“I’ve been whored and I’ve been gored/I’ve been less and I’ve been more…” This world-weary couplet from “The Angels Hung Around” pretty much sums up the life of Rilo Kiley, the tortured L.A. quartet that arrives in the city this weekend in support of the much-hyped Under the Blacklight at what could be the pinnacle of its fame. In fact, Blacklight sounds like the product of a band suffering from an identity crisis (which just may be the case).
After drifting under the mainstream radar since 1998, Rilo Kiley is now being pimped by Warner Brothers and seeing the effects of a major label’s influence. Currently featured in every magazine from Paste to Penthouse, they were also chosen for this month’s cover of Spin—most bands’ dream come true. But Rilo Kiley isn’t most bands: part love story, part soap opera, it’s a pop parable of disillusionment.
Rilo Kiley was started by guitarist Blake Sennett and singer Jenny Lewis. Both of them had worked as somewhat successful child actors, but decided that the Hollywood life was not what it seemed. They later found music—and each other—and began writing songs together. Sennett told me they were best friends, band mates and lovers. They did everything together. But being on top of each other all the time was too much for Sennett, and he later broke up with Lewis.
The band, however, stayed together—and got bigger. Then, a couple of years ago, Lewis wanted to take a break from Rilo Kiley and recorded her solo album, Rabbit Fur Coat, a critical hit. Meanwhile, Sennett released his second album with his other band, The Elected. It didn’t do as well.
So when Rilo Kiley reunited this year to record Blacklight, the dynamics had shifted: Lewis returned to the studio as the undisputed star, armed with a stack of songs she’d written on her own—which make up 90 percent of the new album. And Sennett, her former lover, returned with his guitar to play second fiddle. Rilo Kiley had become, for all intents and purposes, Jenny Lewis’ backup band.
To be fair, there has never been any doubt that Lewis has always been the main attraction in Rilo Kiley. It’s just that the way the last two years unfolded has put Sennett in an unenviable position. He says that although he’s OK with it now and grateful that Rilo Kiley is back on the road, it hasn’t been the easiest time of his life.
“It’s like breaking up with your girlfriend,” Sennett says over the phone from Omaha, “and she goes on to date a bunch of people and has a great time without you.” Yes, that’s exactly what it’s like, except not only is she dating other people, she’s the star of your show.
I tell him that although I haven’t been in his exact shoes, I can empathize with how difficult it must be. “Yeah, man,” he says, “it’s tough.” He pauses, and then solemnly repeats, “It’s tough, man. It’s tough.”
Whether it was the tectonic shift in personal dynamics, or the mere fact that they intended to record something different, Blacklight is far from a cohesive album. But that’s par for the course for Rilo Kiley; they’ve always had trouble delivering records that hold up from beginning to end. But the band more than makes up for it by giving us wonderful stand-alone songs as memorable and affecting as a full-length LP.
In the current offering, there are four such songs: the opening pair “Silver Lining” and “Close Call,” the title track and the Traveling Wilbury-ish “The Angels Hung Around.” It’s here that Rilo Kiley beguiles you with that Southern Cal alt-country gold which made them the darlings of the indie-music blogs. Sadly, the rest of Blacklight is a disjointed tangle of Borderline-era Madonna keyboards, handclap effects and teenybopper choruses. Rilo Kiley makes it clear that they intended to do something different on this album, and they have.
Lewis attempts to channel Pat Benatar and get in touch with her inner hooker on the album’s first radio single, “The Moneymaker”—which arrived complete with an MTV porn video and is probably getting tons of play on Sorority Row by now. “Dreamworld,” the token Blake Sennett contribution—which sounds like an unflattering tribute to Fleetwood Mac—pops up halfway through Blacklight and feels like an out-of-place B-side. I’m fully aware that kitsch and imitation have always been part of the Rilo Kiley equation. Unfortunately, with these new stabs at ’70s disco and ’80s pop, it’s not so endearing this time around.
Sept. 22–23, Webster Hall, 125 E. 11th St. (betw. 3rd & 4th Aves.), 212-353-1600; 6, sold out.
After drifting under the mainstream radar since 1998, Rilo Kiley is now being pimped by Warner Brothers and seeing the effects of a major label’s influence. Currently featured in every magazine from Paste to Penthouse, they were also chosen for this month’s cover of Spin—most bands’ dream come true. But Rilo Kiley isn’t most bands: part love story, part soap opera, it’s a pop parable of disillusionment.
Rilo Kiley was started by guitarist Blake Sennett and singer Jenny Lewis. Both of them had worked as somewhat successful child actors, but decided that the Hollywood life was not what it seemed. They later found music—and each other—and began writing songs together. Sennett told me they were best friends, band mates and lovers. They did everything together. But being on top of each other all the time was too much for Sennett, and he later broke up with Lewis.
The band, however, stayed together—and got bigger. Then, a couple of years ago, Lewis wanted to take a break from Rilo Kiley and recorded her solo album, Rabbit Fur Coat, a critical hit. Meanwhile, Sennett released his second album with his other band, The Elected. It didn’t do as well.
So when Rilo Kiley reunited this year to record Blacklight, the dynamics had shifted: Lewis returned to the studio as the undisputed star, armed with a stack of songs she’d written on her own—which make up 90 percent of the new album. And Sennett, her former lover, returned with his guitar to play second fiddle. Rilo Kiley had become, for all intents and purposes, Jenny Lewis’ backup band.
To be fair, there has never been any doubt that Lewis has always been the main attraction in Rilo Kiley. It’s just that the way the last two years unfolded has put Sennett in an unenviable position. He says that although he’s OK with it now and grateful that Rilo Kiley is back on the road, it hasn’t been the easiest time of his life.
“It’s like breaking up with your girlfriend,” Sennett says over the phone from Omaha, “and she goes on to date a bunch of people and has a great time without you.” Yes, that’s exactly what it’s like, except not only is she dating other people, she’s the star of your show.
I tell him that although I haven’t been in his exact shoes, I can empathize with how difficult it must be. “Yeah, man,” he says, “it’s tough.” He pauses, and then solemnly repeats, “It’s tough, man. It’s tough.”
Whether it was the tectonic shift in personal dynamics, or the mere fact that they intended to record something different, Blacklight is far from a cohesive album. But that’s par for the course for Rilo Kiley; they’ve always had trouble delivering records that hold up from beginning to end. But the band more than makes up for it by giving us wonderful stand-alone songs as memorable and affecting as a full-length LP.
In the current offering, there are four such songs: the opening pair “Silver Lining” and “Close Call,” the title track and the Traveling Wilbury-ish “The Angels Hung Around.” It’s here that Rilo Kiley beguiles you with that Southern Cal alt-country gold which made them the darlings of the indie-music blogs. Sadly, the rest of Blacklight is a disjointed tangle of Borderline-era Madonna keyboards, handclap effects and teenybopper choruses. Rilo Kiley makes it clear that they intended to do something different on this album, and they have.
Lewis attempts to channel Pat Benatar and get in touch with her inner hooker on the album’s first radio single, “The Moneymaker”—which arrived complete with an MTV porn video and is probably getting tons of play on Sorority Row by now. “Dreamworld,” the token Blake Sennett contribution—which sounds like an unflattering tribute to Fleetwood Mac—pops up halfway through Blacklight and feels like an out-of-place B-side. I’m fully aware that kitsch and imitation have always been part of the Rilo Kiley equation. Unfortunately, with these new stabs at ’70s disco and ’80s pop, it’s not so endearing this time around.
Sept. 22–23, Webster Hall, 125 E. 11th St. (betw. 3rd & 4th Aves.), 212-353-1600; 6, sold out.
