Longtime fans of Jeffrey Lewis treat each of his albums like a returning old friend. We know what to expect by now – scratchy, lo-fi punk and croaky anti-folk – yet we also know his lyrical wit still has the capacity to surprise. Outta Town is a perfect example, a Cribsesque love song that appears at first to conform to standard tropes – “Is it Friday, is it Monday, I can’t tell without you?” – but it transpires that Lewis’s lover hasn’t left him; she has just gone to visit her mum for a couple of days, leaving him to confront the fact that he’s barely able to look after himself: “The recycling starts to pile up and smell without you.” Elsewhere he wrestles with neighbourhood crackheads, the pressures of settling down and – who else could tackle this? – the stress of having to pay your drummer on support tours. Lewis is unlikely to ever dramatically change; instead his music slowly develops and wizens, as we all do. It’ll be fun growing old with him.
