Jenny Lewis, Viet Nam live!

Jenny Lewis With The Watson Twins, Viet Nam
Vic Theatre, Chicago
Wednesday, October 4, 2006

For someone so concerned with the meteorology of relationships, Jenny Lewis sure doesn’t check the weather reports as often as she could. In January 2003 while fronting her regular gig, Rilo Kiley, she wore a tank top in the Abbey Pub and actually complained she was cold. Being from Los Angeles might be a reason for her unfamiliarity with climate change, but even opener/bandmate Michael Runyon joked on this chilly October night, “It’s nice to see a season.”

So when Lewis strolled onto the stage in an upscale dress that appeared to have all the function of a satin nightgown, the thought was she might catch her death in a drafty, half-full Vic. But Lewis has grown up big-time in 2006, outdistancing the occasionally poorly recorded preciousness of her solo debut, Rabbit Fur Coat, and her inability to stay warm. Flanked once again by film noir fugitives the Watson Twins and a soul revue-cum-country band, she wasn’t able to completely shed her fairweather indie-rocker’s Neko Case tag, though she came close.

Opening with country/gospel turn “Run Devil Run” that also begins the album, Lewis and Chandra and Leigh Watson flipped it into peppy doo-wop without hamming it up. Every step through Rabbit Fur Coat grew exceedingly confident while maintaining homespun overtones, occasionally recalling a Christopher Guest movie in their lack of self-awareness. The Watsons attached themselves to a single microphone while Lewis serenaded with “Melt Your Heart,” though the vocal attack got a little too Dixie Chicks with the harmonies on one particularly saturated new song.

Paying debt to her country heroes, Lewis and the Watsons left the stage midway through, only to return in sequined, mini cocktail dresses for some synchonized dancing. It was campy, yes, but the spankin’ new “See Fernando” ultimately raised the spirits of her heartbroken songs. A trip to the Rhodes electric piano brought yet another dimension in her drift from trad country to fuller, Southern soul, a fitting segue to set closer, “Born Secular.”

Openers VietNam were a surprise inclusion on the bill, as their macho/psychedelic/blooze rock had Southern overtones more appropriate for the Texas Jam ’78 than what the Vic had to offer. Sporting matching beards — save the keyboardist, who sported an ugly hat — and tight pants, the New Yorkers are ripe for ridicule, though their meandering, meaty jams were spiced by purposefully mysterious (and unintelligible) vocalist Michael Gerner, whose rasp falls somewhere between Roky Erickson and Tesla’s Jeff Keith. Props for continuing to play while guitarist Joshua Grubb replaced a string, though some Pink Floydy excursions and a tendency to ignore the audience left them sounding insular and uneasy.

— Steve Forstneger

Category: Live Reviews, Weekly