People say Jenn Lindsay is a folkie. Well, you sure as hell can't tell it from last year's CD, Uphill Both Ways. Packed full of some of the best power pop in recent years, she alternately tornadoes and dances her way through a set of originals which while brash and in-your-face are haunting and introspective. This is damn good stuff. Damn good.


It's too bad that radio no longer has the power it once had because Lindsay could easily take AM by storm. Belong Alone has everything needed to catch the ear on a drive, car radio blaring--- intriguing vocals, great layout, superb organ, hooks. Forget that. The AM track has to be It Came 2 Me with its minimal but full production (how do you do that?) and unique phrasing on the chorus (“It came to me like I knew-ew-ew I was dyin'/It came to me like I was al-al-already dead”) and the killer break courtesy of the Beatles (“I was alone I took a ride I didn't know what I would find they-ey-eyair”). Stone killer. The title track is no slouch, either. Riding on choogling rhythm guitar, Lindsay lays vocals as unproduced as they could possibly be at your feet (well, the feet of your ears) and crawls under your musical skin. Beware of itch. As for Brain, whew. Brains on love are a bit harsher than brains on drugs, I guess.


Oh, it's not all rippin' pop. Lindsay turns it down (at least the volume) and takes a few sidesteps. I still haven't quite figured I Knew You yet, but it doesn't matter. It's good without my cranial ablutions. Lindsay's sense of lyric would make one laugh if not for the purity of delivery (rhyming anemone with enemy is classic). Christmas Song, Part 2 is a treasure, a winter song for the lost and lonely in pop idiom. You have to hear it to understand.


At approximately the same time (and possibly during the same sessions), Lindsay and Mason were recording tracks which evolved into the simultaneously released Perfect Handful. A bit more acoustic than Uphill, it has a slightly different feel but no less of the Lindsay creativity. The first track, Got My Baby, is about real love (which turns out to be a guitar, blowing to hell the male ego's obsession with whatever the hell it is obsessed with). Patience and Prudence could not have done much better on Bones than did Lindsay, it having that semi-fifties P&P lead-in to crunching chorus. Good Thing is so unassuming and a bit bumpkin that the novelty sucks you in whether you like it or not (“It's a good thiiiiing, too/I wouldn't wanna loooooose, you”). Not many show a sense of desolation which almost leaves you joyful, but Lindsay does. The plucked acoustic guitar beneath a voice of heartbreak (not to mention spot on harmonica) give Rain its own dimension. And don't ask me how Lindsay can give equal amounts of apathy and enthusiasm like she does on Don't You Know, but she does.


There is something very appealing about Lindsay's music and while I am not quite sure what it is, I have no time to ponder. She has released a plethora of CDs over the past few years and it will take time to get through those. Maybe after I've perused those, I'll think about it. That is, unless a new Lindsay disc hits the streets (we can hope).


Tell you what. This new world of music has connections even AM radio at its peak had. You can sample Lindsay's work at cdBaby. Two minutes may not give you a real idea of what she does (except maybe for the really short tracks), but it will give you some idea. Jenn Lindsay has something outside the norm. How will you know what you're missing until you give it a try?
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There was something vaguely familiar in Jenn Lindsay's music when I first heard Uphill Both Ways and it took me a few listens to nail it down. It turns out Jenn Lindsay plays (wait for it!) New Wave! I tossed genres around to see how they fit and none seemed to corner exactly what it was until the late 70s popped up and that was it! Jenn Lindsay, my alternative pop-ites, plays music for which Ken Barnes and the late Greg Shaw of "Who Put the Bomp" lived—60s influenced pop with creative flare. Lindsay displays just the kind of creativity and flare that could well have garnered her a cover of the rejuvenated "Bomp" zine, the project Shaw was working on when he so unfortunately left us. Her music fits all of his criteria—melody, hooks and drive. 

Indeed, Shaw would have taken this CD on himself, not trusting anyone else to point out the positives: the Percy Sledge-like organ of "Belong Alone" giving way to the perfect three-chord chorus behind the bopping rhythm; the punchy acoustic rhythm of Brain which echoes the production of some of the best the 60s and 70s had; the fast, upbeat rhythms of the acoustic guitar and Lindsay's intriguing song stutter of Uphill Both Ways, not to mention the intriguing harmony vocals. What would have really done it, though, would have been the magnificent pop opus, It Came 2 Me, which mixes elaborate production with voice sans production until the end, a strange but captivating combination—and who could resist her inclusion of two lines from Lennon and McCartney's Got To Get You Into My Life as she crescendos "I was alone, I took a ride/I didn't know what I would find there". This CD is worth it for that alone.

She isn't all power pop, of course. She folds House of the Rising Sun and Amazing Grace into a strange folk song lamenting the tragedy of recent New Orleans (and the Bush Administration's bungled response) which she titled House In New Orleans. Christmas Song, Part 2" has a folky Hem sound and shows that she can feel as well as dance. If that doesn't satisfy your folk craving, she goes overboard in the monumental eight minute-plus Kitchen Sink in which she laments love gone bad with only acoustic guitar, occasional added voices and a classic sense of humor. And there is the eery "Postolka", minor chords and weird chord progressions and all. 

Sonics freaks might pick this apart of they heard it, but I contend that the production is spot on. You can't pull off something this creative in a sterile environment, just as you couldn't in the 60s and mid- to late-70s. It is the feel of the music as much as the music itself which gives this CD its edge. It feels good to me. Really, really good.

Until I heard this, Maggi, Pierce and E.J. headed my list of groups to see. Now I have fantasies of a double bill. I don't even care who opens for who.
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NYC’s Sidewalk Café has been one of those few venues that have been able to incubate an entire subgenre; they can’t take credit for inventing “anti-folk,” but today’s practitioners in the Sidewalk Café orbit offer a refreshing spin in an era when gloss and irony are de rigueur.  On her sixth record, Uphill Both Ways, frequent Sidewalker Jenn Lindsay tries a few new tricks, but none of them involve pandering to the A&R reps who doubtlessly sniff around the scene (and if they weren’t sniffing already, they should be kicked into action by Sidewalk alum Regina Spektor’s oft-brilliant new album, which serves as a testament that the majors don’t always muck things up).

Listening to a Lindsay album for the first time is a bit like being seated next to a stranger at a dinner party and finding out a lot about her dating history and her general worldview before the salads are cleared.  After six albums, then, she feels more like an old friend at the table.  Whereas Fired! took aim at the perils of the 9-to-5 rat race, Uphill Both Ways—while not so unified in its theme—is largely informed by a Big Breakup.  The heartache culminates in what feels like the centerpiece of the album, even though it comes right at the end.  “Kitchen Sink,” which attaches Lindsay’s sweetly affecting and unadorned vocals with lyrics that are so personal and openly transparent that they make diary entries look like Burroughs.  “I gave you great sex and some pretty awesome presents,” she sings over a simple strum.  The bold stroke is that there’s no pretense of making this into a universal song that vaguely applies to everyone.  It’s for one person, and the fact that the rest of us are listening in seems to be merely incidental. 

While “Kitchen Sink” is the most stop-you-in-your-tracks piece of Uphill Both Ways, the tracks that most demand repeat listens are the ones that kick it up-tempo, like the gently propulsive title track that opens the record, and the rousing, self-reflective “It Came 2 Me.”  Less successful is the Katrina-inspired reworking of “House of the Rising Sun” and “Amazing Grace.”  Social consciousness has been one of Lindsay’s consistent strengths, and her pointed lyrical content about politicians asleep at the wheel is welcome, but the musical approach feels a bit cursory.  As the single “big issue” song on an album otherwise driven largely by a personal love story, it has a disorienting effect.
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If it is at all possible for pop, punk, and folk to gather together in LP form, Jenn Lindsay has done it. Uphill Both Ways is by no means a groundbreaking performance, but kudos for the singer/songwriter's creativity and originality. The record's highs start and end the album. "Uphill Both Ways" proves catchy with its hand-clapping background and stuttered vocals begging for a repeat. The slow and steady "Kitchen Sink", an 8 plus minute song, continues on and on, adding to the biting love story. Sadness grows into anger, and Lindsey tells the whole story, and then some, just like irritated girls are supposed to. Here, Uphill Both Ways offers up its very own quintessential bar sing-along.
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