#but they did do Knock and knock is fucking legendary that's our fucking anthem

[jihunonthefloor]

!

[thesinglesjukebox]

LIZZO FT. MISSY ELLIOTT - TEMPO

[6.75]

I suppose this would be an Allegretto...

Alex Clifton: This is a dream combination -- not sure how these two hadn't worked together before. I now judge high-energy songs on whether or not they'd be good to run to (weird metric but it's been working so far) and the beat on "Tempo" is a winner -- easy to keep pace to, easy to dance to, easy to get stuck in your head. I'm also delighted that we have a song with the lyric "thick thighs save lives." I'm not as in love with this as I was with "Juice," but Lizzo continues to sound good as hell. [7]

Stephen Eisermann: At this point, I'm starting to wonder if Lizzo will ever release an objectively bad song; her track record is pretty flawless. I first heard "Tempo" in the car while dancing at my sister's wedding reception this past weekend. My sister has always been curvier, and it was a big concern for her on her wedding day, but she seemed as confident as I'd ever seen her Saturday -- that is, until this song came on. Gone was the quiet confidence of my sister dancing politely to "Suavemente," "El Sinaloense" and "La Negra Tiene Tumbao" and instead out came a whole new Liz, one who was twerking in the center of her dance floor while all of my Mexican Catholic family watched, shook, wondering what happened to the self-conscious girl of before. But that's what Lizzo does, constantly. She takes a hot beat and empowers you, either with some feel-good rap or, as is the case here, some good provocation. Even if Missy's verse feels incomplete, it doesn't matter, because Lizzo came to play and it's hard to hate on confidence that sounds, feels, and looks this good. [8]

Katherine St Asaph: I don't dance, and any confidence boost the lyrics might provide slams fatally against the fact that the external world views my body as a collection of misshapen, unsightly, useless parts, an awareness I can't just turn off. (Which is the case for every song like this.) This song isn't for me. It doesn't help that the "When Doves Cry" guitar squall and Missy's verse, where she turns into Chingy, completely overpower Lizzo's subdued verses, which isn't supposed to happen at all. [3]

David Moore: The way Missy Elliott finds a little flicker of an idea and kindles it into a blaze of inspired silliness is always a thrill, but here it serves the counter-productive purpose of revealing the weakness of the rest of the track -- Lizzo's enthusiasm and ebullience can't hold a candle to Missy's lark. [6]

Alfred Soto: It's not twenty seconds old before "Tempo" blasts us with a distorted funk riff and the too long gone Missy Elliott. Nothing's changed -- "twerk skills are legendary" you knew. The chorus flickers, disappears. Chorus? Who needs one when Lizzo and Missy compete for sound effect attention? [7]

Tobi Tella: This collaboration feels epic in the same way Christina Aguilera and Demi did, a symbolic torch passing from old-school to new-school from two similar artists. Lizzo has Missy's classic swagger and flair, and the fact that she hasn't lost any of her uniqueness as she becomes more and more mainstream is truly something to be commended. This bangs as hard as anything she's ever released, and hopefully it becomes our generation's body positivity anthem over some more questionable songs... [8]

Katie Gill: I am always here for a bonafide ass shaking song, especially when it starts off with such an amazingly fun guitar riff like this one. The song is a beautiful cacophony and plays with sound in such a fun way, shifting from that minimalist beat to air horns & sirens, only to almost IMMEDIATELY drop back to the beat. And it's clear that Missy is having a blast, making the most out of every 'r' she gets to roll. This song is pure unadulterated fun, an ass shaking song that knows exactly what it is and spends the right amount of time crafting everything to near perfection. [8]

Iris Xie: Never thought I'd be so happy to hear "Truffle Butter" again, but I like "Tempo" and its version of that pinging synth more. "Tempo" takes that initial synth and layers it underneath with a heavy bass and a stop-start militaristic rhythm that makes the atmosphere simultaneously warm and domineering, and Lizzo's command is ice cold, casual, and driven. She's absolutely done with anyone telling her she can't command the dance floor, and whoops, she now is! The verse that starts with "pitty-pat" and ends with "cat" winds up your dance moves and is pretty much twerk material. But Missy, that sweet deliverer of unflinching vision, sonically grabs the theme of the song and busts out all the 'rrrs~'. But then she becomes very rude in the best way, and creates her own equivalent of a feature stage at 2:05 by changing it to a melted stadium band that sounds like the equivalent of lightning charging, with a brief drum clatter solo that sits with you long after it comes back to Lizzo dictating you to fuck it up to the tempo. But most importantly? The entire sentiment of the song is for any big girls (and anyone who identifies with those sentiments) who have ever felt really bad about moving on the dance floor -- it was never your problem, it was always the boring-ass "slow songs." And if that's really not one of the best ways I've ever heard about taking up space in clubs that can be hostile to those who don't have normative bodies, I don't know what else is. [9]

Jonathan Bradley: Eight bars of Missy rhyming tongue trills is worth the admission, but this beat isn't fucking anything up: the bass knocks but it doesn't move. A modulating arpeggio sounds like a placeholder waiting for the finished edit. Lizzo matches the effort; her last appearance round here underserved her personality, but here it's like she's waiting for a reason to show up. What she does offer are some very rote verses and a chorus that isn't sure it's not a verse. It's quite demure, even if you don't start to think on how unrestrained Missy could be in her heyday. [5]

Joshua Copperman: You know that old friend you had in high school that was into the same kind of music you were into? You said you'd stay in touch but grew apart from them because they were in a different, faster crowd than you? That's Lizzo. Her BJ Burton "artsy-fartsy phase" spawned some stellar, aggressive music, but her major-label music is more fun and positive to somewhat mixed results. Oak (of "Pop &" fame) made a manic beat more reminiscent of those early days, but the actual content is light enough to make room for cat puns including "prrr me a glass." It's a shame she won't go back to that earlier, more raw music when rappers like Cupcakke balance the high-concept antics with brutal honesty, but it's clear that's not what Lizzo feels like doing. That artsy phase increasingly feels like something she overcame than something she plans on revisiting. You occasionally hear back from that high school friend, but it's clear that they were never going to be the person you wanted them to be. But it's better to accept that because they're happier and freer the way they are now. They should really put away the guitar, though. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Two overrated artists release a song that sounds exactly like you'd expect? I find the fireworks and beat switch fake-outs more exciting than the vocals. When the song ends, I'm left with... nothing, really. Lizzo's recent singles have all been ordinary crowd pleasers, the sort of standard we should have for solid stock music. "Juice" felt like Facetuned Prince. "Tempo" is similarly watered down. [3]

Nortey Dowuona: *incoherent babbling* Lizzo going in *MORE INCOHERENT SHRIEKING* Missy going in *GLEEFUL HOWLS OF TORMENT AND JOY* A small Afro was found on top of the MSNBC offices yesterday. *sounds of confusion and slight annoyance* [10]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[ricardosousalemos]

Patti Smith Group: Easter

In early 1977, the Patti Smith Group was on tour opening for Bob Seger, as part of Arista Records’ ham-fisted strategy to push Smith into the mainstream. She had just released her second record, Radio Ethiopia, while Seger was touring against Night Moves. While the PSG were steadfast in their resolve to win over the crowds, they were fighting a losing battle. Lenny Kaye—Smith’s guitarist and majordomo—would later say about Radio Ethiopia, “...that wasn’t an album of songs. It was an album of fields.” Fans who paid to hear “Old Time Rock and Roll” were not ready or willing to open their minds to the Smith and her band’s mix of esoteric, ecstatic punk-flavored garage-rock, performed by a bunch of scruffy, black-wearing hoodlums led by a woman who conformed to no one’s gender expectations but her own.

At a Tampa stop in January, Patti Smith whirled into final bars of “Ain’t It Strange.” As the song reached its climax, she spun, lost her balance, tripped backward over a monitor, and fell off the stage onto the concrete floor 15 feet below. Miraculously, she did not break her neck, but she still emerged from the hospital with two cracked vertebrae, broken bones in her face, and 22 stitches to close the wounds on her head. Smith interpreted the incident as God’s response to her constant challenges (“I feel it was his way of saying, ‘You keep battering against my door and I’m gonna open that door and you’ll fall in’,” she told Melody Maker a year later); but in matters more mundane, her fall cancelled the tour and obviated any support for the struggling Radio Ethiopia.

Smith’s injuries would confine her to bed rest for weeks before she entered into intense physical therapy in lieu of spinal surgery. She took to the challenge of PT with gusto and insisted to her doctors and to anyone else who would listen that she would be ready by Easter Sunday. She even had a new poem, called “Easter,” as a representation of her return to battle. 

After the commercial failure of Radio Ethiopia, there was an unspoken understanding that the next record needed to move Smith’s career forward. Smith was the first downtown artist to sign with an uptown label with her seven-album deal with Arista Records. She thought she could handle the Arista’s demands by insisting (and getting) complete creative control, but she also understood that she would lose her access to the kids she wanted to serve if she was not able to translate her vision into something for the masses. “When we started, we believed we had responsibilities that nobody else was taking on, to take this work that erupted in the ’50s and take it somewhere,” she told Circus in 1978. This was the kind of statement for which Smith would be pilloried by peers and the press, but this wasn’t just a front—she meant it.

So after working with John Cale on Horses and Jack Douglas (Cheap Trick, John Lennon) on Radio Ethiopia, she chose to work with a new producer named Jimmy Iovine, because she liked what he’d done as an engineer working with Bruce Springsteen. It was a deliberate business decision, no matter that she would later insist that the album was “more communicative. I don’t like the words accessible and commercial.” Lenny Kaye would back her up: “There was no conscious drive to sell records, that was our last thought.”

It made sense that Smith and Kaye would publicly try to disavow intent. “Ambition” was a four-letter word downtown, even though every single band that ever set foot on the CBGB’s stage hoped that it was a step up. But Smith and Kaye were sufficiently immersed in rock’n’roll history to know better. If Easter hadn’t been successful, Smith would have been dismissed as a one-hit wonder, post-punk also-rans. Even as early as Radio Ethiopia, the Village Voice’s Robert Christgau noted that Patti was “caught in a classic double-bind: accused of selling out by her former allies and of not selling by her new ones.”

The band entered the studio in November of 1977. On the shortlist were songs that were road-tested, such as “Space Monkey,” “Privilege (Set Me Free),” and “Rock N Roll Nigger,” as well as a handful of newly written songs. “Rock N Roll Nigger” was both Smith’s original choice for the album’s title as well as for its lead-off single, which was naturally a nonstarter for the label, much to Smith’s dismay. Unfortunately, out of the material Smith had assembled for the album, it was the only song strong enough to be a single. 

This was when Iovine went knocking on Bruce Springsteen’s door, asking about a certain outtake languishing in his archive. Smith was at first reluctant to even listen to the demo, wanting to write the record with her band. Iovine tried to sell her on the idea by suggesting that he loved the thought of a woman singing from a man’s point of view; Springsteen added that the song was in her key. One night, while waiting for a late-night phone call from someone she was romantically involved with, she decided to listen to the cassette, “...and the words just tumbled out of me,” she told Zig Zag later. By the time she recorded “Because the Night,” Smith already knew she had her hit single, and the rest of the album fell into place.

Smith could try as hard as she wanted to disguise or disavow her ambition, but Easter was not an accidental assemblage of material. It wasn’t an “album of fields,” it was an album of huge songs—songs that would effectively showcase the heart of the Patti Smith Group. So, yes, the album unironically opens with “Till Victory,” the kind of battle cry that made the cognoscenti roll their eyes at Smith and her band, and she doubles the cynicism by also using it as a petition to the mighty, announcing her return, and her intent: “God, do not seize me please, till victory,” Smith sings with the kind of iron-clad conviction that would make you follow her anywhere.

Even the cover concept was Smith’s twist on sex appeal; while it was probably the first major-label album cover to show a woman with unshaved armpits (which Arista tried to airbrush out), it was created with the object of selling records. After that inimitable Robert Mapplethorpe shot on the cover of Horses and the black-on-silver abstract by Judy Linn that graced Radio Ethiopia, for Easter, Smith went with Lynn Goldsmith, who had just founded the first photo agency that focused on celebrity portraiture. Smith would even tell Rolling Stone that she had masturbated to her own album cover: “I thought if I could do it as an experiment, then 15-year-old boys could do it, and that would make me very happy.”

But Smith’s version of “Because the Night” was an absolute monster of a hit. What she forged lyrically out of Springsteen’s unfinished, unwanted demo was an anthem of frank and unapologetic desire. In 1978, a woman wasn’t allowed to be an overtly sexual being in public unless she met the standards of the male gaze; if she did, there were always repercussions, and there would be constant attempts to diminish her power and/or her legitimacy. The fact that it went to No. 13 on the Billboard Hot 100 and was on every FM radio station, especially the ones who never played her before, was righteousness incarnate, as would be Easter’s eventual ascension to #20 on the Billboard 200.

The other love songs may not be as legendary as “Because the Night,” but their complexity is vital to the story being told on the album. The first line of “We Three”—“Every Sunday I would go down to the bar where he played guitar”—speaks absolute volumes. It is Smith’s history, it is rock’n’roll history, it is a quiet sentence whispered with a veneer of the innocence of early love, then immediately contrasted with a torch ballad, decisive and resolute, the expression of unresolved ardor, the saga of her relationships with Tom Verlaine and Allen Lanier. It’s not tragic so much tinged with the sadness of resignation, but it’s not the type of love song women had been writing.

Smith then flips the switch to “25th Floor.” This is when the woman in “Because the Night” takes out a match and lights the whole damn place on fire. “Love in my heart/The night to exploit/Twenty-five stories over Detroit,” she sings, tales of unabashed emotion in the ancient Book Cadillac Hotel in the Motor City, where she and Fred “Sonic” Smith had taken rooms. “25th Floor” then transmutates its closing ecstasy straight into “High on Rebellion,” the title of which is accurate and illustrative. It is about another important relationship, this time a treatise about Smith and her electric guitar: “...I never tire of the solitary E and I trust my guitar…” The band manifests its own chaos effortlessly behind Smith, before the exemplification of that solitary E fades out slowly.

On the subject of treatises, we come back to the literal black sheep of the album. “I haven’t fucked much with the past, but I’ve fucked plenty with the future,” Smith intones in “Babelogue,” plucked from Smith’s 1978 Babel, which firmly represents her artistic manifesto, issued with the pulsing energy of a heartbeat. “In heart I am an American artist and I have no guilt,” she cries as the music and the energy builds to a crescendo, before crashing head-on into “Rock N Roll Nigger.” The song is intensely rousing and absolutely spits fire, and as a rallying cry for those who feel like they were also “outside of society,” everything about the song is awesome except the title, which is the opposite of awesome.

Even in the ’70s, the slur was not something any reasonable person was going to feel comfortable yelling out loud, or feel comfortable standing in the middle of a large group of people yelling it out loud, even if the music and the performance are otherwise electrifying. Smith has been explicit over the years in her justification behind it: “The redefining of an archaic slang term as a badge for those contributing on the fringe of society was not favorably embraced,” she wrote in 1996. For someone as intelligent and empathetic as Patti Smith, this is the one moment in this otherwise triumphant record that just does make any sense. If, in 40 years, your attempt at the redefinition of a word that is pejorative and hurtful to a large part of society is unsuccessful, how, as an artist, do you not try something else? The legacy of “Rock N Roll Nigger” overlaps with the Patti Smith the iconoclast. Though Smith placed the song an album that embraces and subverts the vast spectrum of rock, underneath all of Easter is Smith’s ambivalence with rock as an art form. It is insufficient. The men for whom she wrote, the women for whom she sang, the labels to whom she catered, all are miniature underneath the soul of Smith which Easter seems to capture in spite of the limits of rock’n’roll. A hint is hidden in plain sight at the end of the liner notes, a quote from the New Testament: “i have fought a good fight, i have finished my course…” are the last words of Paul the Apostle before his martyrdom. Smith may not have known that she would soon retire as “r.e.f.m.” (radio ethiopia field marshall), but the possibility was on the horizon, and it feels like she was trying to make her departure easier by leaving clues, early warnings for her fans that she was getting ready to say goodbye.  

[disappearingground]

Step into the Ring with Boxing Superfan Jenny Lewis

VICE / Noisey March 4, 2019

We talked to the singer about how a head injury led her to develop an obsession with boxing.

By Mark Ortega

I’ve spent the last decade-plus writing about boxing. I’ve spent even more time as a fan of Jenny Lewis’ music. In 2012, I was attending a fight almost every weekend. To kill time during lulls in the action, I would scroll through Twitter on my phone and, to my surprise, I’d find the singer weighing in on them. Boxing became a regular theme in Lewis’ social media presence. Even when she performed with the Postal Service at Coachella in 2013, she watched a Canelo fight in her trailer before taking the stage. It was like I was George Costanza and my worlds were colliding.

Years later, I bumped into Lewis in person a couple of times and our conversations always drifted towards boxing. I first met her at Willie Nelson’s Ranch at 2016’s SXSW. Our entire 20-minute conversation revolved around the sport, as a few days earlier she had attended a low-level fight at a Marriott in the Valley. Late last year it was on the rooftop of the Fonda Theatre after a Phoenix show, and we were both headed to The Forum the next night for a fight. Her seats ended up being next to mine, and I offered her some insight into the stories behind each fighter. After that, we stayed in touch and I actually brought her along to a Manny Pacquiao public workout before his fight with Adrien Broner in January, a fight for which she flew solo to Las Vegas.

The Pacquiao workout took place at the Wild Card Boxing Club in Hollywood, located in a dingy strip mall on Vine Street. Lewis attended just one day after her 43rd birthday and got a photo with Pacquiao, later saying it was a great birthday present. She wore a Wild Card Boxing Club t-shirt, becoming one of those fans who wears the band’s shirt to their concert. At a press conference for the Deontay Wilder-Tyson Fury heavyweight title fight a month earlier, Lewis had reacted to meeting Freddie Roach the way some of her superfans probably react when meeting her. They traded stories about Aimee Mann, another massive boxing fan with whom Roach had a very close relationship.

Lewis is a very studious boxing fan when she’s watching the fights ringside. She wants to know the backstories of each fighter, enamored by what it must take to send someone down a career path where they get punched in the face for a living. She doesn’t look down at her phone while the fight is taking place. She might dig into her purse for some snacks—at the Pacquiao fight it was a share-sized bag of peanut M&Ms—but otherwise it’s all business.

Though she’ll be the first to tell you she isn’t an expert, make no mistake: Jenny Lewis is a die-hard boxing fan. She goes to low-level club fights in the Valley when she can, something that most self-proclaimed boxing fans won’t do. She’ll be touring in support of her first solo album in five years, On The Line, for much of the spring, but you can call it a happy accident that the tour has a break when fellow redhead Canelo Alvarez fights Danny Jacobs on Cinco de Mayo weekend in one of the biggest fights of the year.

I spoke to Jenny Lewis about what made her a boxing fan and how she even slipped a boxing reference into her latest single “Heads Gonna Roll.”

Noisey: How did you first get interested in boxing? Jenny Lewis: I'm later to sports in general than most people. Growing up, my mom had a younger boyfriend who was into boxing. He would watch the Tyson fights and I wasn't interested in the sport but found the theater of it really interesting, even as an eight-year-old.

So my interest as an adult came about in 2012. I had a head injury that I got on New Year’s Eve 2011 where I passed out after a combination of wine, weed, and a really tight belt. And I had to get nine staples in the back of my head. Six or eight weeks after the head injury I started experiencing severe insomnia and I didn't know what was happening to me, and it was really one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. I was unable to sleep more than 30-minute increments. I watched the entire Sopranos series. I also started watching the [Arturo] Gatti-[Micky] Ward trilogy. And I think I had seen The Fighter. I just started spiraling out on YouTube boxing. Then, after that, I got a subscription to HBO and started watching the HBO 24/7 series. I don't know if that's a gateway for normal people to get into boxing, but after the first episode I was hooked.

For me, as a kid, I was always around boxing, but the thing that sort of thrust me into being a die-hard was this HBO series called Legendary Nights about old fights they had on HBO before my time. It talked about fights in such a theatrical way, it hooked me. The theater of it all is really what appealed to me initially and the element of triumph over adversity. Going through a really difficult period, I didn't know what was going on, I couldn't fucking sleep. Just this idea that you can fight your way out of any circumstance. The first fight I went to was the [Julio Cesar] Chavez [Jr.] vs. [Sergio] Martinez fight at the Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas in September, 2012. That particular 24/7 was the classic tale—the rich kid versus the poor kid. I just remember fucking hating Chavez Jr., thinking this fucking shit was not training properly. He's so privileged, he has these opportunities and I kind of went into the fight with a bias. But being in the arena—first of all, the feeling in the arena during a fight is unlike any other feeling in the world. I haven't been to a lot of sporting events aside from my third-grade soccer matches in Van Nuys.

I just knew the vibe in the room was electric and I was really... the fight was really fun to watch. And by the end of it, I was like, “OK, Chavez. I feel you, bro.” He knocked Martinez down in the 12th round and I was really impressed, and I kind of accepted him and accepted the theater of the sport. You gotta have a protagonist, you have to have an antagonist or a super villain in order to get people to watch.

For that fight, your sister came along with you. What was that experience like? That was our first fight and we went together. I had been staying with her on and off, and we had never really gone to an event together outside of one of my concerts or her shows—she plays in a cover band in the Valley on Saturdays. So this was a big deal for us, a big bonding moment. My sister has always really been into sports. We drove out there together and it was a really great experience for us. She couldn't believe the vibe in the room and, at one point, I looked back and she was being carried off by like five giant men singing the Mexican national anthem. I was like, “Come back! Don't leave me here alone!” But we had a fucking blast. I think the fight culture, just for both of us talking to people in Las Vegas—which is our hometown—about boxing, is just like a built-in community. And people are so willing to share their knowledge with you.

You said the Deontay Wilder-Tyson Fury heavyweight title fight, which took place at STAPLES Center in Los Angeles in December, was your favorite thing you did last year. What made that the case? The fight itself. I had never seen a heavyweight fight. I've been to Valley Fight Night a couple of times. So to roll to a heavyweight title fight, it was so exciting and felt like an event from the past. And I brought my friend Jessica, who had never seen a fight before, knows nothing of the sport, and grew up orthodox Jewish, and was asking all these basic questions. Like, “Why would these men hit each other like this? Aren't there other opportunities to get out of the ghettos than fighting? Aren't there other sports? What about tennis?” Just to have this juxtaposition with my friend who is new to the sport and asking all these really cool entry-level questions. The fight itself was just incredible to watch. And the vibe in the crowd with all the Brits—I've never seen such a wasted audience. Everyone was really fucking drunk, it was crazy.

And the story learning about Fury, I don't know a lot about British boxers. I've sort of been more interested in Mexican fighters and American fighters, but learning about what he went through [Fury returned from a three-year hiatus after dealing with depression and drug and alcohol addiction] and seeing his transformation was really inspiring. To go and see this physical manifestation of this transformation in person was pretty great.

One thing you said after the fight when we were talking that really stuck out to me, was when the two guys hugged each other at the final bell. You said, “Wow, it must be a super intimate experience to go through that with someone, almost like having sex.” I also thought it must be as intimate as writing a song with someone. Is that a fair comparison? Sure. I think any collaboration is heated and intense, and songwriting can often result in verbal blows. [Laughs] But with Wilder and Fury, it seemed really sincere, their connection at the end of the fight. Whereas with Floyd Mayweather it's so money-focused. He's so amazing to watch but you realize his whole thing is about money. But this was about the struggle and the triumph and the intimacy of that moment. Just the idea that it's two men standing up there with their entire past. Their histories, their traumas, their triumphs, wherever they come from, and you bring all of that with you into the ring.

That's gotta be pretty similar to songwriting, right? You bring all of that stuff into what you do and it's such a personal and raw way to make a living. Yeah, you're toe-to-toe with your demons. I keep having this dream about fighting myself in the ring. It's pretty cliché and a pretty obvious Psych 101 thing, but where you're truly battling it out with yourself.

One thing you touched on earlier—these fighters' backgrounds. It's basically a lot of their way out of whatever difficult upbringing or tough surroundings. You come from this child actor background where you were the provider from a really young age. I feel like there's a kinship between you and fighters in that regard. I remember from that initial HBO 24/7, an interview with Martinez about growing up in Argentina and how he explained growing up in poverty. They didn't always have enough to eat. That resonated with me. I was the breadwinner from the time I was three or four years old. And my family we are working-class, showbiz folks. My grandfather was on vaudeville. He didn't succeed. He was actually a Golden Gloves fighter as far as the story goes. But he started out as a singer and that didn't work out. He was a fighter, he was a gangster, ended up in jail.

I feel like my people have fought their way out of poverty. My grandmother was a dancer. Showbiz was really the only way out without an education or money to get an education. My mom grew up very poor in Echo Park and singing was her only way out of the hood. She was married at 15 to a Mexican gangster. She went to Vegas with a dream of getting out where she met my father, who was a kid on the road from the time he was 12 or 13 with this vaudeville harmonica group. They met and hustled in Vegas and got a gig playing the lounges in all the hotels where they were paid in cash and got to live in the hotel rooms and they'd go down and work and leave me and my sister in the room with the do not disturb sign on until my sister was old enough to join the group. So it really is a hustle to survive.

Manny Pacquiao's trainer Freddie Roach is one of your favorite people. And I feel like you might be the Freddie Roach of indie rock. In your touring bands, you've had people like a young Danielle Haim, Natalie Prass, Tristen, all these people that have gone on to success after leaving your live band. You always take on these young talented rockers. I wonder if you ever saw that role for yourself? Well, first of all, that's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, so thank you. I'm always looking for great talent. I've always reached out to women to help me with my music, but also I've found myself in this mentor position. Which isn't necessarily intentional from the jump.

With Danielle, it was her first tour ever. She was still keeping kosher and I had to meet with her parents before she came out on the road with me. And then her sister Este joined my band for a show. Then at one point we talked about Alana also joining the band. I talked to the Haim patriarch "Moti" and he was like, "Well, next time all three of them!" And then they blew up on their own. I'm always happy to provide a safe environment for women in my band and hopefully they've all had positive experiences. But I've also had not just women. Blake Mills was in my band, Jonathan Wilson. I've been really lucky in my career to collaborate with some of the best musicians around.

Have you ever thought about if you were a fighter what your walk-out song would be? Wow, I have not. Let me think about that one because that's a great question. But there's a song on my new record called "Heads Gonna Roll" which is a boxing reference. I don't know if people are gonna catch onto that but in the first verse: "I'm gonna keep on dancing until I hear that ringing bell.” It's a Mayweather reference.

I always thought the Rilo Kiley song "Moneymaker" would have been a great boxing walkout song. Even though that song is about sex workers, it would have fit. "You've got the moneymaker, this is your chance to make it out of here..." I think that's the one. Can we get that song to Floyd?

Is there anything else you want to say to the Jenny Lewis or boxing fans that will read this? I wanted to give one shout out to my favorite boxing podcast. It's called Beating The Odds with Beeb.