Jenny Lewis is smarter, sexier and twice as evil as any femme fatale in indie rock. Other than that, there's nothing to worry about. "I'm a carpet bagger, baby," she wails on Acid Tongue, last year's secular gospel and gothic-Southern-rock workout. And no, she's not singing about being a Vegas-born, Hollywood-trained exploiter of Southern idioms. She's got other plans for that carpet. Or so her personae — brutal sexual politician, imperial outlaw Jezebel, false-hearted friend, demigoddess of addiction and poetry — would have fans of bands like Postal Service, the Watson Twins and Rilo Kiley (her other projects) believe. But her nerve-shattering alto, underrated piano chops and candid and cinematic songwriting are the greatest persuasions of all.
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