’90s, as the Jerry Cohen Two-Piece, named after my godfather. We did two shows under that name. Then I suggested we find a drummer, so we basically started a band.”
What kind of band did you want Rilo Kiley to be?
“I was heavily influenced by Pacific Northwestern indie-rock. Built to Spill and Death Cab for Cutie were my favorite bands, I was a member of the Sub Pop Singles Club, Kill Rock Stars was my favorite label. Blake had, moreso, that classic pop sensibility, and we became this mish-mosh of these different tastes. At that point, we just really loved writing songs, and playing them for ourselves. It was only in 2000, on our first tour, that becoming a professional band seemed like a remote possibility. We stumbled upon a new group of friends in Omaha, Nebraska —these likeminded people who were traveling around, really doing it— and that was inspiring.”
And years later, Conor Oberst encouraged you to make your first solo record, right?
“He did. It didn’t occur to me to make a solo record until he asked. I didn’t have a real plan of how I wanted it to sound, made it without any expectations, and sort of came out with this pure thing. I was somewhat shocked when so many people liked this thing I'd hatched in my own mind.”
How did you fare this time around, with such a weight of expectation?
“It was a different process. I had to steady myself after the last Rilo Kiley record [2007’s Under the Blacklight], and go into the studio. I just surrounded myself with my friends, and hoped that we would create a vibe that was relaxed, and fun, and supportive, so that when people came in to participate, they wouldn't want to ham it up. Everyone wanted to fit nicely into this big, weird, musical tapestry that we were sewing.”
When did that tapestry start to take on a recognizable form?
“When we recorded “Next Messiah,” on like the second or third day. There was just something magical in the room, to all of us, anyway. I felt free. I felt like I had —after making these band records, and making my first solo record almost accidentally— finally stumbled upon the right process for making my own records.”
So, Acid Tongue wasn’t the ‘difficult second album’?
“Only after it was finished. While we were doing it, it all made sense, and it flowed freely. Making it was the best part. Afterwards, it became difficult in having to explain it. Because, I think people’s perceptions of what you do, they always box you into intention. And sometimes you don’t know why you do what you do, you just write songs and record them, and, there it is. Sometimes, songs just appear like a vision. And when you try to explain how it happened, things can get a little convoluted.”
Having to ascribe, in hindsight, premeditation that didn’t actually exist at the time?
“Exactly. And it’s funny how that happens: you make up things that didn’t necessarily go down that way. Then you say it a few times, to a few people, and then it becomes fact. But, we filmed a little bit in the studio while we were recording this record. For the first time in my life, I have an actual document of what happened when recording. It’ll be very informative, for me, in 20 years.”
Online there's video of you, at 15 years old, being interviewed for some teen TV show. How do you feel about having your distant past made so present?
“I have mixed feelings about it. It’s a little embarrassing, to have something from so long ago connected with who you are, and what you do, now. But on the other hand, that’s who I am. It’s a weird one, that I’m still getting used to. If you were to see a video of yourself when you were 12, you might enjoy it, but you might also cringe a little bit.”
Oh, I’d definitely cringe. I’m really, really glad no such video exists. Sometimes I feel like this over-documented era is like the surveillance state of some old science-fiction novel. Except instead of being a dystopian nightmare, people love it! Every single thing has to be documented, now. The undocumented event is like the tree falling in the woods.
“I’m so happy I grew up before the change, in a time when that wasn’t the case. It seems like moments aren’t really moments anymore; nothing’s allowed to be fleeting, to just be what it is. For me, the obvious thing is when we play shows. There are kids who’re watching, but the majority of kids are filming it, are watching it through their cameras and their cell-phones, are seeing it from behind the frame. It’s like we’ve been taken out of the moment. And we can’t get it back.”
