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Jeffrey Lewis - 12 Crass Songs

Album Reviews

Most impressive is Lewis's insight – the subject of some of these songs, although verging on a quarter-century old, are refreshingly, if not frighteningly real.

Rough Trade, 18th September 2007 / By Richard Bendall-Jones
Jeffrey Lewis - 12 Crass Songs NYC-centric anti-folker Jeffrey (formerly Jeff) Lewis knows a lot about throwing a spanner in the works. In the days of yore, he was friends with Moldy Peaches Kimya Dawson and Adam Green. Nowadays he jams with brother Jack Lewis and tours with his uncle, Professor Louie. Not surprising then, is the curious choice of subject for his recent long-player, '12 Crass Songs' – an homage to the UK-based post-punk collective. Crass put out a lot of challenging material in the late 70s and early 80s, some of it censored due to its blasphemous nature, but most of it adhering to a criticism of things, which said and done, lie mainly in the British, rather than American psyche.

What Lewis has spawned is essentially a covers album, the unique selling point being that Crass were spiky and anarchic in sound, whereas Lewis is calculatingly lush and friendly. It's a clever mix, and credit goes to '12 Crass Songs', but the track selections throw up some problems. For all their worth, Crass were a band based on social commentary and debate, rather than their vocal range or grasp of melody. And Lewis, although well known for his idiosyncratic approach to lyrical construction, is also well known for building flowing compositions that provide an easy-on-the-ear vehicle for his cutting tirades. The middle ground – this album – is problematic; a tentative balance between hazardous edge and fluffy acoustic loveliness. It's hard to please everyone, and this album proves that.

The UK-based cultural nuances provide an interesting but confusing twist. Lewis, renowned for his New Yorker café bar drawl, lends his vocals to reworkings of 'Securicor', 'The Gasman Cometh' and 'Banned From The Roxy'. 'Punk Is Dead' provides an even-suitable-today lambasting of punk's commercial underbelly, and everything sounds efficient and quirky, although ultimately not much better than Lewis's average.

'12 Crass Songs' is a brave effort. The mere concept is risky, and could have been a disaster. Most impressive is Lewis's insight – the subject of some of these songs, although verging on a quarter-century old, are refreshingly, if not frighteningly real. But whether this is a compliment to Lewis or to Crass is hard to tell. Aye, there's the rub – '12 Crass Songs' is a case of mistaken identity. Rating: 5/10

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