Plenty of the most celebrated writers of the past century, from William Faulkner and Graham Greene to Michael Chabon and John Banville, have found cause or need to periodically interrupt their more individualized pursuits and produce work that strictly adhered to a certain niche such as horror, mystery, or sci-fi. For such authors, genre-bound detours often function as tie-loosening fodder-- playful, low-stakes, persona-dodging fare. As one of indie rock's preeminent lyricists and a fascinating personality in her own right, Jenny Lewis has similarly been trying her hand at already regimented styles, particularly over the course of her two most recent albums, the 2007 release Under the Blacklight from her band, Rilo Kiley, as well as her newest solo effort, Acid Tongue. Lewis made her name with highly conversational indie pop that played up her keen lyrical and vocal facilities for conveying humor, sexiness, and humanity, yet these latest recordings have found the former child actress retreating into classic soul, pop, and rock roles that inevitably mute her most appealing idiosyncracies and predilections. What separates Lewis from the aforementioned novelists is the fear that these moves represent a significant shift in artistic direction as opposed to a momentary diversion.
As with Under the Blacklight, Acid Tongue is immediately pleasurable, brimming over with hooks and songwriting techniques that announce themselves with openness and surety. The problem then is one of staying power-- Lewis does such a good job of nailing choice sounds and styles from pop's past that you can't help getting reeled in right away; only upon later reflection do you realize that much of her success lies in evoking something else great rather than achieving a greatness more uniquely her own. The spacious echo of "Black Sand", the crackling tension of "Pretty Bird", and the blues-rock hysterics of "Jack Killed Mom" are enjoyable mostly insofar as they reenact the prior accomplishments of Jeff Lynne, Neil Young, and the White Stripes, respectively. Meanwhile, "Bad Man's World" and "Trying My Best to Love You" resume Blacklight's fetish for girl-group and early soul (with the former, to its credit, boasting a delectable bassline).
Perhaps it sounds like I'm being too hard on Lewis, and it's true that in most other hands such simulacrums would likely be more forgivable. The difference with Lewis is that she's already displayed a distinct, undeniably compelling artistry that's mostly been given short shrift here. Her solo debut, 2006's Rabbit Fur Coat, was a rambling, intensely personal document of sexual and spiritual confusion that frequently conflated and commingled the twin urges in fascinating ways. Constant soul-baring isn't necessarily a healthy tactic for any songwriter, yet aside from the self-excoriating title track (the record's clear highlight, swiping the indie-gospel vibe that helped make RFC so indelible) and the early-Rilo-evoking "Godspeed", the majority of Acid Tongue lacks Lewis' singularly bracing, unabashed stamp. That's not to say she doesn't cut loose with aplomb on the blistering, eight-minute country-rock medley, "The Next Messiah" or raise a few goosebumps with the gently lilting "Sing a Song for Them". The first minute or so of the shit-kicking "Carpetbaggers" is pretty thrilling, too, at least until Elvis Costello shows up to wheeze all over everything.
The point isn't that Lewis needs to stick to dirty jokes and jaunty twang (though country seems her natural milieu). There's more than enough likeable, listenable material on Acid Tongue, yet the effect is nonetheless equivalent to Tiger Woods trying to conquer the mini-golf circuit. In these straitjacketed settings, Lewis' considerable strengths as a lyricist and performer just aren't given sufficient room to fully emerge.
