Let Jenny Lewis Melt Your Heart [Tonight at Stubb’s]

Given indie music’s current preoccupation with nostalgia, it’s no wonder many of its leading ladies prefer to style themselves after the girl next door. Obviously, this image coupled with enough talent can become more potent than rock’s most outlandish femme fatales. Jenny Lewis has a voice as beguiling as her face is innocent, so a sort of smudged-gingham formula seems only natural for this former child actress.

Having refined her doe-eyed/sharp-tongued, highly conversational approach to songwriting with her band Rilo Kiley, Lewis has recently narrowed her focus to classic country . Coming from nearly any other artist, this approach would have the effect of increasing personal mystique, of adding a dissembling veil to her projects, but—maybe because it seems to come so naturally—she actually seems less quirky in these backward-looking genres.

Certainly, much can, and has already, been said about Jenny Lewis’ formidable talent, so perhaps we really needn’t say much more here than to mention that contributions from the likes of M. Ward and Conor Oberst on her debut solo album, Rabbit Fur Coat, seemed unnecessary. An aching mix of dewy and caustic, Lewis is at her best when confessional, and will certainly never suffer a shortage of idolatrous confessors.

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