The one time I met Jeffrey Lewis, he was folded into the cramped backstage area of a Manchester venue, waiting to go on stage in support of 2009’s ‘Em Are I. It was a brilliant break-up album, barely held together by single “Broken Broken Broken Heart”. He introduced himself, and then his “ex-girlfriend” sat next to him; she was on keyboards and backing vocals for the tour. Of course she was. It was the kind of romantically hapless moment that a previous generation would associate with Woody Allen, and a later one with Michael Cera.
Matthew Neale 