Jeffrey Lewis – The Windmill, London 31/05/10

- The well-trodden path of DIY aesthetic, after-show comic book shilling and grass roots fan support has elevated Jeffrey Lewis to the status of outsider luminary. It’s more than fifteen years since Lewis started putting out records and comics. Dues paid, he’s been verified with enough acclaim and critical appreciation to give him a column in the New York Times and a capacity show at Tate Modern’s Turbine Hall last month. He’s even a member of anti-folk suppergroup The Bundles, along with the likes of Kimya Dawson, Anders Griffin and little brother Jack Lewis.

This is the fourth time I’ve seen Lewis play live since stumbling across him at the End of the Road Festival in 2007. The guy exudes likeability with a protestant work ethic and trademark heartfelt banter between songs.

Today’s show sees a return to old stomping ground The Windmill – that dank, dingy but much beloved hut somewhere between Brixton and Streatham – for a bank holiday afternoon show with brother Jack.

A singular entity he may be and yet there are several iterations of Jeffrey Lewis depending on when, where and with whom he is playing. Today we get the Jeff and Jack show with backup percussion and the gruffer garage sound espoused on last year’s ‘Em Are I. The cathartic self-examining tracks of that record form the core of the set such as the likes of ‘Broken Broken Heart’, which bounds along with lyrically bruised edges hinting at the relationship hell that Lewis went through, well documented in his New York Times column. Even when he does dark emotions, Lewis is still perfectly charming and upbeat about it. Hell, he even made all those Crass songs sound lovely – we get ‘End Result’ from that album too. The one thread that runs through much of Lewis’ work is an optimistic focus, a faith in people and life-is-for-living attitude. It’s nihilism of the most constructive kind. As a foil to his verbose between song banter, brother Jack is perfectly cast and the glimpses we’re given of on-tour fraternal dealings are both witty and entertaining.

What doesn’t work for me today are his self-proclaimed ‘documentaries’ – simple songs with comic book illustrations that focus on key moments in history and popular culture (if you haven’t seen them, YouTube’s a good place to start). While I’ve loved these diversions during Lewis’ solo shows, they interrupt the cohesiveness and energy of a more rawkus, plugged-in set. When Lewis stands atop a beer crate and waxes on the the fall of Rome, we stand still when it would be more fun to have our skin blasted off, y’know?

Yet most of the audience don’t care – most are the loyal and devoted fans who helped this show sell out in a matter of days. There’s more reverence in the room than challenge but that’s what happens with shows like this. Maybe I’m being overly critical. It is a fluffy bank holiday joy to watch the brothers Lewis batter out their wonderfully raw garage folk noise – there’s just not enough of that today.