Words by Patrick Stolley//Illustration by Shannon Palmer
Live at Town Hall, New York City
Oct. 12 2006

We stepped into the Town Hall midway through the white trash lullabye of “Happy”, after a scramble from our own abysmally attended performance on the lower east side up to Times Square, and were confronted by concentric rows of seated folks, spread across every NYC demographic, in the red-lined cushioned comfort of this historic 20s-era theater— a theater that has been host to presidents and diplomats, and houses the ghosts of too many performances to mention. They and we focused on the stage, on the spotlights, and in the lights the impossibly pale and beautiful Jenny Lewis. The Watson Twins hovered at Jenny’s right, and the band in their tailored jackets and (hat) dutifully and expertly played behind them all.

At the end of “Happy”, the ladies left the stage in their long, dark silk dresses, and the band kicked up an extended intro to the upbeat “Fernando”, during which the guitar player coolly introduced the band: bass, drums, lap steel/electric piano, and himself. At the end of the intros, the drummer let loose and the three ladies returned, their black gowns traded for short silver and gold sequined dresses, their arms above their heads in a back-to-the-crowd choreographed dance that later bought them at least a couple “I love you Jennys” from some dude in the crowd. Be aware of this: these folks can perform…and they proved it on the rest of that tune, and the following two as well: “Rise Up!!” And “Carpet Baggers.“ Lewis at times played guitar, at times electric piano. The sound was fantastic, the room well-tuned, and the voices of the three women absolutely filled the air.

This apparently was to be the end of the set, but after a few minutes, Ms. Lewis Returned with only a guitar to play the title track to this year’s record, Rabbit Fur Coat. She was grateful to the crowd and somewhat meek, a person coming to terms with this level of notoriety it seemed. She dealt with the “I love you Jenny” guy well, offering a sweep of her arm and a giggle, and she laughed at a cell phone that rang on her first attempt to play the song. She seemed relieved by the interruption, as the place was dead quiet, and once she started, it stayed that way.

Now, the “Trailer Park Chic”—my own term—that seems to run through all of these tunes, is no more apparent than on the song “Rabbit Fur Coat.” A mish-mash of seemingly nonsensical anecdotes, and I wondered as I listened if the upper east-side New Yorker would believe it as much as a real trailer queen might be bewildered by it. The topics and tales seem to be in some Alice In Wonderland version of rural/trailer/southern/country America. It can’t have any real place in the world…it’s too cliché, but also very true, like something Groucho Marx or Gilligan might say. At any rate, it occupies a place that many people seem to relate to, or appreciate, which is the intent of most artists: to create something and then have a nod of recognition from the audience.

After “Rabbit Fur Coat,” Lewis gathered the band for an a capella version of a new song called “Sunday“. This was nice, as the gang gathered around a single microphone, in three and four part harmony, with the dimunitive Jenny at the side. This they followed by my favorite tune of the night, ”Jack” Starting with a
drum track coming out of nowhere, and ending with just the drummer and the keyboardist alone on stage. At some point in the drawn-out ending, the guitarist returned to twist the knobs on the keyboard’s delay pedal that rested on top of the piano, resulting in a fuzzed-out mess of tone and repetition on top of a drum beat that eventually ended with the drummer flinging his sticks in the air and walking off stage.

The band returned for one last number, its cover of the Traveling Wilbury’s “Handle Me With Care”. Jenny and the guitarist traded lines, and the Watson Twins did their part. The audience tapped their feet, and after the finish, the band took a bow. At the end of it all, this was a band that seemed to be playing a game. It’s a game of playing a band playing country songs, and doing it very well. Almost too well. Jenny seemed at points to become Sissy Spacek, becoming Loretta Lynne, and back, in a red-headed triangle of actress and singer. The rest of the gang lost their black jackets for hoodies, traded Italian leather for Chuck Taylors, and likely moseyed down the New York streets to whatever hip indie-rock place there was to go, because that is who they really are. The folks they performed for were more than satisfied, and the kids waiting for autographs got their wishes.

This is all well and good, but most times I’ll still be listening to Edith Frost when I have the hankerin’ for some country-twinged white girl rock.