When I was 16, I declared that Jenny Lewis was the one woman in the world I'd go gay for. And not too long later, it seemed every other girl (and boy) with side-swept bangs felt the same. And before you could say Warner Bros., Lewis rocketed to the exalted indie-rock-goddess status she's achieved today.
While she's not exactly "indie"by definition anymore, it's not a stretch to say she's probably the one woman in the scene capable of pulling off the genre transition from rock to country and western she made with her first solo record, Rabbit Fur Coat—not to mention bringing all the hipsters along for the hayride and packing the Glass House in the process.
The room was silent when the haunting introductory lines of "Run Devil Run" began resonating from the Twins, who, in matching dresses, proceeded to march wedding-style onto the stage, with Lewis trotting behind them a few seconds later. It was all real dramatic and nicely done—that is, until a maelstrom of feedback killed the moment. "Well, shit!" chirped Lewis.
To which we, the absolutely enchanted audience members, cooed and giggled in response.
And that was kind of the theme for the night; Lewis and the creep-creepily robotic (I'm talking redrum-bloody-hallwaycreepy here, people) Twins put on an almost flawless set with their easy-listening acoustic and slide-guitar pleasantries, even if I still found myself somehow refusing to believe that all those kids with asymmetrical haircuts and excessively layered outfits standing before me genuinely dug Rabbit Fur Coat. But even during the quietest and subtlest numbers, people remained reverently attentive. Sure, heads were bobbing here and there, particularly during the poppier melodies of "You Are What You Love" and "Rise Up With Fists!!"—I just couldn't help but secretly wish Lewis would just burst into a chorus or two of "With Arms Outstretched."
The highlights of the show came during the encore, when Lewis and the Twins performed a too-cute a capella cover of the Shirelles' "I Met Him On a Sunday," complete with claps and snaps, followed by a country-jamboree performance of the hymn "Cold Jordan." An apt ending, considering the spiritual Sunday-services feel of the night.
As for that girl-on-girl thing, I've since traded Lewis in for Scarlett Johansson (we're closer in age), but who other than Jenny Lewis—a Jewish pseudo-indie rock-star Angeleno—could go country, do it well, andbe successful? Stay cute, dear.