Whether he’s pondering the Machiavellian moves of music industry players or describing his own lack of sartorial style, Lewis is unflinchingly honest. This second batch of acid-addled confessionals from the NYC anti-folkie is less heroically basic than his first (he now plays with a drummer, plus brother Jack on bass and vocal harmonies), but just as tender and funny. The stream-of-consciousness delivery still dominates, but whether working up a barrage of punky noise (“Arrow”) or adding whale cries to a lo-fi sea shanty (“Sea Song”), his muse has charm by the skip load.
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