Apparently the two major influences on Jenny Lewis when she decided to make this, her first solo album away from the warm embrace of Rilo Kiley, were the peerless Dusty In Memphis and Loretta Lynn’s bio-pic The Coal Miner’s Daughter.
Our type of girl, then.
Of course, Rabbit Fur Coat never comes close to matching the fierce emotional impact of either of these classic works, but still, you have to admire the ambition.
Calling on Kentucky vocal duo The Watson Twins for help, Lewis has conjured up a record that’s smart, heartfelt and almost instantly lovable.
Coming on like the indie little sister of Lucinda Williams, fans of Rilo Kiley may be surprised at the full-on country rock detour that Lewis has taken with this record. It might also come as something of a shock to them that it’s also the best thing she’s ever been involved with.
For a self-confessed Hollywood brat, she doesn’t half make a convincing Opry chanteuse. ‘Happy’, for example, sees her take a brave stab at a Patsy Cline torch-song (“They warn you about killers and thieves in the night/I worry about cancer and living right/but my mama never warned me about my own destructive appetite”); ‘Big Guns’ is a tremendous fireside hoe-down, while ‘Born Secular’ has, ironically enough, a lovely, plaintive, gospel feel.
True, the former child actress could just be occupying another role; however, the album’s spooky title track, detailing her fractious relationship with her mother, brings a much needed sense of gravity to the occasion. Despite the pristine ice-maiden vocal, it boils like one of Eminem’s familial head-melters.
“Where my ma is now, I don’t know/She was living in her car/I was living on the road/and I hear she’s putting stuff up her nose.”
The job of following this is given to an arch cover of The Travelling Wilburys' ‘Handle With Care’, where extra points are awarded to Lewis for roping Conor Orbest in to impersonate Bob Dylan.
Lewis has proven she can play the indie chick to perfection – she’s also, it seems, a sweetheart of the rodeo too.