Lewis,

L’amour

(digital and CD out now, vinyl out July 22) Today I fell in love. Randall Wulff, aka Lewis, in the cover art of this circa-1983 release, looks like James Spader as Steff in Pretty in Pink; his hair too blonde and too feathered, his barely-there chest hair both repulsive and erotic. According to liner notes, what little is known of the artist is that he lived posh, with a white convertible Mercedes and a devastatingly gorgeous girlfriend, and vanished soon after the album was released. Like so many LITA releases, Lewis’ story is cloaked in mystery and intrigue; to this day his whereabouts remain unknown. The fact that he self-released L’Amour in Los Angeles, combined with using his handsome mug for artwork, hints at a superficial attempt at fame—but the album is “something else” entirely, revealing, upon multiple listens, a thoughtful and intelligent soul. A lovesick soul at that, as evidenced by song titles such as “I Thought the World of You,” “Things Just Happen That Way,” and my favorite, “Even Rainbows Turn Blue.” The sound is delicate and whisper-like, embodying none of the surf rock or sunscreened pop we associate with L.A. Soft washes of piano and guitar waft over Wulff’s voice—a tone that’s mysterious and mesmerizing, just like his far-off look on the cover. It’s the perfect album for when you’re “in a mood” or just wanting to feel blue, yet it’s not something you can put on in the background to drown your sorrows. L’amour demands active, primary listening—preferably while laying on the ground, hands folded to your chest, looking up at the ceiling, lonely teardrop optional.

music@seattleweekly.com