Within 30 seconds you're nearly screaming for him to stop it.
Lewis, a twee, wacky anti-folkster from New York, has one of those self-consciously whimsical David Byrne/They Might Be Giants voices which grates so horribly that, even if Jarvis Cocker is right about him being "the best lyricist working in the US today", it renders his work practically unlistenable. When he shuts up, and lets the shambling jangle and daydreamy exotica take over, it's great. When he sings, it's murder.
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