Laurel Lewis’ self-titled debut has a certain heaviness about it. Her deep vocals mean most of the instruments around her have to come down an octave as well. Producer Rodney Crowell wisely allows Lewis’ vocals to convey more emotion than the relatively sparse backing band on her slow-paced tracks. Combine that with topics such as harassment, loneliness, addiction, and domestic violence, and the mood is dour.
Heavy isn’t a bad thing. Roots music has long served as a form of therapy. And while these laments aren’t exactly high and lonesome, they don’t miss their mark. Lewis’ lyrics progress as stories and few words are wasted for the sake of a rhyme. It’s not dancing music, but the quality of this record is unmatched on a cloudy night.
Lewis herself is significantly cheerier but just as thoughtful as her lyrics suggest. She joined Country Pocket to discuss the debut, including a song called “Imaginary Lover” she wrote as a teenager. It talks about the benefits, and hollowness, of going on dates with strangers that are more about a good time than any sustainable form of happiness.
“I felt left out compared to other people in terms of not having a partner,” Lewis said, defining an imaginary lower as “someone that you cling to for the night to satisfy your craving of wanting to be desired.”
That mix of hedonism and satisfaction is well established in lyrics that flash from self-destructive in the verse and putting a positive spin on things in the refrain.
“Consistently going out and finding people to essentially numb the pain is going to get tiring and overwhelming,” Lewis said. “Not having a constant in your life, I’ve found, is quite difficult.”
For the first track of her album, Lewis addresses catcalling. As a woman who frequently travels and visits bars to support her music career, she unfortunately has her fair share of experience with the subject.
“Women are constantly judged for their bodies. For some reason, there are some people who feel it’s okay to make negative comments and weird remarks and faces about women when they don’t even know that person,” Lewis said. “I’ve been judged for my looks, good or bad. It’s difficult.”
The secondary concept of the song, that patience can erode over time regardless of how many different men are doing the catcalling, can apply to many a situation. And though the contrast between a woman having to work to control internal emotions like forgiveness and men not even attempting to regulate external behaviors is telling, Lewis seems to have come to the concept of her song genuinely.
“I want to forgive those kinds of people because I want to be the bigger person,” she said. “It’s hard to hold grudges against several people for your entire life. Even if it’s not the same man doing it every time, when that situation keeps arising, it just becomes extremely difficult to brush it off. It weighs you down so much.”
In addition to sharing how the situations have made her feel, Lewis criticizes these types of men for lack of self control and uses empathy to try to reach them. Still, she said she’s not interested in being the one to have that conversation with them. Men who catcall are not the most approachable or predictable bunch.
Lewis called writing about addiction leading to death as a tough decision, but it produced her most remarkable track.
“I’ve seen how it can destroy things so quickly,” Lewis said. “I felt compelled to use the information that I’ve gathered throughout the years. It affected me so greatly that I needed an outlet to express the suffering that I endured throughout years of my life”
The lyrics include flashes of the alcoholic’s personality and roller coaster relationship with his substance of choice, but perhaps more interestingly it looks into the mind of the bartender relaying the story. When she discusses the moral injury that comes with serving alcohol to desperate people night after night and watching their deterioration play out, it’s clear to me as someone with an addict in their life that Lewis suffered through much the same thing.
Also compelling is “Family Woman,” where Lewis both rejects the notion that she’d ever want to settle down with kids, but leaves the door open to it if “there’s freedom in the breeze.” She instead opts to chase “the bigger things in life” and in our conversation, said for some people who pursue certain lifestyles, having kids would “diminish their light a little bit.”
“I have a few child free people in my life who I really look up to and I’ve asked them before do you ever want to maybe consider a family route, they’re like ‘nope, I’m good, I’m happy being me and having my own time. Anyone who wants to do that, absolutely excellent, go for it, but personally it’s not for me,’” Lewis said.
As you might imagine, she’s not a huge fan of the term “childless cat lady,” but doesn’t hold anything against people who want to have kids or even rule out the future for herself.
“Whatever my decision might end up being, it’s okay. The beauty of it is it should be a choice.”
Above is the full episode as aired on WUSB’s Country Pocket, including both my interview with Laurel Lewis and the songs we discussed, starting with Room Without A View, which hews closely to trauma Lewis experienced in the past. The interview begins with the second video in the playlist. You can hear the show live every Tuesday at 12pm on WUSB 90.1 FM or check the blog to watch it as a YouTube playlist. Visit http://www.WUSB.fm and https://www.laurellewis.com for more.
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